Thanks for all the lovely reviews! All comments about the characterizations especially made me happy- I am always uncertain in that area. Difficult to do, ya know? ;)

I can’t write fight scenes to save my life. Sorry. XD

Chapter Four

Aragorn went into a defensive position as the four men came rushing at him. From the corner of his eye he saw Aearhil gather up the rest of the patrons and escort them into the kitchen. He was glad that he had thought of that; it was less likely that an innocent would get hurt.

His thoughts were interrupted as the first man came to him. He easily avoided his flying fist, and then ducked the knife of the man right behind him. As he began to rise again, one of the men kicked at the small of his back, sending the king to the floor. Before they could take advantage of his position, he kicked the back of a knee and rolled away as the man reflexively collapsed. He was stopped mid-roll by a chair, and used the wooden piece of furniture to block the lunge of another of the men. The drunken man looked surprised to see the chair, and Aragorn used his bewilderment to push him back. The drunkard stumbled a few steps, tripped, and hit his head on one of the tables on his way down. By the time he hit the floor, he was unconscious.

Aragorn did not bother to look at him again as the other three surrounded him once more. One had his knife out, while another had torn the leg off of one of the chairs and was using it as a bat. The other had gone so far as to draw his sword. And, while the former two looked tipsy (the one with the knife ready to collapse), the man who had drawn his long blade looked quite sober.

He did not have time to think about this rather unfair situation as two of them lunged once more at him.

***

Behind the counter and just in the doorway to the kitchen were Aearhil and the other patrons. Deeper in the kitchen were his wife and the younger lad that worked in the tavern, fright easily readable in both of their eyes.

"What is happening, Aearhil?" the lady asked as she held the young boy in her arms. She held him tighter as she heard someone cry out in pain. A loud thump followed as a body hit the ground. "Someone wasn't just killed, Aearhil? Please tell me someone was not just murdered in there!"

"Strider is fighting off a group of drunks," Aearhil said. "He probably saved my life, him. And no," he added, "no one's dead, just knocked out. He's careful not to kill these ruffians, even if they don't show him the same mercy."

"Someone should help him!" she said incredulously, glancing at her husband and the four others. Her eyes landed on the young man.

"I've never held a sword in my life!" he exclaimed. "I didn't fight in the War."

"If I were fifty years younger, I'd be by his side," Randir muttered, and then sighed. "But I'd only be in the way at my age." His two companions nodded.

"Besides, this Strider seems to be holding his own," Giladan commented as the strangely-named man parried a blow from the left, and then sidestepped another from the right.

"I haven't seen such skill in a long time," Corudir said softly, watching with admiration. "He has experience."

"Experience or not, I hope Berion brings the guards soon," Aearhil's wife said. She winced as yet another cry of pain broke through the area. "Very soon."

The men were not listening to her, however, as they saw one of the fallen thugs start to rise, giving Aragorn a deadly look. "Giladan, I don't think he sees him!" Randir muttered worriedly.

"He's already dealing with two others; I doubt it!" the young man interjected. "What should we do?"

Aearhil quickly thought of a solution. "Get me a mug, and a heavy one!" he commanded. The young man quickly handed the barkeeper a mug. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and hurled the cup at the drunk sneaking up behind Aragorn.

As the drunk raised his knife to strike him from behind, the mug hit him on the head. He immediately collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Aragorn and the two others stopped fighting for a moment to look at the newly fallen man. The king was surprised; how in the world did he not detect the man coming from behind him? His pounding head happily provided him with an answer, and he finally had to admit it: he was sick. And, after this little event, he was sure to be in worse shape than before. Wonderful.

He let his thoughts cease as they all spotted the reason for the man’s sudden collapse. Once the mug was seen by his head, it did not take a genius to figure out where it had come from. Both of his opponents started for the counter, ready to take revenge and forget about Aragorn for the time being.

Aragorn, however, would not let himself be easily forgotten.

He rushed forward and shoved the man holding the chair leg into his companion, making all three of them tumble on a nearby table. He quickly pulled himself off of the thugs, and noted with grim satisfaction that the man with the makeshift bat had knocked himself unconscious.

He immediately turned his attention to the last man, who was, for the time being, happy to keep his distance away from him in order to catch his breath. Aragorn was glad for this slight reprieve, all too aware that his head was pounding fiercely once more and that his clogged sinuses were making it more difficult to breathe.

This rest was short, however, as the man charged once more at him. He brought his sword down upon Aragorn, and the Dúnadan parried the blow and stepped away. The other man had a clear advantage with his sword, and Aragorn planned to keep his distance until the guards arrived.

The ruffian, however, had other plans. He approached once again, and made to attack his left side. At last moment, however, he drew a hidden knife from his sleeve and struck Aragorn’s temple with its hilt, making the king stumble backwards. Unfortunately, a turned over chair was right behind him, and before he could steady himself, he fell over.

Aragorn felt more than saw the sword fall down upon him, and it was only his years of battle that saved him from the fatal strike. He rolled over to his right and climbed back to his feet, once more in the defensive position.

As he dodged yet another blow from his opponent, he realized how ridiculously unfair this situation was. He had fought off four other men already, and was fighting a man who was clearly trained in swordplay and clearly not as intoxicated as his companions. Aragorn, however, was already worn down, only had a knife, and- as he had finally admitted to himself- sick. He was not up to his usual prowess, and it was affecting the fight.

He parried the sword once again and took many steps back to give himself some distance from the ruffian. He really wished the guards would hurry and come already.

The Valar finally seemed to take pity on the king, for the tavern door suddenly burst open. A gust of chilly air entered the room as at least half a dozen guards came into the inn. Both Aragorn and his adversary found themselves manhandled into submission. The king did not resist as his knife was taken and he was pushed against a wall; after all, they obviously did not know who the main troublemaker here was. He was slightly amused to note that his opponent was not so willing to give up to the guards, and that it took two of them to hold him against a wall and another to cuff his hands behind his back before he finally stopped struggling.

When he felt one of his own hands being forced into a pair of shackles, he held back the urge to sigh; it was going to be rather difficult to explain this to his wife.

"Wait, wait! Don't arrest him, he saved all of us!" Aragorn heard Aearhil's voice above the rest of the noise. While he could not see him from his view point, he heard the man quickly rush over to him and the guard who was shackling him. "Please don't arrest him, he was protecting us. Without him, I do not know what would have happened."

Another guard nearby heard Aearhil, and asked, "Are you saying that he defended you against all of these men?" Aragorn imagined that he was indicating to all of the men on the ground, but did not try and turn around; while the guard who held him had loosened his grip, he did not want to make any sudden movements until he was cleared.

"Yes, yes. And while they tried to kill him, he did not attack them lethally. Please let him go."

He heard a couple of the guards muttering to themselves, and in a moment, he felt the shackles coming off and the hold on him disappeared. He turned around and took in the scene. Two guards were holding down the conscious ruffian in a chair; the man looked defeated and would not raise his head. The four unconscious men had been gathered up and were lying together on the far side of the room, with two guards watching over them just in case any woke up. One was at the counter, speaking with the rest of the patrons for their side of the story, and the final three were with him and Aearhil.

Aragorn shot Aearhil a look of gratitude, and thanked the guard who handed him back his knife. He immediately sheathed it, glad that the whole fiasco was over. His body was happy that it was done, too, for it felt worse than ever. He knew with certainty that even though he certainly hadn’t been sick before, he was now.

He wiped the sweat off of his brow and brushed a hand through his hair as he tried to ignore his aching head. It was only then that he realized his hood was not covering his features anymore- it must have fallen off during the fight.

He went to readjust it, thankful that none of the guards had recognized him- he was in no mood to explain why he had been in a tavern brawl on the second level.

"My lord!"

'Damn it all,' he cursed to himself as one of the guards focused on him. He doubly cursed when he recognized the man. It was Galerthor, the young son of Galdir, the captain of his personal guard. He was possibly one of the worst people to bump into when he was trying to go about unrecognized. Ai Elbereth, the Powers did hate him.

He deftly ignored the stares of everyone in the room, but did not bother with the hood anymore. He held in a sigh as the young man strode forward, a look of complete bewilderment on his face. As Galerthor bowed before him, the innkeeper frowned in confusion and the rest of the patrons approached, puzzlement on their faces. Suddenly, Corudir gasped, and his face whitened. He obviously had recognized him. This fact slightly bothered Aragorn; he didn't imagine himself that frightening.

"My lord?" Aearhil asked, squinting at Aragorn's face as if he were missing something.

"Aye," said Galerthor. "He is our Lord King Elessar." The young man did not seem to notice the effect his words had on the room, and turned back to the king. "My lord, if I may be so bold, what are you doing here?"

The young man had certainly inherited his father's audacity, Aragorn noted wryly. He simply answered, "I found myself with some spare time, and went out for a stroll." The fact that he was answering to this young guard did not escape his notice, but at the moment, he was trying to ignore his pounding head.

Galerthor looked as if he had many more questions, but he took one look at Elessar's face and immediately became silent. While he knew from personal experience that King Elessar was a decent man, he did not look to be one to trifle with now. The young man suspected that his father did not know where the King was- Galdir simply took his duty too seriously to agree to any idea of the king 'strolling' around the City without a guard, if not a whole contingent.

Aragorn took one last look at Galerthor's face; he knew now that Galdir would be told about this incident. He was rather hoping to avoid that; the man was rather paranoid about his well being, especially after that rather unfortunate incident last year. He pushed thoughts of the next meeting with the captain of the guard aside, and turned his attention to the rest of the guards. Now that he was revealed, he might as well use his rank for some good.

"Lock them up in the cells on the first level; keep them separate from one another, and let no one speak to them. I shall see to them myself a few days from now." The guards nodded, and with a collective "my lord", four hauled the unconscious ruffians out of the inn, while two escorted the lone conscious man out into the cold. He glanced once at Aragorn before turning his head and exiting the room; the king saw anger and fear written over his expression. It was one thing to attack a man; it was another to attack your sovereign lord. And the fact that he had attacked in sobriety while the others had in drunken stupidity made it even worse. He was not yet sure what he would do to them; it all depended on what happened when they met again.

But that was for another time. Six guards and the ruffians left the tavern, leaving behind two guards, including Galerthor, to Aragorn's chagrin. "Where is the boy that I sent for you?" he asked them.

"We left him behind," Galerthor replied. "We did not want him to get hurt."

"When does the lad usually go home?" Aragorn asked Aearhil.

It took a moment for the flustered innkeeper to respond. "He- he leaves an hour after the last bell, my lord. He can have the rest of the day off," he added as an afterthought.

"Where does he live?"

After Aearhil gave his address, Aragorn told the remaining guards to go back to the guard station, where they had left the boy, and to bring him home.

"Keep the explanation simple and clean," he emphasized. "Do not worry his parents overmuch."

The innkeeper's wife rushed out of the kitchen with the lad's belongings, giving them to the guard with thanks. She glanced uncertainly at the king, unsure of how to act. Rather than trying to figure out how to respond to him, she went back into the kitchen to tend to the younger boy, who was still frightened over the events of the afternoon.

When both guards left- Galerthor rather reluctantly, Aragorn noted- he turned back to the five men who were looking at him with mixed expressions. When he focused on them, they bowed, a couple muttering 'sire' under their breaths.

"Please, rise," he said quietly; his throat was really starting to bother him. When they complied, he stepped closer so he did not need to raise his voice unnecessarily. "I am sorry for what has been done to your inn, Master Aearhil," he said, glancing about the disarrayed room. "I shall compensate for any damages done this night."

"That is too kind of you, sir- my lord," the innkeeper said rather hurriedly with another bow. "You need not though, if-"

"I insist," Aragorn interrupted, smiling. "This is a fine establishment, and I would see this place looking its finest. I only ask that you allow me to eat and drink here again."

"Of course, of course!" Aearhil gasped, shocked that anyone would dare to think the alternative. "It is an honor to serve you."

Aragorn slightly nodded in response, not quite sure how to respond. The inn fell into an uncomfortable silence as the conversation died in the air. The king was often good at making conversation, but his thoughts failed him at that moment of time. Aragorn decided to blame this lack of ideas on his cold, which was happily reminding him of its existence in his head, sinuses, and throat.

The innkeeper and his patrons looked just as uncomfortable as he felt, so he decided to do them all a favor and take his leave. It would do him well to get back home and find his bed before his cold developed into something worse. He refused to contemplate the idea that it already may have developed into something worse.

He fished out a few coins in his pocket and held them out to the innkeeper. "For the drink and meal."

"Oh, no, I couldn't-"

"I always pay for any service I use."

"The soup was free, my lord."

Aragorn smiled. "Very well then; for the drink and conversation, as well as a small start to help compensate for your damages." He gently took Aearhil's hand and put the coin in it. "I shall send someone down in the morn to account for all of the damage done. Good night, gentlemen," he said with a small nod. He then put up his hood, went to the door, and walked out into the chilly afternoon air.

Once the door was shut, the inn was completely silent for a moment. Aearhil broke the silence with a cough, and then cleared his throat. "Well. Our lord was... not like what I had expected him to be."

The young man nodded in agreement. "I thought he would be more... well... kingly."

"But he was kingly, young man," Randir said with a grin. "He did what a leader is supposed to do- protect his people. Granted, I don't think many other leaders took the responsibility so literally..."

Giladan chuckled and turned to Corudir. "Did your opinion change, hmm?" The other man simply grunted, a slight frown on his face.

"D'you think he heard me earlier? When I was complaining?"

"Maybe," Randir shrugged. "I wouldn't worry. He seems to be a just man. Maybe he'll look into your problem, eh?"

"We'll see," Corudir said with a shrug. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Do come again!" Aearhil called after them cheerfully. The young man followed the old men, amazement still written on his features.

Once the patrons were gone, Aearhil looked at his upturned tavern in dismay. He'd have to close down for the evening; there was simply too much destruction for him to clean up. The thought that the king liked his tavern and was willing to compensate for all the damages certainly made up for it, though.

His wife poked her head out of the kitchen. "Is everyone gone, Aearhil?"

"Yes." He hung a sign that said 'closed' on the front window. "Is the lad ready? I'll take him home."

"Yes, yes." She called out to the boy over her shoulder, and then turned back to her husband. "Was that truly the king, then?"

"Apparently so," he replied, sitting down on one of the many chairs in the room. "I can scarcely believe it. The king, here in my tavern! And what he did for us, too. None of us here could have defended ourselves like that. Those ruffians may have killed us."

His wife nodded solemnly as she glanced around the room. A few chairs and a couple of tables were broken, there was fallen furniture and scattered utensils about, and one of the windows had a large crack in it that was already letting in cold air. "It will be a heavy price fixing this all up," she said with a frown.

"Did you not hear? The king said he'd compensate for all damages," Aearhil said. Relief immediately flooded her features.

"Well, bless him," she said. "He's much better than I could have ever hoped." The boy then emerged from the kitchen. He looked at the disarrayed room with shock, and paled at the bloodstains that dotted the room.

"Come, dear, do not worry," the innkeeper's wife said when she saw his expression. "The men who did this are gone and are not coming back here. Everything will be back to normal soon. Come now, Aearhil will take you home now."

Aearhil grabbed his own coat and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. "Lock the door behind me; I'll come through the back.

She nodded, and Aearhil escorted the boy out into the frigid air before quickly closing the door behind him. The innkeeper's wife went into the kitchen and found some old rags that she could use to start cleaning up. The king may compensate for damages, but that would not get the bloodstains off of the floor. She then went to work, hoping to get the inn up and running by the morrow. Circumstances or not, business must continue.