LOTR Chapter 136
Chapter 136
Tiffany hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks. Aragorn was due back to check on her soon and she didn’t want to worry him. The pregnancy was relatively smooth now that she had her special tea to drink in the mornings, but the hormones associated with her condition were wreaking havoc with her emotions. It had become especially bad ever since Amy had left with Faramir on their romantic elopement into Ithilien a week ago. Tiffany was genuinely happy for her friend, but it was a change and one of her best friends was physically missing, and that was distressing in general.
She checked herself in the mirror, satisfied that her eyes weren’t too puffy from crying, and sat back down at her writing desk where she had been composing a letter to send to Amy. Familiar footfalls sounded down the hall and Tiffany smiled to know that Aragorn would soon be with her.
The door swung inward and her husband strode in and made a beeline to where she sat. Aragorn hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek.
“Good morning, my love!”
Tiffany turned from her letter and smiled up at him.
“Good morning, bae! I’m writing a letter to Amy. What was your meeting about?”
Aragorn sighed wearily as he took off his crown and massaged his head.
“Oh, I was touring the work that Gimli’s people have been doing on the city gates. They’ve torn down the old ones and they’re replacing them with gate doors of solid mithril! I’ve come back to check on you, my love, but then I must go and speak with the master of the woodworker’s guild.”
Tiffany blinked. She didn’t know Minas Tirith even had a woodworker’s guild.
“About what?”
Aragorn poured himself a glass of wine and sipped before answering.
“Oh, some of the dwarves haven’t finished carving whatever it is they are carving into the doors and they need extra scaffolding to reach it.”
Something in Tiffany’s brain prompted her to imagine a group of dwarves giving her a mighty gift but struggling to reach because they were too short. And through the haze of pregnancy hormones, it filled her with pity and sorrow. Aragorn’s face was filled with confusion and bewilderment as he rushed to his wife’s side once more.
“My love?? What’s the matter? Why all these tears?!”
Tiffany bit her lip to try and keep from sobbing.
“The dwarves!!… I don’t know they’re just… they’re so short! They’re so small! They can’t do what they want to do!! It’s…. it’s so sad!!”
She sobbed a few times and Aragorn, not knowing what else he could do, embraced his wife and tried not to look too mystified at her sudden rush of tears.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Tiffany cried into his shoulder. He ran his large hands soothingly up and down her back while humming a tune low in his chest. The rumbling sound did calm her a little enough to imagine the dwarves standing on each other’s shoulders in order to reach the top of the gates. The thought of twenty dwarves wobbling around broke through her sorrow and she started cackling into Aragorn’s shoulder.
Her husband pulled back a little to look into her face. He gave her a small smile in response to her mirth and tried to change the subject to one he thought she would want to hear about.
“Oh, and don’t forget my love, the farmhand will be here in a few hours for Haldir’s shearing. You wanted to be present, remember?”
Tiffany sat up straight and stared at Aragorn. She had just remembered that Amy was usually present for whenever Haldir got sheared. Tears pricked at her eyes once more.
“Amy is gone…” she said softly. “She’s usually here for this! How could you let Amy leave!?”
Tiffany tore herself from Aragorn’s grasp and curled up on the bed away from his bewildered expression. She didn’t know why she was unable to control her outbursts-it was as if she was watching someone else pilot her own body, and the hurt expression on Aragorn’s rugged face made her feel even worse. She breathed out an apology.
“I… I’m so sorry, Aragorn. This pregnancy… my mood…”
She felt his firm hand stroking her back in a calming fashion. The mattress shifted as he sat behind her.
“What do you need, my love? Please, command me.”
“Aragorn.” she softly turned after a moment’s consideration. “Aragorn, I want to make a decree. A decree about all the sheep in Middle Earth.”
Aragorn apprehensively took her hands and held his breath.
“…what about the sheep, dear?”
Tiffany was riding along the tidal wave of pregnancy hormones. She felt her eyes widen and a large smile creep across her face as she stared at her confused husband.
“They all belong to me now!”
Jessica had a headache, but the pain in her head didn’t stop her from moving swiftly into the citadel. Her elvish gown swirled dramatically as she bounded up the stairs to the Hall of Kings. The vast space was empty as Aragorn was not holding court, so Jessica took a moment to pause and gather her breath. Elmo the growing squirrel padded from one of her shoulders to the other as he looked around the empty room. Jessica mindlessly stroked his long puffy tail and tried to wrap her mind around what she had just experienced. She had been walking to the stables to check on the animals when a group of young people had approached her warily and began to ask her questions about Elves. They had never encountered an elf before and had only glimpsed those that had arrived in the city for Aragorn’s coronation. From their line of questioning Jessica was astounded to learn that they had some sort of elf-worshipping cult starting.
“Elves are superior to us-some have magical powers!” said one of them. “It’s only natural that we should offer them gifts in order to secure our safety!”
“What gift does your husband require to remain the protector of Minas Tirith?” demanded another.
They all began speaking at once and in the distance Jessica saw Legolas approaching. She screamed at him with her eyes and his elvish vision saw her expression. Immediately he turned on his heel and made for the citadel-Jessica assumed he would be waiting for her in their quarters.
“Your questions and demands are misguided and inappropriate.” Jessica said in a tone she hoped brooked no opposition. “My husband is not the lord and protector of this city, King Aragorn is. My husband demands no gifts for his aid, and neither do any of the other Elves I have encountered… and for you to go around spreading this fallacy is irresponsible and ignorant. I suggest you go read some actual histories or go out and explore and meet some actual Elves before you go preaching this madness. Good day to you all.”
She stormed out of their midst with Elmo on her shoulder chattering angrily at the gaping young people left in her wake.
Jessica massaged her temples and decided to proceed to her room now that her thoughts were in order. She walked to the back of the Hall of Kings and went through the small door that led to the living quarters of the royal family as a short cut. As she silently passed through the halls she began to hear echoes of unfamiliar voices. The voices and the sounds of approaching people grew louder. Conspiratorial whispers made her pause and duck into a small spare room nearby. She kept the door open a sliver and pressed her ear to the opening. She couldn’t believe her luck when the group of old men shuffled a few feet past her hiding spot and stopped to have their conversation.
“What you’re saying is treason, man!”
“Treason against whom? I have seen no patent of nobility! No mother or father to speak of-only some rag-tag group of ruffian Northern Rangers to vouch for his heritage!”
“Lord Elrond says-”
“Bah! Elves… they only interfere when there is something good in it for them. They care nothing for the goings-on of the world. We must keep an eye on that Prince of Mirkwood who is skulking around this city.”
“I, for one, do not approve of the King banishing the only son of the current Stewart family. Now their line is easily traced father to son and no one knows this kingdom better than Lord Faramir. Oh, sure, he’s been elevated to “Prince of Ithilien,” but we all know that is nothing more than a gilded cage.”
“Elder Alphros? What say you in this matter?”
There was a pause in the voices as this Alphros seemed to be considering his answer. Then, quietly, his gruff ancient voice echoed through the hallway.
“The White Tree is not yet in bloom.”
The other men did not answer him, but Jessica heard them shuffle off as a group and she knew that there was not safe way to follow them to hear what else they said. When she heard the door to the Hall of Kings close she bolted from the spare bedroom. Her blood rushed through her ears and tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she sought the embrace of her husband. She was dimly aware of tiny claws digging into her shoulder as Elmo clung to her tightly to avoid being flung to the ground as Jessica raced through hallways and around corners.
Jessica didn’t wait until she was in the room. As soon as she was in the hallway leading to the familiar doorway she began calling out.
“Legolas! … Legolas!!!!!”
As expected, the prince was in the room. At her first call the door flew open and he leapt into the hallway ready for action. Gracefully he caught his wife and Elmo scampered up to his taller shoulders to avoid being crushed as Jessica buried herself in Legolas’s torso
“Seron nîn?? What is wrong?! What happened?!!” Legolas demanded harshly. Jessica turned her face up to look at his and saw he was racked with concern and confusion.
“Not here,” she sobbed as she motioned with her head to their bedroom. “I don’t want to be overheard. Quick, I have so much to say and I don’t want to forget any of it!”
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