Aragorn entered the throne room to see no one except for a blonde woman, standing alone in the center of the room, facing away from him towards the dais.

"I'm sorry, my lady. Is the Steward here? And Captain Faramir? It is urgent that I speak to them." She spoke now, and her voice was like a painful memory, right at the edge of his mind.

"Captain Faramir is in the Halls of Healing, in no condition to be moved. And I am afraid that seeing Lord Denethor is quite impossible. He is dead." Aragorn frowned, hearing strain in her words.

"I am sorry to hear that. My news was a family matter, pertaining to his daughter, Miriel. Nothing that will lighten the heart of any I am afraid."

"Then I can assure you that no such new is required of her death." His frown deepened. Did they already know?

"Might I ask why?" The woman turned, and his expression became one of shock as he froze where he stood, unable to even breathe.

"Because I am certainly no more dead than you are, Aragorn. And very glad of it."