|
_____________________________________________________________
Arwen pushed open the heavy wooden shutters and peered
outside. A
weak shaft of sunlight struggled to pierce through the thick cover of
clouds. The long winter had given way in recent weeks to warmer weather
but a sudden return of cold had left a blanket of snow over the Pelennor
and had buried the first green shoots of spring beneath a veil of white.
In vain, her eyes searched the distant mountains for some sign of
movement, but all was quiet. She rested one hand on the white stone
surrounding the tower window and whispered a quiet prayer.
"My lady." She turned to find her attendants watching her with concerned
eyes and clutching their wraps around their shoulders in defense
against the chilled draft coming from the open window. She nodded
silently and tugged the shutters closed. She returned to her seat and
lifted a ledger book to review the last month's expenses but the numbers
could not hold her attention and swam before her unfocused eyes. She
shook her head and with an effort returned her attention to the matters
at hand. Her husband bore the responsibilities of ruling the kingdom on
his strong shoulders while her duties lay with the smooth running of the
keep and the comforts of its inhabitants.
"They will be home soon, my lady." The gnarled hand of the aging
housekeeper covered Arwen's smooth fingers briefly. The Queen raised her
eyes to meet the other woman's and forced a smile.
"Aye, and they will be hungry," she agreed. She set the ledger book
aside and instead focused her attention on readying the keep for the
return of the King and his troops. What delayed them, she did not know,
but the King's party was two days late in returning to Minas Tirith and
Arwen's nerves were on edge.
'Many years we spent parted and I did not worry thus at our separation,'
she mused silently. 'But I am unsettled and will not be at ease again
until I see his face.'
For the next few hours, she and her ladies discussed menus and other
household matters. She was once again tallying the numbers in the ledger
when a fierce pounding shook the heavy oaken door. One of her
attendants hurried to open it and admitted a young Gondorian soldier who
stepped over the threshold and sketched a hasty bow.
"The King's standard has been sighted, my lady," he informed her. "King
Elessar and his party should be here within the hour."
Arwen rose from her seat and sent a blinding smile toward the young man.
"Thank you." The soldier bowed again and retreated from the room to
return to his post. Arwen pressed a fist against her rapidly beating
heart and took a second to steady herself before bursting into motion.
"Hurry to the kitchens and advise the cook and her staff to begin
preparation of the meal we discussed," she ordered. A maid nodded and
dropped a hasty curtsy before hurrying away to her appointed task.
"Have the fire stoked in my chambers and water heated for the King's
bath," she instructed another woman. "Ask the cook that a platter of
food may be brought to my chambers so that my lord may ease his hunger
before supper if he chooses." She hastened to her chamber trailed by
several attendants who listened to her instructions and hurried to carry
them out so that all would be ready for the return of the no doubt
tired group of men.
"Send for the healers. I pray we have no use for them, but I wish them
nearby when we greet the King and his men in case any are in need of
their skills." She tugged the woolen day dress over her head and
splashed cool water on her face. Taking the cloth offered by one of her
ladies, she patted her skin dry and allowed them to slide a gown of blue
silk over her head. She sank into a chair as one of her attendants
loosened her hair from the thick braid that hung down her back and
brushed it until it flowed over her shoulders and framed her face. She
heard the loud scraping of the huge bolts on the city's gates being
thrown back and the excited shouts of its people as the King's party
rode across the Pelennor and into the first level of the city.
Arwen pressed cool hands against her flushed cheeks and drew in a
steadying breath as she left her chambers and made her way down to greet
the King. She took a fur-lined wrap from the hands of one of her ladies
and flung it around her shoulders and nodded to the soldiers on either
side of the entrance to open the doors. She waited at the top of the
steps above the courtyard and fixed her attention on the gates beyond
the winter-dormant white tree. Her manner was calm, her hands quietly
resting at her sides and her serene countenance gave no indication of
the excitement that send her pulse pounding against her breastbone.
Yet, when she saw her husband riding at the head of the column of men,
she could not stop herself from hurrying down the stone staircase to
meet him. Although his head was held proudly high, she was aware of a
slight drooping of his shoulders and the heavy manner in which he sat in
the saddle, as if too weary to hold himself with his characteristic
stature. His armor, which had sparkled in the sunlight when he had left
Minas Tirith two weeks earlier, now gleamed dully beneath a coating of
dirt and blood. She studied his face and form for signs of injury but
found nothing and she worried that beneath his armor was a hidden wound.
His eyes lit upon her and his lips curved upward in a smile that was at
once joyous and tired.
Aragorn and his men dismounted in a chorus of creaking leather and
muffled groans. He summoned the healers to attend to two of his men
being carried on litters behind their horses. He handed the reins of his
steed to a hovering stable boy and gave quiet instructions for his care.
He patted the horse on its neck and crooned Elvish words of praise into
its pricked ears. The horse butted his head affectionately against his
master's shoulder before allowing himself to be led away to the stables
where fresh oats and a clean stall awaited him.
And then the King was reaching for his wife, tugging her toward him with
one strong arm wrapped around her waist. He crushed her against his
chest and lowered his head to find her lips with his own. She stretched
onto her toes and curled her arms around his neck. Her breasts were
flattened against his armor-plated chest and the cold wind stung her
cheeks as it swirled around them, but she noticed neither discomfort.
Instead she reveled in the moment, just one more woman greeting her
husband back from a dangerous journey as all around them women and
children swarmed over the returning soldiers.
Aragorn reluctantly broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead
against hers.
"Estel," she murmured as she stroked her hand through his sweat-tangled
hair. Aragorn brushed chapped lips over her silken cheek.
"Come, my love," he said softly. "Let us go inside. I do not wish either
of you to be out in this cold." He laid one gauntleted hand over her
swollen belly and the child beneath stirred as though made aware of his
father's touch.
Arwen laughed lightly, the merry sound drawing the gazes of some of the
people milling about the courtyard. "Be at peace, my lord. Your heir
rests warm and safe in his nest and is unaware of winter's most
unwelcome return."
Aragorn grinned at his pink-cheeked wife. "Then I would have his mother
accompany me inside for I am cold and weary and would seek my rest
before a blazing fire." He kept an arm firmly around her waist and
assisted her up the stone staircase and into the welcoming warmth of the
keep. His soldiers broke ranks, some returning to their homes with
their families, others following the King and Queen into the keep where
they settled themselves at the long, trestle tables in the main dining
area where tankards of cold ale and plates of bread awaited to tide the
men over until supper was prepared. Aragorn followed his men to the
table and lifted a tankard to his lips. He swallowed deeply, grateful at
last to wash the grime of a hard ride from his mouth. He set the
tankard back onto the table and looked down at the light touch of his
wife's delicate hand on his bracers.
"Enjoy your meal and a good night's rest, lads," he bade his men. "On
the morrow I will meet with my captains in the council room." He clapped
a hand on the shoulder of one grizzled veteran and spoke quietly to him
of a change he wished made in the city guard, then laying his hand on
the small of Arwen's back, he guided her toward the staircase. She
slipped her fingers into the crook of his arm and although she still had
several months left before delivering her first child, her center of
gravity had shifted enough that she was grateful to lean on his strong
arm as they wound their way up the stairs.
They arrived at their chambers to find several servants hurrying about
readying the room for the royal couple to retire to for the evening. A
large, copper bathing tub had been situated close to the hearth and
steam rose gently from the tub as a young man finished emptying the last
of several buckets of hot water into it. Another servant slid bricks,
warm from the hearth, into the bed to take the chill from the bedclothes
while another arranged a platter of food on a nearby table.
Arwen noted the tired droop of her husband's shoulders and gestured for
everyone to clear the room. Moments later the door swung shut and they
were left alone.
"I expected you two days ago, my lord." Aragorn looked up at the soft
sound of his wife's voice and nodded. She advanced across the room and
watched for a moment as he struggled to loosen the leather straps that
secured his armor.
She batted his fumbling hands away and set about freeing her husband
from the heavy armor. She ran one hand over the breastplate and dipped
her fingers into a large dent that marred the ornately detailed metal,
wondering and worrying that a corresponding wound marred Aragorn's
vulnerable flesh beneath the protective armor.
"You met with trouble on your journey?"
"Orcs," Aragorn muttered as he shrugged out of the now loosened armor.
Arwen sighed. Sauron's defeat and the destruction of Mordor had left
bands of Orcs roving about the surrounding countryside. The long, harsh
winter had driven them from the holes where they had gone to hide after
the Ring War. Leaderless and divided, they preyed on the small, outlying
communities for food, killing those who were too weak to defend
themselves. Gondor's armies had stepped up their patrols in an effort to
protect the outlying villages and eradicate the vile creatures, but
they were many in number and it would be years before Middle Earth was
free of their kind.
"They fell on our camp after dark," Aragorn explained as Arwen stripped
the leather surcoat from his shoulders. He bent at the waist and
together they worked the shirt of chain mail from his torso. It fell
with a clatter to the floor and Aragorn rolled his head back and forth,
grateful to be free of the weighty armor. "We fought hard but two men
were injured." The linen shirt that protected the King's flesh from the
chain mail was soaked with sweat and he peeled it over his head and
dropped it to onto the floor with the mail.
Arwen pursed her lips at the sight of the large bruise that flowered
over much of her husband's chest. She pressed her fingers lightly
against the darkened flesh and shook her head at the soft grunt that was
forced from Aragorn's mouth at her touch.
"They were larger in number than we have seen since the war's end," he
continued. He unbuckled his sword belt and carefully laid the sword in
its scabbard in its customary place on the floor on his side of the bed
where it would be within easy reach should the need arise. "It took
several hours to dispatch them and another day to chase down those who
ran."
Arwen's nimble fingers worked at the cross-laces of his leather breeches
that were knotted and stiff with mud and cold. He slid his thumbs into
the waistband of the breeches and began to strip them down his lean hips
when her hand stayed his movement.
"Your boots," she reminded him with a grin. Aragorn heaved a tired sigh
and sank onto a stool to work the heavy boots from his feet. Arwen
gathered up his discarded clothing and piled it on top of a trunk near
the foot of the bed then she draped two large bath sheets over a chair
near the hearth and sprinkled soothing herbs into the bathwater.
"Come, Estel," she beckoned him with a smile. "Get into the tub before
the water cools altogether." Naked, her husband trudged across their
chambers and climbed into the copper tub. He settled into the bath with
a pleasured sigh as the hot water and herbs instantly set to work at
easing the aches from over-abused muscles and a sleep starved body.
Arwen poured wine into a pewter goblet and offered it to her husband. He
sipped the ruby colored liquid and rested his head against the rim of
the tub. He watched through tired eyes as the Queen stripped her silken
gown over her head and sank to the floor near the tub clad only in a
fine, linen chemise. She rolled up the sleeves of her undergarment and
tucked her long, flowing hair behind her ears before she dipped a
washcloth into the water and lathered it with a bar of herbal soap.
"I would not have you attend me thus, my lady," Aragorn protested. "I
would rather that you and the babe rest."
Arwen shook her head. She lifted his arm out of the water and ran the
soapy cloth down its dripping length.
"My burden has not grown so heavy that I cannot see to your needs," she
said with a glance toward the swollen stomach that shielded their child.
He cupped her neck in his hand and stroked a thumb over her jaw. "I will
be sure to return the favor in several month's time," he murmured. "I
shall ever be at your beck and call," he promised.
Her peal of laughter bounced off the high stone walls of their chamber.
"I shall remind you of that when the babe awakens in the middle of the
night!"
They grinned at one another and Aragorn settled back against the tub
again, content to put himself into his wife's hands. They spoke quietly
of the rest of his journey and of the need to urge folks living in the
smaller, outlying communities to move into larger, more populated areas
until the Orc situation was under control.
"How long do you think it will take?" she queried as she ran questing
fingers over an abrasion that ran the width of his shoulders.
"I know not," he admitted as his chin drooped onto this chest. "I have
fought these foul creatures for most of my adult life," he sighed. "I
would have peace for Middle Earth, Arwen," he breathed wearily.
"And so you shall," she promised. "Already Gondor thrives under your
leadership. The battle scars that marred the walls of Minas Tirith are
fading and the people who live within those walls are learning to live
and laugh again.
She urged him to lie back and dunk his head into the water. As he sat
back up, she lathered the soap into his dark hair, her fingers massaging
the tension from his scalp and neck.
"Middle Earth lived under a darkness for many years," she reminded him.
"The seeds of peace have been sown and we shall reap their rewards in
our lifetime. You must be patient."
She scooped water over his head until all of the soap was rinsed away.
Aragorn blinked at her sleepily, as the wine, warm water and gentle
touch of his wife's hands all worked to relax his aching limbs and tired
brain.
Arwen stood and held out her hands. He grasped her hands with his and
heaved himself to his feet. He climbed out of the tub and wrapped one of
the warmed cloths around his waist and stood docilely while she rubbed
the other cloth over his hair and dabbed droplets of water from his
chest and arms.
Aragorn pulled back the covers and swept the heated bricks from the bed
while Arwen changed into a soft woolen nightgown. She joined him on the
bed and lifted the platter of food onto his legs. They sated their
hunger with cold meats and cheese, crusty bread and slices of apple and
left the weighty topic of hard-earned peace behind them. Instead, they
spoke of happier things - most of which centered on the impending birth
of their babe. They spoke of names and of their hopes and wishes for
their child. The fire in the hearth burned low as they whispered to one
another in the encroaching darkness. Aragorn yawned mightily and his
replies grew fainter as sleep beckoned.
"Sleep, my love," she murmured as she drew his head against her breasts.
His breathing deepened and his hand slid down to rest protectively over
their child. Arwen stroked her fingers through his damp hair and
crooned a wordless song until his body sagged bonelessly against hers.
As the shadows lengthened and the inhabitants of the white city settled
in for the evening safe behind massive stone walls and heavy gates, its
Queen guarded Gondor in a much different way. For it was in her arms
that the King took refuge and sought a renewal of his strength. She
guarded his sleep and looked after his well-being. She alone heard of
his worries and fears. In her wisdom, he sought counsel. In her delicate
hands lay his happiness and in her womb, his heir lay nestled - safe
and secure.
|
