Sword and Arrow

Chapter 69

nice.

🏹👑🗡️

Beruthiel, now wrapped in her cloak, walked beside Aragorn on her second trip to the top of the city. Minas Tirith had really woken up now, with street vendors and shopowners alike selling their wares already. Cleanup crews were meeting to begin their days - following the aftermath of Pelennor Fields, Aragorn had organized and promised to pay any who would clear the city streets of rubble.

"I've never met this high council," Beruthiel noted. "You should probably tell me what they are before you have me glare at them."

Aragorn laughed. "They're the steward's-"

"King's."

"-king's advisory council, made from the head of the five high noble families in the city. They advise him on state matters and other small things. I've met them, I think, a while ago, but that was quite some time ago."

"Wonderful," Beruthiel muttered. "And I've heard that they aren't the nicest people."

Aragorn sighed. "That's also very true."

"And they don't like you?"

"Also yes."

"Wonderful," Beruthiel said cheerfully. "This is going to be a very fun meeting.

It was not a very fun meeting. Aragorn took both of them into a stuffy office with only a single window. The desk was piled high with papers and there was a film of dust over everything - perhaps it hadn't been used even before Denethor's death. Beruthiel immediately sneezed. She had had enough of dust in the past few weeks.

The councilman who sat at the head of the oval stood and glared at her as if it was rude to interrupt the solemn silence with a sneeze. Beruthiel looked back at him from the depths of her hood and shrugged.

"Councilman Echadrion," Aragorn greeted warmly, fixing a smile on his face. "Thank you for taking the time to arrange this meeting between us. I hope you'll forgive me for bringing my lieutenant with me?"

Council Echadrion gave Beruthiel a look that could almost be described as wary, then extended a cautious hand. "Beruthiel," she said, shaking it as warmly as she could.

He simply nodded back and strode back to his seat. "You have wished to discuss a... coronation," Echadrion said with great distaste.

"It is the only thing that makes sense," Aragorn replied diplomatically. He took the remaining chair and offered Beruthiel the one beside him, but she preferred to stand behind him and do what she did best. "Sauron has been destroyed once and for all and the war is won. I have returned to the South, and Gondor is in need of a leader."

"Faramir, the son of Denethor, is in quick recovery," the second councilman noted. "What of him?"

"Is a steward necessary when a king's heir is in place?" Aragorn contradicted. "Gondor has long been devoid of its heir, and in that time it has come to great disrepair. The reinstatement of a king could restore it to its former glory."

"And how do we know that you are the king's heir?" Echadrion doubted.

"If my victory in battle is not proof enough, then behold, the Ring of Barahir." Aragorn took the thick, old ring from his finger and showed it to a council. It was heavy in hand as they passed it around, debating its legitimacy. It showed two serpents, one devouring and one crowned with golden flowers, an heirloom that had been passed down father to son for generations since the First Age.

"And if that ring is yet not enough for you, then behold, the shards of Narsil reforged." Though it was slightly awkward when he was sitting, Aragorn drew out Anduril and lay it across his lap. The distinct pattern in the hilt of the triangular emerald and gold engravings was clear enough to see, and there were faint etchings where the shards had been joined. "None may wield it but the heir of Numenor, and I have wielded it into two battles and come out victorious."