When the Queen's party reached the Vale of the Moon, a scene of both joy and sorrow awaited them. Minas Ithil, though ravaged by siege and smoke, still stood. The flag of Gondor flew high atop The Tower of the Moon, the White Tree of Gondor rippling in a strong summer wind which carried the faintest scent of smoke. Pockets of fluffy white clouds drifted across a robin's-egg blue sky, casting ever-shifting rays of sunlight across mountains' towering faces. That same wind which filled the flags of Minas Ithil tossed the horses' manes and teased at the long tresses of Arwen and her daughters as they approached.

Before approaching the gate and the makeshift bridge at the far end of the valley, they could not miss passing Gïdjls where he lay. A small group of boys with their shortbows and arrows stood guard, keeping the carrion birds at bay. They were all quick to bow when Túrien turned her horse aside from the group and approached. Goldwine did not shy, not even in the face of such enormous death. Túrien drew astride with Gïdjls head, and leaning over from the saddle laid a hand between the Mûmak's clouded eyes.

"Sleep well, sweet one. You have earned it."

Looking to Gïdjls's young guardians, Túrien reached into her purse and offered out handfuls of silver coins. If the children of Minas Ithil had been growing at all restless in their vigil, the grateful nod of Gondor's second princess and the handsome reward more than restored their enthusiasm. They waved and cried out in welcome to the rest of the party as they passed, and several went running ahead toward the city. Long before the children came shouting of the queen's arrival, the horns of Gondor sounded from both the royal party upon the road and The Tower of the Moon above; two clear, ringing calls in grateful greeting of one another.

OoOoO

Eldarion and Elboron were waiting to greet Arwen and the others when they reached the Citadel of Night. The mangled remains of the gate were long gone, thanks to Ohtar and his men, and so the horses rode freely into the courtyard beneath the tower. Everywhere they had gone through Minas Ithil, soldiers and citizens alike had looked up from their work of cleaning and rebuilding to greet the queen's party with heartfelt smiles. It was the same in the citadel, made all the sweeter by the smiles on both Elboron and Eldarion's faces. Reaching up, Eldarion took his mother's hand and helped her down from the saddle. Arwen all but flew to enfold her son in the embrace she wished she could have given him after the events in The Black House.

"Ion-nin..." Arwen breathed into the crook of Eldarion's neck. Closing her eyes, she gave him a squeeze and felt her heart leap with relief when he returned it. "There is so much I would ask you."

"And I will answer everything, when we have the time, Naneth." Unfolding Arwen from his embrace, Eldarion sent sideways glances at both Elboron and Túrien. "In this moment though, there are others who should have your attention first." Arwen followed Eldarion's gaze to where Túrien kept glancing anxiously up toward the Tower of the Moon - even as Galieth helped to resettle a dozing Myriam on her back - and nodded. Eldarion took his mother's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm though, and for the present Arwen was reassured that all was well for him.

Elfwine meanwhile was quick to dismount and pull Elboron into a fierce hug. Gripping the taller man by the nape of the neck, Elfwine smiled despite the redness of exhaustion rimming his eyes.

"Glad was I to hear that you and Eruthiawen both made it through the siege of Minas Ithil alive, cousin. Even gladder still was I when I heard of your new arrival! Come now, where is Barahir?"

A grin of pure pride lit up Elboron's face beneath his unkept golden mustache and stubbly cheeks. The dark smudges under his eyes were nearly a match for Elfwine's, but Elboron's sleeplessness seemed less the product of toil than the happy exhaustion of a new father.

"He is upstairs with Eruthia and my mother. We haven't brought him outside just yet; he is on the small side and a little fragile for having been born early. Still, you should see him when he is alert and wakeful! He has the Peredhil eyes, and even now he can give people such a look-"

"Eldarion, where is Sufyan?" Túrien asked, her voice burning with barely restrained urgency.

Eldarion's dark brows drew together, and he waved everyone forward toward the tower door. "Adar is with him, come. As you have no doubt already seen and heard, the defense of Minas Ithil did not come without cost."

Túrien nodded. "I know. Take me to him."

Eldarion held the door as everyone went inside, and so saw Galieth nearly face-to-face when she passed by at the last. The smile she flashed him was brief, polite, and did not entirely reach her eyes. Before Eldarion could say anything though (even if his mind had not gone utterly blank in that moment), she was gone, quick to keep up with the others as Elboron led the way to the stairs.

OoOoO

Arriving at the top of the tower's winding stairs, everyone was surprised to find the hallway crowded. Bergil, Ohtar, and Malbeth all stood or sat gathered outside the two closed chamber doors, with Qufar, the lone surviving Haradrim, in their midst. A brief reunion was enjoyed by all, with Ohtar and Malbeth being embraced by Almárëa, and Túrien laying a hand on Qufar's shoulder and speaking to him in the Haradrim tongue.

"Sufyan's room is this one," said Eldarion, half-lifting the latch of the closest door. "Perhaps just Túrien and Myriam, for now?"

Arwen nodded. She took Túrien's hand and pressed it. "Go, iel-nin. The rest of us will go to see Eruthiawen."

"This way." Elboron indicated the door at the end of the hall, and Arwen, Almárëa, Elfwine, and Galieth departed, with Bergil bringing up the rear. Malbeth and Ohtar meanwhile exchanged a look before setting back onto the bench where they had been unofficially keeping vigil outside of Sufyan's room.

"Eldarion..." Túrien looked up at Eldarion, blinking fiercely even as she worked to keep her voice even. "From what Faramir told us, Sufyan's fate hung by little more than a thread. Tell me truly, does Adar think he will live?"

Rather than answer, Eldarion opened the latch and swung the door back.

"See him and judge for yourself."

Aragorn, who had been sitting in a chair in the corner of the room reading a roll of parchment, looked up when they entered and rose to his feet. With grime of battle now washed away and clad in a simple tunic and leggings, he looked as if he could have been reading by a sunlit window on any late summer day in Minas Tirith. At the sight of his daughter, Aragorn breathed a sigh and went to her side. Túrien had eyes only for Sufyan though.

"Adar, is he...?"

Sufyan lay still and silent upon the bed, his hands folded beneath his breast and the bedsheets turned down. His brown, sun-weathered arms and face contrasted sharply to the layers of thick, starch stiffened linen which bound his entire torso from the waist up. Sufyan's eyes were closed, his only apparent movement the fluttering of stray curls above his brow in the breeze from the open window. Not even his eyelashes twitched where they lay thick and dark against his cheeks. He looked peaceful, as only Túrien had seen him in the deepest hours of the night, when she lay wakeful and watching while Sufyan wandered his own distant dreams.

"Don't be afraid, iel-nin," said Aragorn, speaking softly even as he took Túrien by the elbow and guided her into a chair beside the head of the bed. "He is only sleeping. We have kept him heavily dosed with sedative herbs, both for the pain and to ease his breathing, and so I fear Sufyan is unlikely to know you are he-"

Myriam chose that precise moment to awaken fully from her nap and let out a loud squawk. Sufyan drew a sudden, audible breath, his brow furrowing even as he turned his head toward the door. His lips parted as if about to speak, and slowly, laboriously, Sufyan opened his eyes.

"Sufyan!"

Túrien practically threw herself to her knees at Sufyan's bedside, seizing one of his hands in hers and pressing it to her cheek. Myriam stared wide-eyed over Túrien's shoulder, unused to seeing her father so still.

"...Am...I still...dreaming...?"

The words were slurred and costing a great deal in effort, if the wheezing inhale which followed was any proof. A grimace of discomfort tightened Sufyan's face, and Aragorn was quick to step in.

"Try not to speak, Sufyan, your ribs have only just begun to set. Túrien is here, as is Myriam."

"When I heard..." Túrien was openly weeping now, clutching Sufyan's hand to her face even as tears rolled down across his fingers. "When I heard of the siege, I was so afraid you would die. And Gïdjls..." Just as quickly as her tears had come though, Túrien suddenly turned thunderous, her blue-grey eyes flashing. "Did I not tell you once; if you ever risked some manner of self-sacrificing idiocy, you had better be sure to die properly, or else I would kill you myself?! Serê gulê! (Bull head!)"

Myriam let out a little giggle to hear her mother yell at her father, a very normal and commonplace sound to her young ears amidst so much unfamiliarity.

"Erm, Túrien..." Eldarion tried to come to his brother-in-law's defence. "If not for what Sufyan and his men did, there can't be any doubt that Elboron, Eruthiawen, and their folk would have been captured, killed, or worse by the time the rest of the army got here."

"Which is the only reason I haven't finished sending you to the grave," said Túrien to Sufyan through gritted teeth, still clutching his hand and crying hot, angry tears. "How am I even supposed to be properly furious at you when you saved my sister?! I can't!! Which only makes me even angrier, you brave, mule-brained idiot!!!"

Sufyan - eyelids drooping and clearly fighting to resist falling back into another drugged sleep - smiled up at Túrien. With effort, he drew in another breath to speak.

"...love you too...hezkirî."

Túrien all but went to pieces at that. Her head dropped down onto the bed at Sufyan's side, her dark hair falling in a tumble as her shoulders shook. Sufyan's hand slowly slid up to stroke Túrien's disheveled hair even as he lost his battle against the herbs and drifted away into sleep once more.

Moving swift yet gentle, Aragorn stepped forward and lifted Myriam from her harness. Holding the perplexed baby in one arm, he squeezed Túrien's shoulder.

"Take all the time you wish with him, iel-nin. The rest of us will be just down the hall in Eruthiawen and Elboron's chambers."

Túrien sniffled and nodded, face still buried in the sheets and Sufyan's hand resting in her hair. Quietly, so as not to disturb the pair, Aragorn and Eldarion left the room, taking Myriam with them. Sufyan had survived not only the initial shock of his injuries, but also the wrath of Harmindon's future ramyah. The worst behind them, now there was only to heal, and to rest.

OoOoO

When Aragorn and Eldarion opened the door at the end of the hall, a scene quite unlike the one in Sufyan's room greeted their eyes. There were people everywhere it seemed, filling the bedchamber and adjacent sitting room to borderline crowded. The curtains were tied back, letting summer sunlight and the sounds of the city below reach into every nook and cranny. Without looking down at the collapsed bridge, burnt-out homes and sullied streets, one could gaze out the windows at the sunlit mountains and almost forget that Minas Ithil had been a city under siege only days before. 

Eruthiawen sat at the heart of all the chatter and bustle in a rocking chair by the window, wrapped snugly in a night-robe beneath the white tasseled shawl which Arwen had brought her from Minas Tirith. Her auburn hair gleamed unbound across her shoulders down to her lap, and about her legs was wrapped a quilt from the bed. Seeing the door open, Eruthiawen looked up from her conversation with Legolas to greet them with a smile. 

"How is Túrien, Ada? Was Sufyan able to wake again to see her when she arrived?" 

Picking his way across the room through the crowd, Aragorn settled next to Arwen on the trunk at the foot of Eruthiawen and Elboron's bed. Myriam immediately held out her arms for Arwen, who accepted her from Aragorn and dandled the child on her knees. 

"We will give her some time alone with Sufyan, I think. It has been a very difficult few days for both of them." 

"Speaking of difficult days..." Éowyn narrowed her eyes at Elfwine, who currently sat almost as surrounded as Eruthiawen in a nearby armchair. In his arms, little Barahir lay swaddled and cooing. "You are going to find a bed, nephew, and you are going to sleep in it, even if I must tie you down!"

Frowning slightly, Elfwine shook his head. Passing Barahir to the eagerly waiting arms of Almárëa, he rose and went to Éowyn's side where she stood. 

"I cannot rest, not yet. First, there are things which you and I must speak of, in private." 

"In private? What sort of things?" asked Éowyn. 

"Things concerning my father...and his passing." 

Éowyn took Elfwine by the arm and seemed about to insist he go on, but Arwen interrupted them. 

"Not here, Elfwine. There has been much darkness and despair these past three days, let this moment of happiness endure a bit longer. There will be time to speak of deeds done later, I promise you." 

Éowyn chewed at the inside of her cheek, frowning, but in the end relented. Galieth offered to go inquire after available rooms for those needing rest, and so departed, her long black braid swinging behind her. Elboron meanwhile approached Eldarion, and the two of them leaned against the wall to bask in the sight of Almárëa, Arwen, and Eruthiawen introducing Myriam to Barahir while Aragorn and Legolas looked on. 

"Eruthiawen is looking better today than she did yesterday," commented Eldarion. 

"She would not even hear of a wet nurse for Barahir," said Elboron, pride and adoration shining in his eyes as he watched Eruthiawen tuck back the blankets from Barahir's small face. "She went from barely able to sit up to nursing him and singing lullabies in a matter of hours." He sighed wistfully. "Hearing her sing to the baby...her voice becomes so soft, so gentle, even moreso than usual, if that is even possible. I feel as though I could watch the two of them together like that forever."  

Eldarion nudged Elboron's arm. "I am happy for you, gwador-nin (my brother). I imagine this is only just the beginning for your family. You and Eruthia will likely have many more years ahead in which to enjoy doting on not only Barahir, but perhaps his younger brothers and sisters too." 

To Eldarion's surprise, Elboron suddenly turned vehement with determination.

"No! No more! I would not see Eruthia put through such a trial as that childbirth again for all the jewels in Erebor! No, Barahir will be our one and only child, if I have any say in the matter. I leave it to you, Túrien, and Almárëa to give him cousins enough to fill the places of siblings." 

"...And what does Eruthiawen say about this?" 

Elboron huffed, ruffling a hand through his unruly golden curls. "She likes it not, but is grudgingly willing to concede to the wisdom of the midwife. Mistress Eidith has also cautioned that to fall pregnant again can only be fraught with peril for Eruthia after such a traumatic birth. For her to have another child would be so dangerous...Eldarion, I cannot bear the thought of it." 

"When you put it that way, neither could any of us." agreed Eldarion. 

His still-healing wrists itched, and he absently rubbed at the bandages beneath the cuffs of his sleeves. Almárëa - the wrappings on her own wrists peeking out as she passed Barahir back to Eruthiawen - met Eldarion's eye, and a moment of understanding passed between the two of them. She nodded slightly, and so did Eldarion. They were both likely to carry scars from that night for many years, if not the rest of their lives. There was still a chance the marks might fade entirely though, but even if they did not, Eldarion found he did not mind. They would serve as a reminder to him of the precious, fragile nature of peace. 

"I never asked..." Elboron's voice became quieter, almost cautious. "How are you? Everything has been so chaotic, I had almost forgotten about what happened with you and the Easterlings." 

Standing in a room filled with friends and family, with blue sky outside and sunlight upon every face, The Black House seemed little more than a distant dream...or nightmare. The memory of spring-green eyes and a Morgul Blade were still there, ever present at the back of his mind, but to Eldarion it seemed their power over him grew lesser with each passing day. And so it was with complete honesty that he answered Elboron. 

"On the mend, gwador-nin. On the mend." 

OoOoO

Aragorn was almost unsurprised when Elfwine approached him later in the hallway. He and Legolas had been on their way down into the city to meet with those in charge of cleaning and rebuilding, and so Legolas lingered within earshot as the young king of Rohan cleared his throat. 

"Aragorn, I wish to call a meeting tomorrow." 

"On what subject, Elfwine?" 

"Rhûn." 

"A war council then, Éomerion?" Legolas pressed, sounding uneasy. 

Elfwine was not deflected. "No, not a war council, for I am sure everyone has seen enough of bloodshed. But it cannot be denied that the last time the Easterlings were allowed to withdraw unchallenged after a defeat, their plans for vengeance nearly cost both Gondor and Rohan dearly. My father was..." Elfwine's throat worked harshly. "My father was assassinated, and from what everyone has told me of these events, it seems almost certain that it was Serthîk and his people who supplied Dagmar with the fatal aconite to act out her revenge. Almárëa was kidnapped, Eldarion nearly murdered, Minas Ithil besieged, and Sufyan wounded within an inch of his life. If we let Rhûn go unchecked again, who is to say they will not return in another five years with even more villainous schemes?"

Aragorn frowned deeply, but at length nodded. 

"I have no desire to become the aggressor in another long, drawn-out conflict with the East. But there is also undeniable truth to your words. May I suggest such a meeting wait for at least five days? Túrien has sent word of Sufyan and his mûmak to Harmindon, and unless I misread our southron allies, I suspect we will have Haradrim joining us in Minas Ithil very soon. They very nearly lost a future chieftain, and thus I suspect will have a deeply vested interest in any discussions of how best to deal with Rhûn." 

"Five days is a long time...but if you think it wise, then I will send word to my mother that I intend to remain here in Gondor for a little while longer." 

Aragorn laid a hand on Elfwine's shoulder. "Five days it shall be. Until then, I would like to second Éowyn's advice; get some rest, Elfwine. There will be plenty to do here in Minas Ithil as rebuilding begins, but first we must regather our strength." 

"Your Grace?" 

Galieth had appeared at the turn of the tower stairs, and stood patiently awaiting Aragorn's attention. 

"Yes, Lady Galieth?" 

"Lieutenant Malbeth sent me to ask if you and Lord Elboron might join them at the city gate, when you are able. Apparently there is some debate as to how best begin reconstruction for the bridge."

"Yes of course, we shall go there straight away. After you've delivered the summons to Elboron, might I ask you for one more favour, Galieth?" 

Galieth dipped her head in a bow. "Of course my lord." 

"Please shoo everyone out of Eruthiawen's room for me...except perhaps Arwen, if she wishes to stay. They can visit with her and the baby again later. King Elfwine is not the only one who needs to get some sleep this afternoon." Aragorn leveled Elfwine with a meaningful look as he spoke. 

Elfwine held up his hands in surrender. "Very well, very well! I promise you shall see and hear no more from me until sunrise tomorrow!" 

Aragorn chuckled. "On that note, I think I may exercise my authority as king and decree the next hour a time of rest for everyone in this tower." 

"And you intend to send poor Galieth to attempt to pry Túrien away from her husband's bedside, do you?" remarked Legolas dryly. 

"Not at all, my old friend. I intend to send you." 

Legolas's eyebrows shot up, even as Galieth bit her lip to stifle a gasp of surprise. Seeing that Aragorn was entirely serious though, Legolas just shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

"Come, Galieth. It seems we have been tasked with the impossible; to convince the House of Telcontar to take proper care of themselves." 

As the elf and the lady-in-waiting started up the winding tower stairs, Galieth could not resist asking; 

"And when will the king rest?" 

Legolas laughed, more than a little sadly. "When the three Silmarils are reunited and the Two Trees of Valinor grow tall once more." 

OoOoO