Chapter 34 – The Beginning Of All Things

A week passed and the White Tree grew and blossomed, taking root more swiftly than could have been hoped. Already it seemed as though it had always been there, and its fragrant flowers were a beauty to behold, but for none so much as Sam. Often he could be found beneath the tree, looking up into the boughs with a far away look upon his face.

On the morning before Midsummer, Frodo found him there after breakfast and sat beside him. “A farthing for your thoughts,” Frodo said after some time passed in silence.

Sam stirred as one from a dream. He turned to Frodo and blinked several times before focusing on his friend’s face, then he looked up at the tree again and sighed. “It reminds me of the Party Tree. I always thought Rosie and I would marry under that tree. I guess sitting here makes home seem closer somehow, if you follow.”

“It does feel like home,” Frodo said wistfully. He put his hand to the tree’s bole and closed his eyes to listen, as he had seen Legolas do so many times before. He heard nothing but the wind blowing through the leaves and Sam shifting beside him. If the tree was speaking, it was in a language Frodo knew not.

Frodo gave it up and took Sam’s hand instead, squeezing it once. “We’ll be homeward bound soon enough. For now, I must see to Petras. I got a letter from him yesterday that the jewelry box will be ready to pick up today. He finished it sooner than I thought possible. Master Duilfin has also invited you and the lads to luncheon. We can kill two orcs with one stone. Are you coming?”

“Of course, Master,” Sam said. He stood and gave the tree a final glance. He’d be back, later.

They returned to the house to pick up Merry and Pippin, who were upstairs and clearly in the middle of a contest to determine who could sing the bawdiest tavern song. Sam, his ears burning, went to the parlor to write a list for the market while Frodo went to gather his cousins. Ten minutes later, they were heading to the third circle to the home of Master Duilfin.

The cooper’s house was located just above the coopery. A stair on the side led up to the house, and the courtyard there was littered with spare bits of wood and metal, and barrels for collecting rain water. Merry knocked upon the door and a minute later it was answered by a young woman. She smiled at them and bid them enter. She saw them settled in the parlor, then went to fetch the master and his son.

The hobbits looked around the parlor while they waited. If Lady Bodil’s home was sparsely decorated out of choice, they guessed that Master Duilfin’s was decorated so out of necessity. Items had likely been traded for things they needed and the rest lost or damaged in the fighting. Many homes on the lower circles had been sacked by the Enemy, and Merry pointed out a few slash marks on the walls that could only have been made by tempered steel.

As they waited, they could hear scuffling down the hall in one of the chambers. It sounded as though someone was wrestling with a wild boar, and it ended a few minutes later with a resounding thunk. The hobbits looked at each other questioningly but, guessing what was likely the cause of the noise, none of them were willing to get up and inspect the matter. It was just as well, as their guess was confirmed a few minutes later when the woman returned, followed by Master Duilfin pushing Petras in a wheeled chair.

The hobbits stood and bowed to their host, who bowed back. Petras nodded from his chair; a small bundle was wrapped in cloth on his lap. The woman went to gather the refreshments, and when she returned, they were all seated. The woman sat next to Petras to be of assistance if needed. Only then did the hobbits notice the resemblance between them. 

The young soldier looked improved, if still too thin. Some color had returned to him, and he was freshly bathed and groomed for their visit. His clothes had been resettled as best they could after the shuffle from bed to chair. His eyes still held a wounded look, but there too could be seen a silent determination, or perhaps desperation. His eyes met Frodo's, and they smiled as old friends.

“Lord Frodo, might I introduce you to my cousin, Pavla,” Petras said. “She lost her husband in the war and she has come to stay with us. Pavla, this is Lord Frodo, the Ring-bearer.”

Pavla managed a bob that resembled a curtsy from her sitting position. “Lord Frodo, I am honored to meet you. The country sings your praises. Truly, we would have been lost if not for you.”

“I am honored to meet you as well, Mistress Pavla,” Frodo said.

“Pavla dear,” Master Duilfin said, “may I also introduce Lord Samwise, Lord Frodo’s companion; the Ernil i Pheriannath, Sir Peregrin; and the Holdwine of Rohan, Sir Meriadoc.”

“It is an honor to meet you as well,” Pavla said. “I have heard so much about all of you. I was surprised to learn that you would be visiting today, and I admit at first I thought my uncle playing a joke on me!”

“He was not joking,” Merry said. “We met your father at the groundbreaking of the Pelennor. Were you here for that?”

“I was, but I was not feeling well,” Pavla said. “I stayed home that day.”

“I am glad that you are feeling better then,” Merry said.

“And we are sorry to hear about your husband,” Pippin said. “Do you have children?”

“Alas, no,” Pavla said, smiling bravely. “We hadn’t been married more than a few months when the call for soldiers came. We had hoped to begin a family in a year or two. Now all I have of him are memories.”

“They are good memories,” Frodo stated.

“Oh yes! He was a kind man, very good to me,” Pavla said. “But enough about me. I am certain you came to see my uncle and cousin. I do not wish to get in the way.”

“You are not a bother at all,” Frodo assured her. “Have you been to see the White Tree that the King has planted at the Citadel yet?” For many of the citizens of Gondor had made the journey to see the tree and marvel at it. So long had there been only death and an echo of former glory standing there at the pool. To now see life and new hope growing there was beyond imagining.

“We have not,” Duilfin said with a sideways glance at his son.

Frodo leaned forward and nodded at the bundle in Petras’s lap. “Is that the jewelry box?” he asked, changing the subject, for he guessed it was a sore one.

Petras nodded. “It is,” he said and played with the cloth wrapping nervously. “I hope that it suffices.”

He pulled back the cloth and held it out for Frodo and the others to see. It was exactly as it looked in the design. Petras had chosen ash wood, a hard and sturdy wood. Making the box and pedestal as one continuous piece had been more difficult than he originally thought, and this final product was his seventh attempt. He began to doubt himself after his fourth failed attempt, but he had persevered, not wanting to let down the Ring-bearer. He had never been prouder than when he finally succeeded.

After that, the rest had been fairly simple and straightforward. He and Frodo had not spoken of colors or paints, so Pavla had suggested midnight blue, with white for the Elven letters and designs. She had also suggested the silver cloth for the inside of the box.

“Do you think a queen will like it?” Petras asked nervously.

“It’s wonderful!” Merry complimented.

“It’s truly beautiful!” Pippin agreed.

“Are you sure you aren’t Elvish yourself then?” Sam asked, making Petras and Pavla grin.

“Quite sure, my lord,” Petras said. “I was so afraid that I wouldn’t finish by your deadline, Lord Frodo. I wanted it to be perfect. But, if I may ask, who is to be queen? Do you know? No one else seems to know anything about it.”

Frodo took the box and set it upon the table to continue admiring it. “We have our guess, but I believe Lord Aragorn has intended it be a surprise. You have not told anyone else?”

“Oh, no, my lord. We’ve only been asking how long until the King shall find himself a Queen,” Duilfin said. “Needless to say, there are many a young maid pining for the chance to meet with the King.”

“You should have heard the talk after the ball,” Pavla said. “No one could believe that the King Elessar had been seen dancing with bar wenches! Oh, the courtesans were in a fury over it! To think that they’ve been waiting patiently for an invitation to meet with the King, and here these four wenches get to meet him first! It was such delicious gossip!”

“I am sure that Lord Aragorn would love to hear more about this gossip,” Pippin said, with a wicked little glint in his eyes. “Can you be more specific?”

“Yes, do tell,” Merry goaded.

“Now, let me think,” Pavla said, sitting back. “I was at the market doing the weekly shopping when I heard the maiden to Miss Vibeka talking to the cook’s aide for Lady Finalda...”

They spent the next hour swapping gossip, then retreated to the kitchen for luncheon. Pavla had prepared simple fare, cucumber sandwiches, sliced cheese, strawberries and apples with a cream sauce, and wine. She worried it was not grand enough, but the hobbits were quick to assure her this was precisely what they were accustomed to eating at home. They ate with gusto and when the meal was over they returned to the parlor to speak again.

The hobbits regaled them with memoirs from their homeland and Pavla told them about growing up in Minas Tirith. She had met Boromir once, though she was just a child when he was already lieutenant of his company. He had helped her once when he saw her struggling to roll a barrel of mead up to the fourth circle. He had been most kind to her, letting her dither on about her sewing and crocheting as they worked. Then he had escorted her back to her parents’ house and kissed her hand. After that, whenever he saw her in the city, he would smile and nod, and sometimes greet her good day.

“I was very sad to hear that he had been killed,” she concluded. “He was a good man.”

“Yes he was,” Frodo said.

As they readied to leave, Petras asked to speak with Frodo in private. Duilfin pushed Petras into the study and closed the door. Frodo stood before Petras and waited.

“I wanted to thank you,” Petras said. “I still sometimes wonder if coming back was the right thing to do. There is so much I am unable to do for myself anymore, and Pavla must help me constantly, but I am starting to learn how to manage certain things on my own. Making the box for you was a handy distraction.”

“But?” Frodo prompted when the lad paused.

“But now I’m finished with it,” Petras said, the quiet despair returning to haunt his grey eyes. “What do I do now?”

“Now, you do whatever you can do,” Frodo said. “Help your cousin. Work on strengthening your arms so you can push yourself around.”

“Yes, yes, of course, but what do I do?” Petras asked. “I cannot do anything worthy. I will never marry, never have children. I try to imagine what my life will be like ten years from now, twenty, thirty, and all I see is this chair.”

Frodo didn’t answer at first. He knew too well how the lad felt, had attempted to imagine his own life down the road and seen only blackness. Yet he had to believe there was hope; the fact that they were all free was proof of that. Why then wasn’t it enough?

"I don’t know,” Frodo said, in answer to his own question as much as Petras's. He smiled wanly. “I don’t know what you do, or what I am to do. All I know is that the impossible is possible. If you can imagine it, you can make it be. If you can imagine it. What can you imagine?”

Petras shrugged. “I can perhaps make a living with this,” he said, pointing at the jewelry box that Frodo carried. “Specializing in small pieces. I can expand on that, to working with metal and stones. I’ll need the equipment of course. I have to return the tools you bartered for me.”

“Necessity fosters creativity,” Frodo said. “I’m sure that you can come up with some way of getting the equipment you need. You can barter your services, just as I bartered food. Anyone who gives you tools will receive free repairs on their tools.”

“Anyone who has tools can fix their own,” Petras said.

“Not everyone,” Frodo said. “Most just use their broken tools for scraps and have to trade for new ones. There are other things you could do. Everyone needs something.”

“What do you need?” Petras asked.

“I need to know that you’ll be all right,” Frodo answered. “You will be, won’t you?”

Petras breathed deep and let it out in a huff. He nodded bravely. “I’ll try to be. I keep telling myself every day will be better than the last. They gave me this cream to put on my… it helps with the pain.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frodo said. He shook Petras’s hand. “I hope to see you again, before we leave the city.”

“I would like that,” Petras said.

“Then until next time,” Frodo said and took his leave.

He found his friends outside with Master Duilfin, digging through the scraps that were littered there. They discovered that Duilfin had a system of organization: pieces that could be melted to reuse went in one pile, parts that could be refashioned into other tools went in another pile, parts he could barter to others in yet a third pile, and the wood of course for burning.

Duilfin bowed to them and bid them farewell. He knelt before Frodo and took his hand. “Thank you for my son,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” Frodo said, with a glance around the piles. He was getting an idea. “He’s a good lad. Perhaps he can hold onto those tools a few weeks longer. He could begin to make his own from these scraps.”

“That’s just what we were looking for, sir,” Sam said. “A hammer, adze, and chisel will be what he’s needing right off, and he could use those to fashion the smaller tools for the detail work. Course, smaller instruments are easier to break, so he’ll likely want molds for those; it’ll be easier to make news ones from melted metal than to try to fashion them from bone or wood all the time.”

They poked around for another few minutes, piling the best candidates for future tools near the door. Then they left to complete their marketing and returned home to find that Legolas and Gimli in a flurry of excitement – or in as much of a flurry as a stoic dwarf and taciturn elf can be. Word had come from the Citadel – a party was approaching the city and Aragorn wanted them dressed in their best and ready to greet the guests before the main gate by sundown.

The hobbits hurried to put their shopping away. Sam began the water steaming, enough for four baths, while Merry and Pippin set about making a quick tea. Frodo slipped into the study without being seen and sat in the shadows. He was tired already from luncheon and the marketing, and he had learned by now that doing too much was a guarantee for nightmares come bedtime. He thought he could guess just who was in this party, and knowing that, he couldn’t even begin to contemplate not showing up. Aragorn was counting on them; he would have to be there.

So for now, he sat in the stuffed chair and closed his eyes. He tried to clear his mind as he did when using the healing stones. Soon enough the sounds in the parlor and kitchen faded away, and his thoughts dimmed to soft whispers. Yet even then he could still hear loud as thunder Petras’s desperate plea.

What do I do now?  

Earlier that morning, word came from Amon Dîn that a party of fair folk was coming from the northwest. A runner came down from the White Tower and found Aragorn in his house as he was preparing for another day at court. He was mentally running through a list of proclamations he needed to sign when the knock sounded on his door and the runner entered.

“Fair folk? They are sure?” Aragorn asked, doing his best to appear calm, even while his heart leapt into his throat.

“They sent the signal, My Lord,” the runner said. “They should be arriving in the city by sundown.”

“Thank you. Send word to the guards on the wall to permit the party through Rammas Echor and to send work back to me when they have done so. I would meet them at the Gate. At last they have come! Let all the City be made ready!*”

“Yes, My Lord,” the runner said with a bow and left.

Aragorn waited until he was certain the runner was out of earshot, then let out a whoop, surprising his valet. He sent his valet to fetch breakfast so he could pace the room in private. A party of Fair Folk… Arwen. He was surprised to find his palms sweating and shaking with anticipation. After all these years and all his labors, the day had finally arrived. However was he to get through the day’s court proceedings?

Yet somehow he managed it. Just after three o’clock, another runner came into the Hall of Kings and announced that the party was passing through the north gate of Rammas Echor. Aragorn finished the current item of business, then ended the court early so that he and Faramir could prepare for the guests’ arrival.

When Aragorn was ready, he met Faramir at the courtyard of the White Tree, and together they went down to the fifth circle to the Fellowship’s house, where they were joined by the others. As they made their way down to the first circle, they noticed that the citizenry were beginning to line the streets. They too were eager to see this party that was approaching, as they wondered what new surprise their King had in store for them now. The excitement in the city was building to a fevered pitch, and by the time twilight was approaching nearly every citizen was on the streets or leaning over rooftops and balconies.

A small contingent of Guards on the first circle had to hold back the mass of citizenry to keep clear the square before the Gate. In the middle of the square stood the Fellowship, Aragorn and Gandalf at the front, the hobbits to one side, and Legolas, Gimli and Faramir, standing in for Boromir, to the other. 

The minutes dragged by and as the shadows lengthened, the whispers of those standing nearby grew into an impatient din. At length the guards on the wall sounded their horns and all in the square grew silent again. The great Gate swung slowly open, and the crowd pressed forward for a better look.

Elrohir and Elladan entered first, carrying between them a banner of silver. After them came Glorfindel and Erestor, followed by all the members of the Last Homely House. Then came Galadriel and Celeborn riding upon white steeds that seemed to shine just as did the Lady and Lord; Frodo could hear Gimli’s gasp of surprise upon seeing the grand queen so unexpectedly. Many of their people followed them. Each stopped to greet Aragorn and brief hellos were bade to the rest of the Fellowship as each elf cleared the gate to make way for the next person. The clearing in the square was nearly full when at last came Elrond. He held in his hand the Sceptre of Annúminas, but no one paid this any heed for riding at his side was Arwen, the Evenstar, in a gown of sparkling silver. Behind her the night sky shone with many twinkling lights that beamed down upon her hair and in her eyes, and all about her was the fragrance of primrose and dahlia.

Frodo gasped at the sight of her. He had never before seen her like this, under the night sky with starlight shining upon her. He turned to Gandalf and whispered, “At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only shall be loved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fears pass away!”*

Gandalf smiled but could do no more than that at the moment.

Aragorn bowed to Elrond and Arwen. “Welcome, Father.” He had planned a much more elaborate speech, but words failed him in this moment.

Elrond smiled kindly and bowed, as beside him Arwen curtsied. “Hello, my son,” he said. He handed over the sceptre, then took his daughter’s hand. He squeezed it gently and, with only mild hesitation, placed it in Aragorn’s hand. Then Aragorn and Arwen led the way into the High City, and as the citizenry beheld their Royal Couple, shining as bright as the stars, they fell to their knees in awe.

At length they reached the sixth circle and there many soldiers and pages greeted them to take their steeds. The party then continued to the Citadel and the Steward’s House, for Arwen would not enter the King’s House until she was Queen.

The Steward’s House was for once fully staffed to accommodate the many guests, but Faramir did not take the company inside but instead led them around the House to the Great Lawn where tables stood and food was steaming, filling the air with delicious scents.

The meal was grand and wonderful, and the night was filled with laughter and music. Midnight came and went and still no one was ready to retire, until finally Gandalf stood and tapped his glass with his spoon.

“If any of us are to be awake in the morning for the ceremony, I suggest we take to our beds now.”

“But it is tomorrow! Surely we can have the ceremony now!” Merry said.

Everyone laughed. “As much as I would love to do so,” Aragorn said, standing, “I believe Gandalf is right. What is a few more hours?” He gave his hand to Arwen to help her to her feet.

“Come my friends,” Aragorn said to the Fellowship. “You will stay with me in my home tonight.”

They went into the House and Gandalf, sensing that sleep was the last thing on any of their minds, took out a flask which he passed around. “This will help you to find your slumber. You must be alert in the morning.”

The hobbits took rooms on the second floor. Sam saw his master settled before he went to his own bed. Despite the drink, he lay awake for another hour, thinking of his Rose. She was on his mind constantly these days, and after seeing Aragorn reunited with Arwen, she was nearly all he could think about. His only comfort was that soon enough they would be permitted to leave and he would see Rose again. What may happen then he couldn’t guess, but as he drifted off to sleep at last, he dreamt of her in a green dress carrying a bouquet of furze and thyme. Ribbons streamed in her curls and she smiled as radiantly as the sun. She was walking towards him where he stood under the Party Tree, only it wasn’t the Party Tree, and it bloomed with fragrant flowers and glowed silver under the sunlight. She reached him and put her hand in his and –

“Sam!” Pippin poked him again. “Are you ever waking up? We have to get ready. The wedding’s in two hours!” He poked Sam again and stayed bent over the gardener until his eyes blinked open. “Well, it’s about time! All these years of waiting and now they’re rushing to the altar. I don't see why they can’t wait until after first breakfast.”

Two hours later, the hobbits were standing with the other guests on the Great Lawn, which had been prepared for the ceremony while the others had been sleeping. An altar had been placed at its center, with an arbor behind it, and vines of ivy had been weaved around its trellis.

At the altar stood Elrond, Gandalf and Faramir. They spoke quietly amongst themselves until at length Aragorn appeared. The whispering ceased, and as if on cue the sun peeked over the distant mountains, shining upon the king with warm golden rays. He held the Sceptre of Annúminas in his hand and he walked down the aisle with a regal air that brought everyone to attention. Behind him came his brothers, and when they reached the altar they turned, waiting.

Then from the Steward’s House, the doors opened and the bride’s train began to file out, Galadriel and Celeborn first, then a handful of maids from Elrond’s House, and finally Arwen. The walk seemed to take forever but before too long she stood at the altar across from Aragorn. She took his hand and they gazed into each other’s eyes so intently that it seemed everything else around them faded.

Sam had no idea what was said or done during that ceremony. Looking back on it later, he could only ever say that it was grand and beautiful and perfect, and that it was the finest Midsummer Day he had ever known up to that point. When the newlyweds kissed and the audience clapped, he clapped with them and didn’t notice the tears in his eyes until Frodo handed him a handkerchief.

The King and Queen retreated down the aisle, followed by Elrond, Galadriel and the others. The rest of the guests followed them to Merethrond where a grand breakfast had been prepared.

After the feast, Aragorn took Arwen and her family on a tour of the King’s House. The Fellowship came as well; this would be the first time that Gimli, Gandalf and Legolas had seen the house since its remodeling.

Floor by floor they went. In the rooms that were redecorated, Pippin was quick to point out all the things that were his idea, interrupting the twins’ commentary of the changes made. The library looked much brighter and more welcoming than before, and the long curtains waved in the breeze as the sea coming to a grassy shore. The painting that would go above the fireplace was not yet complete; Beren and Luthien would be the final touch. The sunroom was also brighter and the plants there were arranged in much the same way as they had been in her sunroom in Rivendell, though they were by necessity of different varieties. Still, Sam had done his best to select plants that were of the same family as those in the Last Homely House. In the master guest suite on the second floor, the portrait of Queen Fíriel now hung over the mantle and lent the room with a regal air it had lacked before. The elegant Elven designs softened the room and the light shined through the uncovered windows; the moveable shade the twins’ had commissioned for the room was pulled to one side. When and if the twins returned to the city to visit - for they would not be sailing with their father - they would be comfortable and at home in these chambers.

On the third and final floor, Aragorn bid the company to wait. He turned to Arwen and kissed her hand. “My Lady,” he said, then bent down and swooped her up in his arms. The shout of surprised delight that escaped Arwen’s lips was music to his ears. “Close your eyes,” he requested, and she did so without hesitation.

He carried her up the final set of stairs and down the short hall leading to the main parlor of the master suite. He set her gently on her feet, took her hand and said, “Open them.”

Arwen opened her eyes to a room that was as close to resembling the main parlor in Rivendell as could be managed. Clearly, they were unable to open up the walls to expose the room to the elements, but they had painted a mural of Rivendell’s pine forest on one wall and hung lacy white curtains on the other, so that light would come through them whether opened or closed. The curtains and windows were open now, and a fresh breeze carried the scent of salt air into the room. Arwen slowly turned, taking in the room. Tears of joy welled in her eyes and she hugged Aragorn fiercely.

“It feels like home already,” she said.

“Can we come in now?” Pippin shouted from the stair.

Aragorn and Arwen laughed. “Yes, come in.”

The others entered and they completed the tour.

“I am duly impressed,” said Gandalf, eyes twinkling. “The hobbits have a fair eye.”

“I have a fair eye, two of them actually,” Pippin said. “It’s a good thing I was here to help avert their worst ideas.”

Merry nudged him in the ribs playfully. “Oh, I suppose mud brown was a bad idea for the bedchambers, but I hardly think puce was any better,” he joked, making everyone laugh.

“Pippin did come to the rescue many times though,” Frodo admitted. “Even your brothers were impressed with some of his suggestions. I suppose being raised with four sisters helps a lad to be more… womanly.”

“Womanly?!” Pippin scoffed. “You think I’m womanly?”

“And what is wrong with that?” Galadriel asked, pulling herself up to her full, intimidating height.

“Nothing, Fair Lady,” Pippin said, embarrassed and horrified.

Galadriel laughed. “Just remember that.”

“You have a grand view from here,” Legolas said, looking out of the windows. He smelled the salt air and his heart clenched. Each time he smelled the Sea the longing grew that much stronger, but he could wait. He would not leave his friends to sail, and there was still much to do here. He turned and saw Galadriel watching him knowingly, but she smiled when he did. Her warning had gone unheeded but not unappreciated.

“A grand view perhaps, for those who can see it,” Gimli said with a huff. “You need seating boxes here, lad, or at least a stepping stool. Why did you hobbits not think of that?”

“Begging your pardon, but we’ve had enough of heights for one lifetime,” Sam said with a shudder. He could put aside his fear of heights at need now, as could the others, but none of them would have dreamed of wanting to see the view.

“Shall we go down to the city now?” Elrond suggested. “My sons can guide us.”

“We’ll guide you too,” Pippin insisted. “We know the city better than they do, and we owe you for making us so welcome in Rivendell.”

“We also know where all the good Midsummer celebrations are going to be,” Merry said with a conspiratorial wink.

“Then by all means, lead the way,” Elrond said with a stately bow.

Aragorn and Arwen hung back, unnoticed by the others as they made their way back downstairs, Pippin’s running monologue filling the hallway.

Aragorn chuckled and turned to his wife. His wife! “Are we really here?”

“We really are,” Arwen said. She cupped his bearded chin and smiled wistfully. “You did it, beyond all hope, as I always knew you would.”

They leaned in for a kiss, but at that moment, Arwen caught the last audible part of Pippin’s rattling speech. “And there’s a tavern on the fourth circle, The Peeking Eagle, where we met these bar wenches and invited them to the Haradrim’s farewell feast to court Strider! It was hilarious!”

Arwen leaned back out of the kiss, much to Aragorn’s confusion: he had not the keen hearing of Elves.

“Is something wrong, my love?” he asked.

“Bar wenches?” Arwen asked, raising an eyebrow. She wasn’t upset - yet.

“Pippin,” Aragorn hissed under his breath. He had been hoping to go a few days longer before Arwen caught word of that fiasco. He sighed and, taking Arwen’s hand, led her to their bedchamber. If he was going to explain the bar wenches, he’d have to start at the beginning. “Have you ever heard of streaking?” he began. “It’s something that only hobbits do,” he added quickly, before Arwen could get the wrong idea.

“I’m listening,” she said, though she wasn’t really. The story could wait.

To be concluded…

GF 11/17/09
Published 11/20/09

* - From “The Steward and the King”, The Return of the King