Chapter 10 – The Kings’ Men

Aragorn greeted his friends the next morning in the entrance hall to his house, standing where Porcia or Jodocus usually stood to greet guests. Aragorn was not alone. He was flanked on either side by his foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, both of whom seemed to find the situation more than a little amusing. First Legolas and now Aragorn, their own foster brother, newly restored King of Gondor and Anor, were fretting over the perian like so many mother hens. When told this, Aragorn had drawn himself up with all the dignity he could muster and noted that keeping Frodo and Merry distracted from their promise to annihilate each other was more than worth the effort. If the ruse also happened to distract Sam from his intention to spy on him, then that was all the better.

Frodo and Sam greeted their king warmly enough; Gandalf tipped Aragorn a wink over their heads as he came in behind them. Gandalf had been pleased to discover himself awakened by the clunking of Gimli’s boots on the stairs that morning rather than to the cries of the hobbits’ night terrors during the night. All the hobbits had been surprised at how well they slept after their feast of Sunlands cuisine. They had dreamed, as Sam had suspected, but they had been the odd and disjointed dreams of contentment rather than the dark nightmares of weeks past. Only Frodo harbored a mild headache, an unfortunately normal occurrence these days.

The morning’s tranquility had not lasted long, however. Merry and Frodo had both been disappointed to find the other already awake and ready for the day ahead. Frodo’s disappointment was furthered by seeing Merry dressed in his livery; the Holdwine would of course be training with the other Riders this morning. There had still been immediate suspicion on both their parts. Why was Merry so jilted to see Frodo already awake? Why had Frodo wanted Merry to still be slumbering? Conversation over breakfast had been pleasantly interrogating, with neither giving up anything, much to the other’s irritation.

Aragorn winked back at Gandalf. He would hear the specifics later. For now, he only needed to know that his friends were here, or otherwise engaged, would soon be busy, and with luck would be too tired come nightfall to plan espionage or high-jinx.

“My friends,” Aragorn greeted in return. “I see you received my letter.”

Frodo narrowed his eyes, hands curling at his sides. “Letter?” When Merry arrived after luncheon, he would have some explaining to do.

“Humph,” Sam grunted, arms crossed.

“I see,” Aragorn said. On either side of him, his foster brothers lifted identical eyebrows.

Aragorn turned down the hall that led to the library and quickly filled in Frodo and Sam on the specifics, such as they were. “There isn’t much more to explain. I went over your suggestions with Mistress Porcia and Master Jodocus. I approved many of your suggestions, some with modifications, and came up with a few of my own. Elladan and Elrohir know what is to be done for today and tomorrow. By then, Jodocus should have been able to track down the proper commissions to begin next week’s work.

“I naturally don’t want either of you, nor Merry when he joins you, doing anything too strenuous, lest you injure yourselves anew. I will leave it to you to know how much you can and cannot do. If you begin to feel fatigued, you are to stop immediately and rest for the remainder of the day. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Frodo and Sam replied, sounding reluctant but obedient.

“Strider?” Frodo said as they reached the library, where Amarlicus and Adrik were already waiting. The guards promptly stood at attention as soon as Aragorn came into view.

“Yes Frodo?” Aragorn asked, motioning for the guards to stand easy.

“I’m concerned about Pippin,” Frodo said. “He was so looking forward to helping with this project. He would never complain, of course, but I know it is disheartening for him to be left out so. Perhaps he could get a day or two off his regular duties? It would mean ever so much to him.”

“Aye, it would at that,” Sam agreed heartily.

Aragorn knew them too well to be fooled by their friendly concern, but he had to admit they had a point. Pippin had volunteered his friends for this endeavor. It was only right that he be allowed to join in the fun. Also, it would keep Pippin well away from the Haradrim; they had clearly been intrigued by him yesterday and had commented much on the other hobbits during the feast. Aragorn felt no ill-intent in their interest, but thought it better to be cautious until he could discover why exactly the Haradrim found the hobbits so fascinating. Surely, they couldn’t have heard that a halfing had brought down the Dark Lord in the short amount of time they’ve been in the city. Had they somehow heard the stories beforehand? How much had the Southron prisoners he’d released after the battle at the Black Gate known or been able to discern?

Pushing aside these thoughts, Aragorn returned his attention to the hobbits. “I should be able to arrange that,” he said, to the obvious satisfaction of his friends. “I will send Pippin to join you as soon as a substitute can be found for him.” He turned to his foster brothers. “Make sure he is mindful of his back, legs and ankle. It will not take much effort for him to irritate his injuries.”

“Of course,” Elladan and Elrohir said. They had been briefed earlier on the injuries of the other hobbits and knew already from their years of helping their father what signs to look for that would signal the onset of fatigue or strain.

“I will check on your progress as soon as court has been dismissed. Perhaps then I can lend a hand to the work,” Aragorn said.

Frodo and Sam turned to their tall companions once Aragorn and Gandalf had left. Amarlicus and Adrik were waiting patiently near the main table at the center of the library, where a number of fabric bolts were piled at one end. On the other end were several sketch pads, carpentry tools and baskets of textiles. Elrohir and Elladan started towards the table, Frodo and Sam following.

“Estel told us that he wishes this library to retain its current character but wished for more Elven influences, such as you saw in the library at Imladris,” Elrohir explained to the hobbits. “The pillars are a good start. He wishes for that to be extended into the room.”

“How so?” asked Sam, intrigued. Looking around the library, he couldn’t begin to imagine how they hoped to marry the elegance of the Elves to the boldness of the Men, but he decided to reserve judgment until after the project was complete.

“Simple touches throughout,” Elladan said, taking over for his brother. “We will begin with the mantle and the trim around the hearth and windows. We will remove those and replace them with trim of Elven design. The same will be done with the design of the chairs, though he wishes for those to still be cushioned, hence the fabric. Many of the paintings will remain, while some will be moved to other rooms. Over the mantle will go a new painting, of Beren and Luthien.”

“Where will the queen go?” Sam asked.

“Her portrait will be relocated to the master guest suite,” Elladan said.

“Who will paint the new painting?” Frodo asked.

“I will,” said Elrohir, surprising the hobbits and men. “It was I who painted the portrait of Beren and Luthien in the Hall of Fire. It should be simple enough to recreate it.”

“Well, I’m glad at least one of us knows what we’re doing,” Sam said.

“Two of us,” Elladan said with a kind smile. “I will be designing the chairs and trim for the craftsmen that Master Jodocus is commissioning. I will make the mantle and carve the trim for the hearth myself.”

“Is that all?” Amarlicus asked.

“For this room,” Elrohir said. “A new rug and curtains of course, to compliment the chairs. The sempstresses should be kept busy with that.”

“What other rooms are we to help with?” Frodo asked.

“The master suite, the sun room and the guest master suite,” Elrohir said with a smile. “That is all for now.”

“What about the gardens?” Sam asked.

“I am certain the gardeners will be pleased for your assistance, Master Samwise,” Elladan said. “Estel does wish to redesign the layout of the courtyard and eventually grow a maze of hedgerows in the garden behind the House. Perhaps once we have finished with our decisions here, we can go to the gardens and take another look at them.”

“Estel does not want to begin dismantling the garden so late in the year though,” Elrohir said.

“Oh, of course not, to be sure, but I did notice as a few of those rose bushes are overladen, and there’s a few bare spots in the atrium which some plotted plants would fill in neatly,” Sam said.

“The gardeners will be much joyed that you wish to lend your hand,” Elladan said. “Now, Adrik, will you be so kind as to unroll some of these bolts so we can look them over? Amarlicus, perhaps we can get some light in the room?”

The men rushed to fulfill these requests. Amarlicus went around the room opening all the curtains, while Adrik began unrolling the bolts and spreading them across the table. The hobbits pulled out the chairs to stand on top of them, giving them as good a view of the table and its contents as the Big Folk enjoyed. Amarlicus rejoined them shortly, and they bent to their work. Under the gentle guide of Elladan and Elrohir, they began to analyze fabrics, textures, colors and designs and feel that they had some clue what they were talking about.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all.  

“What again?” Pippin asked, looking up from his second breakfast plate into Bergil’s eager face.

“His Majesty said that I am to be his personal page today,” Bergil informed him again. He clearly believed it a great honor to be considered a suitable substitute to Sir Pippin in the king’s eyes. “His Majesty said that you are to report to the King’s House to help your friends with the redecorating there.”

“Am I?” Pippin said. He knew he couldn’t keep dodging the project, but he had hoped for at least one more day of freedom. “Only for today?”

“You are to have every Thursday and Sunday off your regular duties to help with the House,” Bergil said.

“Very well. Thank you, lad,” Pippin said, returning to his eggs.

“I have this for you also, Sir Pippin.” Bergil slipped him a folded piece of parchment before turning about and hurrying back upstairs to the throne room.

Pippin finished his second breakfast, bade farewell to his friends, then retreated outside. Once on the path to the King’s House, he opened Bergil’s note to find two more addresses and sets of directions to potential houseguests.

One was the Lord Amlach and Lady Genevieve. Pippin had already met the lady and spoken with her at length the week before, awed by her most unusual hairless cat. His friends had been awed by her cat as well, though Frodo and Sam shied away from touching it or getting too close. He could still hear Sam speculating over the cat later that night at dinner.

“They say as Morgoth made the orcs by torturing elves. Do you think maybe he tortured cats too?” Sam had asked.

“Why?” Merry had replied.

“Didn’t you see that thing? That’s an orc cat if I ever saw one,” Sam had said.

“No, I mean, why would he torture cats?” Merry had elaborated.

Sam had shrugged. “Because he could, I expect.”

“How do you torture a cat?” Legolas had asked.

“They don’t like having their tails pulled. They really don’t like being squeezed. They hate water,” Frodo had said. “I think if Sauron or Morgoth had attempted any of those, they’d have been shredded to death long ago.”

Pippin giggled now, thinking of that conversation, and gazed down at the next address. This belonged to a proprietor on the second circle, whose shop had been among the many to be destroyed in the battle. The man, named Duilfin, had beseeched the king not for help in rebuilding his business but for finding someone who could conceive of some way to help his son move around. His son’s legs had been lost under one of the boulders flung over the walls by the enemy, and he now lay in the Houses of Healing, slipping further and further into depression at his lost mobility. He’d rather die than be a burden to those he loved for the rest of his life. His father, understandably, was in despair for his son’s life.

Pippin slipped the parchment into his pocket and let himself into the King’s House, directing himself to the library. There he found his friends in deep contemplation over two fabrics, both of which looked much the same to him. Taking a deep breath and pasting a brave smile on his face, he entered the library, ready to take his punishment with good grace.

“Hallo!” he said. “I can see you haven’t accomplished much in my absence, but now that I am here, I trust we will be getting to work soon.”

“Pippin! You're just in time to lend us your expertise,” Frodo said, brightening considerably. “You are so much better at this sort of thing. You decide which one would look best hanging from the windows.”

Pippin walked around the table and climbed onto a third chair. Looking at the fabrics up close, he could better see the difference in the designs. Both were a pale green, the color of new grass, but one had hints of amber and amethyst in the color, while the other was printed with a floral design that added texture but not color. Pippin couldn’t say he cared for either of them by themselves and glanced at the discarded bolts with a swift eye. Spotting a third bolt, this one a solid lavender that complimented the amethyst nicely, he indicated for Amarlicus to unroll it and place it alongside the other two.

The twins nodded but the others merely looked confused. Pippin glanced behind him at the windows that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. “They’re long windows,” he explained. “You’ll want some variation in the curtains, so the eye doesn’t get bored. We can combine these three textiles. The lilac for the top three feet or so, closer to the ceiling. Then a shorter strip, of about a foot, of the printed fabric; the printed design can be overlaid with ribbon to match the lavender and amber to give the three a sense of unity. This solid green can make up the rest of the curtain. The printed green can also be used for making the sashes, trimmed on either side with amber.” He stood back in triumph, beaming at his own ingenuity.

Sam nodded, liking this idea immediately. “That’s a neat idea, Mr. Pippin,” he said. “My sister Daisy did somewhat similar when she first married and moved into her new house.”

“So did Pimmie,” Pippin said. Sometimes, it helped having three sisters. He felt a sharp pain in his chest as he thought of them all. He’d even be glad to see Pervinca again and would happily withstand her interrogations just to be able to hug her, provided of course that she would allow it.

“I believe our own sister would approve of that idea,” Elrohir said and set the three bolts aside. “Which shall we use for the seat cushions and the rug? This one, I think, for the seats.” He pointed to the solid lilac, which Pippin approved.

“A rug though, in such a high-traffic area, will need to be of much more solid material than any of these,” Pippin said. “These won’t survive being walked on for long.”

“No, naturally,” said Adrik, jumping into the debate. “But the rug should emulate the curtains, surely?”

“I think so,” Amarlicus agreed. “Perhaps the printed design around the edges, with the solid green in the middle. As the chairs will be the lavender, we won’t want to use that again. Or will we?”

“No,” Pippin, Sam and the twins said as one. “Best to keep the lavender as minimal as possible,” Sam elaborated. “The wood’s dark enough without adding to it too much. The lighter colors for the rug are best.”

This agreed upon, they went on to discuss the designs of the trim, mantle and chairs that Elrohir had sketched the night before.  

Aragorn was holding a closed court this morning. Gandalf, Faramir, his advisors, the captain-generals, the princes and lords of the many regions of Gondor, and Erkenbrand were all present. Also present was the embassy of Far Harad.

They had exhausted discussion of the feast yesterday night and the various foods and entertainment provided, the translators speaking quickly to convey the many compliments of their hosts. Aragorn watched the translators closely. He had discovered quickly their true origins, as had the diners in the Hall of Feasts last night. To look at them, one would never suspect there were not Haradrim, yet there was no mistaking their Gondorian roots when they spoke Westron. Aragorn had withheld comment yesterday; so much else needed to be conveyed and done. Now he hoped to find an answer to this riddle, if he could.

Discussion of the feast came to an end, and Aragorn moved to the next item on the agenda. Curious as he was about the translators, he felt it necessary to discuss the hobbits before anything else. If he felt the Haradrim harbored grudges towards his friends, then any further attempts at negotiation would be pointless.

Aragorn turned to the prince and, smiling kindly, said, “You were most interested in meeting one of my knights yesterday morning. The stunted one, I believe you called him.”

“Hobbit,” Amir Shahzad said slowly after waiting for the translation. He remembered the odd word the Pale King had used for the stunted ones. He smiled in return, thinking of them. “He… eh… he…” He struggled to find the right words and finally gave it up as a lost cause. He slipped into Haradrim, explaining with enthusiasm why he had taken notice of the hobbit.

“It was the feet, yes?” the translator said between the pauses in the prince’s rhetoric. “I noticed them because I thought he wore sandals, as we do. Then I saw that they were dirty, most unwholesome, for in Harad, to be clean is sacred and so we bathe often. But as I got closer I saw it was not dirt but hair upon his feet. That of course would make anyone take pause, yes? But you see, I took special notice because of the stories in my household of the stunted one. A long time ago, in the youth of my great-great-great-great grandfather, there came to our land a stunted one, half the height of any man, with curly hair upon his bared feet! That is why I stopped, yes? I had thought it just a story, but there was a stunted one before my very eyes! Imagine my delight to see so many more of them at the feast! If I had been able, I would have asked them if they were related to the one from the tales, but I fear that I did not have the chance, nor the words, to do so.”

Isengar Took immediately came to Gandalf’s mind. He knew that Isengar had sailed around much of the world in his years away from the Shire and had spoken with him at length upon his return to his homeland. Isengar had told him of his year in the Sunlands, hiding in a household that sought to protect him from discovery by the Black Númenóreans, who he had accidentally run ashore in a storm.

“Does the tale tell how this stunted one eventually left your lands?” Gandalf asked in jilted Haradrim.

Shahzad nodded. “He died there.”

Gandalf grunted in surprise at this. Not Isengar then. Perhaps Hildifons or one of the Boffins?

“This is the only tale you have heard concerning hobbits?” Faramir asked.

Shahzad nodded. “It is a great tale. Would you like to hear it?”

“I am sure that the hobbits would enjoy hearing it as well,” Aragorn said. “We will wait until they are present.”

“It is a gripping tale,” said Sultan Ashraf now, through the translator. “My son tells it well. You will not be disappointed, I do not think, but it is not only grand tales that have brought us here, I fear. The destruction of the Great Eye, that is what concerns us most. As we said last night, there are two Houses who allied themselves with the Eye when He first came into our lands, claiming to be a god of unequaled power. Clearly, this is not so true, for how could a god be destroyed?

“Already many in those Houses are awakening and would seek forgiveness from us whom they have wronged. Their leaders are most corrupted and they are adamant that they should not falter in the Great Eye’s plans, and there are many yet who still follow them. There will be civil war soon. This we must deal with when it comes. For now, we seek only to acquaint ourselves with the White King and learn if he is an honorable man. So far, we believe that you are.”

“I hope that I may continue to meet your expectations,” Aragorn said, satisfied for now. “Let me begin with the remainder of your embassy. I understand that you left a number of them at the Gate. We have found accommodations for them in the city and have sent a guard to escort them to their apartments and show them around the city.”

“That is most generous of you,” said Sultana Farzana; the translator softened his voice somewhat when speaking for her. “We will send word that your guard is coming. I hope that they are not scattered about too much. This is a city that is easy to become lost within.”

“They will be housed on the fourth circle, in a row of empty homes there,” Aragorn said. “They will be neighbors with the Rohirrim. In this way, they can begin to build a friendship with our allies to the west.”

“This is good news,” said Ashraf, nodding approvingly with a warning glance at his wife to not take offense. Should things have been reversed, they too would house the visiting embassy close to their guardhouses.

Farzana inclined her head slightly. “Yes, it is good news,” she agreed, though she met Aragorn’s eye with a calculating gaze. “It is good that we begin our friendship with such open trust.”

“A trust, I am sure, that will only grow stronger over the coming weeks,” Aragorn said, inclining his head in return. “As a show of your good faith, let us speak now of your translators and the other prisoners in your possession.”

Both translators stopped midway through this translation. They narrowed their eyes at Aragorn, ignoring the confusion of their companions. A silence fell over the room until finally one of the royal translators spoke. “We are not prisoners,” he said in severe tones. “We are Haradrim, and we hold no prisoners in our ranks.”

To be continued…

GF 3/7/09
Published 5/14/09