- Four years after the War of the Ring - 

F.A 2, February 1st

His fingers tapped impatiently on the smooth wooden table as one of the city nobles blathered on about how the tax increase would put a strain on his coffers. He was the fifth noble of Minas Tirith to object to the tax and Aragorn was beginning to lose his patience with them.

Faramir sat to Aragorn's left looking just as annoyed as his king. "Lord Dalion, the tax is necessary to pay for the new gate that had been commissioned," said Faramir, butting in.

"Pray tell why we need a new gate if we are at peace," rebutted Dalion evenly.

"The Easterlings and Haradrim are still a problem that we have yet to fully address," Faramir replied tersely. "The gate we have is nowhere near the craftsmanship of our forebears, and the Dwarves of Aglarond have offered to build one that would rival anything else they have made."

Lord Dalion dabbed the corners of his mouth and sniffed. "I don't see why we should have to pay such a high price. They should do it for free."

A few of the other lords who agreed with Dalion on the tax nodded their approval. They were in the minority for now, but Aragorn knew the subtle politics that were at play here, and how quickly they could change...for the right price.

Faramir looked at Lord Dalion coldly. "Nothing is ever free, not even the freedom you so enjoy."

Aragorn knew precisely what Faramir was getting at. He'd lost his brother and his father during the War and had almost his own life as well.

"A freedom that was almost lost because of our former Steward," replied Dalion sharply.

Anger flashed across Faramir's face, and Aragorn stood, barely hiding his contempt for the lord. "You would do well to remember your place at this table, Lord Dalion," said Aragorn slowly. "I will not tolerate such disrespect in my council chambers. You will apologize to Lord Faramir, and you will do it now."

Aragorn's tone left no room for argument.

Dalion's face turned red, and he looked as if he would burst from not only the embarrassment of having to apologize in front of his supporters but the fact he had to do it to Faramir. He attempted to put on a stoic face as he said, "I am sorry, my lord. I spoke rashly and insensitively." His voice was tight and controlled.

Aragorn looked at Faramir. "Is this acceptable?"

Faramir nodded to his king and the drilled Dalion with an icy glare. "It is acceptable.

"I declare this meeting adjourned," said Aragorn, still standing. "I shall think on all sides of this matter before I decide what is best for our kingdom."

The council members rose, quickly bowed, and shuffled out of the room, leaving Faramir and Aragorn alone.

"I think that went well," said Faramir dryly, breaking the silence.

Aragorn gave a wry smile and chuckled softly.

Faramir smiled back. "In truth, there were more members in favor of the tax than against it. That's a small victory."

Aragorn clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly pace around the table. "Four years I have been king, Faramir, and every step of the way I've had to fight for my kingdom.

"I thought the fighting would be done after the War, that there would be such peace between the peoples of Middle-Earth to be worthy of writing about." Aragorn stopped before his friend, his face grave. "Something festers in the hearts of the people that cannot be fought with sword or bow."

Faramir wasn't sure he understood. They were at peace, and the people lived without fear of the Shadow; albeit the Easterlings and Haradrim and been causing trouble along the borders, but they had not yet raised the horns of war.

Aragorn continued, drawing Faramir out of his thoughts. "It's greed, Faramir. In times of peace, men look to their own and that which benefits them. Men such as this are always among us, threatening to disrupt our hard fought victory."

Faramir was uneasy, he'd never seen his king in such a state. "Surely not all men are as you say," he countered.

Aragorn began pacing once again, this time he beckoned Faramir to follow. When he had matched his stride, Aragorn continued. "Good men hold the evil at bay, but how long can they keep up the fight? Even my line, should it continue, will become corrupt at some point. It is the way of Men to reach for that which they cannot have."

"And what is that, my lord?" asked Faramir.

Aragorn looked at him sadly. "Power. Which is why I want you to set spies to follow Lord Dalion."

Faramir stopped midstride and looked at Aragorn in surprise. "You want us to spy on our own council member?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

Aragorn stopped and fully faced Faramir. "I don't do this lightly," he said gravely, "but I do not trust his ambitions. Since I became, king Lord Dalion has risen to his position through questionable means."

Faramir couldn't argue that point. Though barely five years his elder, Dalion had risen quickly after the War and came to acquire large swaths of land and power. It had been unchecked until recently when Aragorn had proposed the tax, which would put a hold on the purchasing of property until after the gate was completed to free up more funds.

Faramir shook his head. "I still feel uneasy about this, but I will see it done." He bowed respectfully and left to carry out his king's orders.

As Aragorn watched him leave, he couldn't help but think back to the council in Rivendell when his brother had said something similar: Gondor will see it done.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Faramir was so similar to his brother in some ways, and yet so different in others. It saddened Aragorn that he would never see them together.

He began walking once more, allowing his tired mind to drift through the endless sea of memories. It finally settled on that fateful day at Amon Hen and Boromir's death.

They had tried so hard to reach him in time, but they had arrived to find him laying against a tree, three black arrows in him and countless Uruk-hai slain around him.

There was something off about the memory though, something that brought Aragorn to a halt. He dug deeper, using all of his senses and training as a former Ranger until he finally spotted it: a slight discoloration of the leaves and faint distortion of the sky. He focused on it until the picture became clear: it was a man cloaked in dark green.

The man was looking down at Boromir, but his gaze suddenly shot up and locked onto Aragorn. "I see you finally remembered," said the man casually. He waved his hand, and it felt to Aragorn as if the man pulled him from his body into the memory itself.

Aragorn felt his body collapse on the marble floor even as he stood upon the hills of Amon Hen. He looked down and saw he wore his Rangers garb, even his old sword.

"It's always a bit unsettling getting pulled into a memory for the first time."

The voice startled Aragorn, and he turned around to see the cloaked man, his hood thrown back revealing a full beard and shaved head. He looked to be in his thirtieth year of manhood, but his vibrant brown eyes showed the wisdom of ages past that even Aragorn did not possess.

"I'm in a memory?" questioned Aragorn, eyeing the man.

"Your memory, to be precise," the man responded simply. "But that's not the real question you want to know, is it?"

"Who, or what, are you?" asked Aragorn, hoping this was not some new evil.

The man smiled and clapped his hands. "I must say, your reputation holds true, my lord. You are the first to remember me! Not even Legolas has been able to do so."

Aragorn watched the man with both curiosity and caution as the man walked over to a boulder sat down. "You still haven't answered my question," said Aragorn, trying to gauge if this stranger was friend or foe.

The man chuckled. "I would tell you my name, but I'm afraid you will not remember after we leave here. There is a time fast approaching when I will be able to introduce myself in person." He shrugged. "Call me old-fashioned."

Aragorn was struggling to understand what was going on here. Was he losing his mind? It seemed like it might be the case.

"Listen to me, Aragorn, and listen to will," said the man, standing and walking over. "There is an evil coming. I do not know when, but I know that it will arise from Men." He narrowed his eyes. "You've felt it, I sense it in you. That is good."

Aragorn rubbed his head. How was all of this possible?

The man placed a firm hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Fear not for your people, Aragorn, you will lead them well for many years to come. I will bring you a helper three days you receive the letter on Mid-Summers Eve. Our arrival will be announced by the blowing of the silver horn."

Aragorn had so many questions, but he sensed that this man would not give him more than he had already shared. He was almost as maddening as Gandalf!

"I shall take that as a compliment!" said the man, laughing.

Aragorn took a step back, speechless.

"We're in your mind, Aragorn, things tend to echo in here," replied the man, turning and walking away.

"By the way, you are right to distrust Dalion. Might I suggest you search his estates?" he said over his shoulder.

When he had returned to where he'd first stood, he looked back at Aragorn and nodded. "Until we meet again."

<><><><><><><><><><><>

"Estel? Estel, please wake up," whispered a desperate voice in his ear; a voice he knew so well.

"Arwen," he said groggily.

"Ai! Thank the Valar you are alright," said Arwen, breathing a sigh of relief. "What happened, my love?" she asked worriedly.

Aragorn propped himself up on his elbow, holding his head as feeling returned to his body. He racked his brain, trying to remember, but it was like a dream. A dream you wake from, and you know it happened, but you cannot recall what it was. "I-I don't remember," he said after a moment.

Arwen could sense his agitation and wondered what could have upset him so. She planted a gentle kiss on his brow. "Come, my love, you are tired. Let us go and rest for a while," she offered.

Aragorn slowly opened his eyes and looked at his beautiful wife, her eyes suggestive.

"If you insist, my lady," he replied, eyes twinkling.

Arwen giggled and lept to her feet and dashed down the halls, her laughter echoing through the corridor.

Aragorn grinned, and he forgot his troubled thoughts and gave chase, his own laughter mixing with her in a sweet cacophony of joy that brought a smile to all who heard it.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

Boromir sat impatiently on his horse as it pawed the ground, anxious to continue. He had been asked to wait, but he had half a mind to leave the confounded man behind without a horse. But he knew he wouldn't. "For the love of Gondor, Údar! How long must stay here?"

Údar emerged from the woods a few yards away wearing his dark green cloak and an amused look. "Peace Boromir," he replied calmly, "the road is yet long, and many will be the trials you face. There is no need to rush to meet them."

Boromir sighed, the past weighing heavily on him. He wasn't sure if he would be able to do what was being asked of him. Not after what had happened.

Údar climbed onto his horse and looked over Boromir who once again wore his Gondorian attire. "You are not the same man you used to be, my friend. You will not fail."

Boromir averted his mentor's keen gaze. He wished he had his confidence.

Údar gave a small nudge to his horse to get him going, then said, "Come, we have many miles left before we reach Arnor and the greatest of your trials awaits."

They let their horses set the pace, and they were eager to run. As the hills and forests passed by them, Údar smiled to himself as he thought of all the people who would be reading this and all of the unspoken questions racing in their minds. "All will be explained in time, dear friends," he whispered, "all in good time."