Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ Old Friends ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Queen-of-Blades138 
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.24.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 231 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.24.2008 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 231 | Status: Work In Progress
OLD FRIENDS
The second installment of "Days of The King"
Again I don’t own anything, but I do own Braethan, and a few of the council mambers
Arwen rose from Aragorn's lap, putting her finger across her lips with a smile. She retreated to their
bedroom. As always, a light left the room when she departed.
Aragorn sprang to the door in one bound from the chair, and yanked it open so forcefully that the
caller, with ear to the door, nearly tumbled over in surprise.
"Only one I know who would think to refer to me as 'laddie'!"
Gimli gave Aragorn a short, but somewhat formal bow. Aragorn grabbed the dwarf in a rough embrace.
Clapping him on his armored back, gruff voice betraying his great pleasure at this greeting,
Gimli said,"See now, laddie, the King of Gondor doesn't go around hugging commoners, even the ones
that are old comrades".
He cleared his throat.
"But I guess that’s why you're still the best man I've ever known".
The King held him at arms length, and surveyed him critically.
"You are looking fit, master dwarf! It's been three years since last we met." A small cloud
of concern was beginning to gather on his brow. "Gondor is a good way off from the haunts of your
people." At a glance he took in Gimli, Gloin's son's travel stained raiment, and the look of weariness
and worry on the usually stoic and good natured face. "And you look as if you have traveled hard to
come quickly. What is the trouble, my friend?"
Gimli smiled wryly. "Ever direct and to the point, laddie!. I have rumors of troubles, in your
realm as well as the realm of my folk, that are a puzzle and a worry."
He laughed, shaking his head. "But you have important folk waiting for you, Aragorn, and I fear I have
come at an inconvenient time."
"There is no such thing, when friends are in need." Aragorn frowned a bit. "But you are right; I have
affairs of state to attend to now - but I will have you made comfortable while I go to council. Let
us speak when you have eaten and rested a bit."
Arwen reappeared at that moment, resplendent in the pale blue and silver of her formal attire. She was
crowned with a simple silver circlet.
As usual, even those with whom she was well acquainted were taken aback at her beauty and grace.
"My dearest Lady", Gimli almost whispered. "You are even more lovely than my memories of you. Blessed
is the land and the King that has you for their Queen! He bowed low, his beard trailing on the carpet.
"You are a true hero of Middle Earth, and a most honored guest, my dear Gimli! And a friend to me as
well as a brother-in-arms to my husband. Come, I will show you to your rooms and have food and drink
sent to you".
Gimli bowed again. "My lady honors me with her concern".
She gave his beard a slight tug. "Your sister Arwen wants to hear all of the news of the past few
years, Gimli!". She grew sombre in a moment, like a sudden cloud passing over the summer sun.
"I sense a great trouble upon you". She looked over her shoulder at Aragorn. "I think I should hold
council with our emissary from the Dwarves, my lord. Please give my apologies to the council. I will
see them later in the day, after my meeting with Gimli. He carries news from lands we hear from but
rarely, and whatsoever troubles any in the land will eventually affect us all".
"Wise and practical as always. I will see you and Gimli after the morning's meeting. I am anxious to
speak to you, but I must first convene this council."
Arwen placed her arm in Gimli's, and was leading him to the corridor when he suddenly stopped.
"I have seen Legolas". His voice was hesitant, as if this was something he had not originally wanted to
say, at least at this moment.
"Legolas! Where is he? Has he come with you? It has been more than 7 years since he has been to
Gondor!", Aragorn exclaimed.
"It was he who gave me the most dire of the news I have have come to tell you. He has...changed, Aragorn,
Lady Arwen." Aragorn sensed Gimli trying to push some troubling thoughts away, a struggle between the
news from Legolas and the news of Legolas.
"Let us not keep you from your duty, my husband", Arwen said firmly. Aragorn knew that her gentle
questioning of Gimil would yield more results that any hurried explanation now.
"I will see you both after noon. Replenish yourself, Gimli, and then we will speak of all these
things."
Gimli and Arwen left.
As the door opened, his young herald and valet, Braethan, was seen anxiously pacing the corridor in
front of the antechamber door.
He bowed hastily to Arwen as she passed.
"Sire! A word with you, if I may!"
The young man was agitated, and usually that meant that some protocol or the other was not being
adhered to. His discomfiture was almost comic, but Aragorn knew he was trying to perform his duties as
faithfully as possible. He was the son of one of the fallen in the hopeless charge to regain Osgiliath,
(one of Denethor's last depraved acts as Steward),a fatherless lad of the great city infused with
excitement to adoration with the exploits of the lost (and now found) King of Gondor. He was barely
a man, perhaps 17 or 18 years had he, but so fierce his devotion to his kingdom and it's King that
when he applied for the post, he could not be refused. He was vouched for by no less than 10 veterans
of great renown.
With a chuckle, and a sigh, Aragorn signaled him to enter.
"I knew my Lord had a guest, and begging Your Grace's pardon, the council members are inquiring as to
my Lords' time of arrival..." Braethan's speech came out as a long, breathless plea.
The Lords were probably torturing the lad with demands and questions for which he had
no answers, Aragorn thought to himself. But his youth and devotion were invigorating in this world of
politics, and he liked him near. His idealism mellowed some of the sourness he felt when talking to
the arrogant and self-righteous nobility of the great city. It reminded him of the true nature of the
people he served.
"You may announce me, Braethan. We are ready to commence".
One could see relief this news provided the young man.
"Very well, my Lord."
Braethan fairly scampered away to fulfill his duty; scampering being something difficult to do in
dress armor.
Aragorn prepared himself. It was not actually unpleasant, politics and diplomacy, just...indirect,
and somehow, it felt a bit dishonest. But his forthrightness did not serve in these matters. He had
learned much about the nature of Men during the long years of his travels, but in his capacity as
King, he must deal with all that come before him, be they nobles, warriors, merchants and other
monarchs. There was no ability to pack supplies and disappear into the wild for a month or two.
And lately, there was an annoying similarity to these councils, with hints to him and inquiries to
Arwen about when an heir to the throne of Gondor could be expected.
After 3,000 years with no King, you could not blame the people for wanting some assurance of the
continuity of the line of Isildur...
But as some knew, the immortal Elves were never very fertile. Elrond had produced one child in his
life measured in millenia; Galadriel and Celeborn had none. This ancient race was never very plentiful.
Arwen longed for a child. Elrond foresaw a boy born to them in Aragorn's later years. But 10 years had
passed, and with each cycle of the moon, the news was the same. He would occasionally see Arwen praying
to the spirits of the earth, and the seasons, and the moon, as was the custom of her people. He would
never intrude upon her to ask about her meditations, but they were leaving her sombre and unnaturally
quiet for some time after.
And now she was seeking advice from among her new people, those of Gondor. Well, whatever eased her
mind and brought her some comfort. He enthusiastically cooperated with all her plans, and improvised
some of his own. It will happen in its' own time, Aragorn thought. In its'own time.
He left the antechamber when her heard the great bell sound in the council room.
Aragorn had replaced the dais on which the throne of Gondor sat, reducing it's height. He had also had
10 additional chairs of fine wood and silken upholstery installed on small dais of their own, making
the throne room more of a meeting hall for those (hopefully) representing Gondor's varied interests.
As such a thing had never been done before, it met with skepticism until the King made it clear that
this is how he would rule. He would not be bound by traditions that no longer fulfilled their purpose.
And his purpose was to bring a sense of inclusion to all the folk of his realm.
On his left sat 3 representatives of the nobles, peers of the Realm either distantly related to him or
to the Stewards, or to any of the other ancient families of wealth and priviledge in Gondor. On his
right were seated 4 representatives of the various craftsmen, artisans, and farmers of the city-state.
Two seats were occupied alternatively by generals or captains, allowing the fighting men of Gondor a
direct voice in the future of the city.
The last seat was occupied by Faramir, the last of the line of the Stewards of Gondor. He was a Captain
of the Watch of Gondor, an honored veteran of the wars and the only survivor of the disaster at
Osgiliath, and beside the King, the most noble of all the peers.
He also had cleansed and occupied Minas Ithil, the sister-tower to Minas Tirith, when Sauron was but
weeks defeated. It was still more known by it's name of evil, Minas Morgul, and was the stronghold
of Sauron's greatest general, the cheif of the Nazgul.
Aragorn had also found Faramir to be humble and eager to serve. Proving himself to his new leige was
important to him. Faramir felt fortunate to be given such a position of confidence, and Minas Ithil was
his fiefdom to rule. He had fallen madly in love with Eowyn, who had agreed to wed within weeks of
their first meeting. With the exception of Aragorn himself, he had never seen a man so in love with his
wife after years of marriage.
Faramir, fair hair tinged with a red, tall, strong and obviously a captain of men, was none-
theless honest, fair, quick to smile and Aragorn could never sense any duplicity in him. He was one
bright spot in his councils, and could always be counted on to speak for what was right, not what was
convenient, inexpensive or placed an undue burden on someone else's shoulders.
Eowyn had given him three sons - a tall, serious child nearly 10 years old, and a set of energetic
twins about 6 years old, as pale blond as their mother. She was with child again, which was as well,
for it suited her. She was, well... rounder than when she wore armor and went into battle to defend
king and country against the forces of darkness on the fields of Pelennnor. But then she was but a girl
. She is a woman now, and her rosy complexion, ready smile, joy in her family and as the Lady of Minas
Ithil is a good and fitting life. For for the wife of a hero, a shield maiden of Rohan,
a fierce lady knight in her own right. For she is the sister of Eomer, King of Rohan, and Aragorn was
gladdened she had found contentment and love. Once she had declared her love for Aragorn, but that was
during the dark days of Theoden's confinement at the hands of Wormtongue and Saruman, before the almost
hopeless defense of Helm's Deep.
Aragorn was,at that time, in his own darkness. Arwen's father had asked him to release his only
daughter from her pledge to marry him. Elrond spoke to him gently, but painted a picture of such
desolation for her life with Aragorn, that he told her to go west across the sea with her people,
and think of him no more.
With few words, but a wound as obvious as a sword stroke, she had accepted his words. And Aragorn knew
a numbness of spirit that left him unable to care whether he lived or died.
It was in this void that he had first met Eowyn, and she had revealed her love for him. He remembered
that he was none too gentle with his refusal, and has felt occasional twinges of guilt for his
brusqueness. But that was long ago, and she was happy now, as was he. In the end, they had each found
their true mates, and that was all that really mattered.
Faramir was occupying the council as well as he could. He was not seated; rather on the council floor,
seeming to keep one of the nobles and a grizzled old war veteran from coming to blows.
"I say that this land wants no more war. The Southrons were not bled dry by conflict. They sent only
what they could spare of their fighting forces to Sauron. They are well manned and well armed. Not to
meet their emissaries in state might cause them to explore our defenses to the south. Can we afford
that?" said the Sir Ondoher, as if speaking to a child.
"They are supposedly men, no so different from us, but they brought great beasts of war and
many men to plow our folk and our way of life into the very ground we have tilled for thousands of
years! They must have known Sauron was set to erase man and his works from all the North. Did he
promise that they would be masters of what was left? I will not council equal treatment with any who
willingly helped that great evil to rise. I lost friends, brothers, nephews, and...sons to that war. I
will want an accounting they will not give, I am sure. Send them back south with our swords at their
heels! I believe they want to ride our lands under a lie of peace to assess out strength. Show them
strenght of will! Drive them back across the desert!" said the venerable General Halmir, breath coming
shakily at the end of his tirade.
Aragorn sighed. "Gentlemen, lets take our seats, and start with our oath to Gondor. I see time for
heads to cool is needed now!"
And so began the council...
Tell me what you think at CASTLDDLV@AOL.COM ......
The second installment of "Days of The King"
Again I don’t own anything, but I do own Braethan, and a few of the council mambers
Arwen rose from Aragorn's lap, putting her finger across her lips with a smile. She retreated to their
bedroom. As always, a light left the room when she departed.
Aragorn sprang to the door in one bound from the chair, and yanked it open so forcefully that the
caller, with ear to the door, nearly tumbled over in surprise.
"Only one I know who would think to refer to me as 'laddie'!"
Gimli gave Aragorn a short, but somewhat formal bow. Aragorn grabbed the dwarf in a rough embrace.
Clapping him on his armored back, gruff voice betraying his great pleasure at this greeting,
Gimli said,"See now, laddie, the King of Gondor doesn't go around hugging commoners, even the ones
that are old comrades".
He cleared his throat.
"But I guess that’s why you're still the best man I've ever known".
The King held him at arms length, and surveyed him critically.
"You are looking fit, master dwarf! It's been three years since last we met." A small cloud
of concern was beginning to gather on his brow. "Gondor is a good way off from the haunts of your
people." At a glance he took in Gimli, Gloin's son's travel stained raiment, and the look of weariness
and worry on the usually stoic and good natured face. "And you look as if you have traveled hard to
come quickly. What is the trouble, my friend?"
Gimli smiled wryly. "Ever direct and to the point, laddie!. I have rumors of troubles, in your
realm as well as the realm of my folk, that are a puzzle and a worry."
He laughed, shaking his head. "But you have important folk waiting for you, Aragorn, and I fear I have
come at an inconvenient time."
"There is no such thing, when friends are in need." Aragorn frowned a bit. "But you are right; I have
affairs of state to attend to now - but I will have you made comfortable while I go to council. Let
us speak when you have eaten and rested a bit."
Arwen reappeared at that moment, resplendent in the pale blue and silver of her formal attire. She was
crowned with a simple silver circlet.
As usual, even those with whom she was well acquainted were taken aback at her beauty and grace.
"My dearest Lady", Gimli almost whispered. "You are even more lovely than my memories of you. Blessed
is the land and the King that has you for their Queen! He bowed low, his beard trailing on the carpet.
"You are a true hero of Middle Earth, and a most honored guest, my dear Gimli! And a friend to me as
well as a brother-in-arms to my husband. Come, I will show you to your rooms and have food and drink
sent to you".
Gimli bowed again. "My lady honors me with her concern".
She gave his beard a slight tug. "Your sister Arwen wants to hear all of the news of the past few
years, Gimli!". She grew sombre in a moment, like a sudden cloud passing over the summer sun.
"I sense a great trouble upon you". She looked over her shoulder at Aragorn. "I think I should hold
council with our emissary from the Dwarves, my lord. Please give my apologies to the council. I will
see them later in the day, after my meeting with Gimli. He carries news from lands we hear from but
rarely, and whatsoever troubles any in the land will eventually affect us all".
"Wise and practical as always. I will see you and Gimli after the morning's meeting. I am anxious to
speak to you, but I must first convene this council."
Arwen placed her arm in Gimli's, and was leading him to the corridor when he suddenly stopped.
"I have seen Legolas". His voice was hesitant, as if this was something he had not originally wanted to
say, at least at this moment.
"Legolas! Where is he? Has he come with you? It has been more than 7 years since he has been to
Gondor!", Aragorn exclaimed.
"It was he who gave me the most dire of the news I have have come to tell you. He has...changed, Aragorn,
Lady Arwen." Aragorn sensed Gimli trying to push some troubling thoughts away, a struggle between the
news from Legolas and the news of Legolas.
"Let us not keep you from your duty, my husband", Arwen said firmly. Aragorn knew that her gentle
questioning of Gimil would yield more results that any hurried explanation now.
"I will see you both after noon. Replenish yourself, Gimli, and then we will speak of all these
things."
Gimli and Arwen left.
As the door opened, his young herald and valet, Braethan, was seen anxiously pacing the corridor in
front of the antechamber door.
He bowed hastily to Arwen as she passed.
"Sire! A word with you, if I may!"
The young man was agitated, and usually that meant that some protocol or the other was not being
adhered to. His discomfiture was almost comic, but Aragorn knew he was trying to perform his duties as
faithfully as possible. He was the son of one of the fallen in the hopeless charge to regain Osgiliath,
(one of Denethor's last depraved acts as Steward),a fatherless lad of the great city infused with
excitement to adoration with the exploits of the lost (and now found) King of Gondor. He was barely
a man, perhaps 17 or 18 years had he, but so fierce his devotion to his kingdom and it's King that
when he applied for the post, he could not be refused. He was vouched for by no less than 10 veterans
of great renown.
With a chuckle, and a sigh, Aragorn signaled him to enter.
"I knew my Lord had a guest, and begging Your Grace's pardon, the council members are inquiring as to
my Lords' time of arrival..." Braethan's speech came out as a long, breathless plea.
The Lords were probably torturing the lad with demands and questions for which he had
no answers, Aragorn thought to himself. But his youth and devotion were invigorating in this world of
politics, and he liked him near. His idealism mellowed some of the sourness he felt when talking to
the arrogant and self-righteous nobility of the great city. It reminded him of the true nature of the
people he served.
"You may announce me, Braethan. We are ready to commence".
One could see relief this news provided the young man.
"Very well, my Lord."
Braethan fairly scampered away to fulfill his duty; scampering being something difficult to do in
dress armor.
Aragorn prepared himself. It was not actually unpleasant, politics and diplomacy, just...indirect,
and somehow, it felt a bit dishonest. But his forthrightness did not serve in these matters. He had
learned much about the nature of Men during the long years of his travels, but in his capacity as
King, he must deal with all that come before him, be they nobles, warriors, merchants and other
monarchs. There was no ability to pack supplies and disappear into the wild for a month or two.
And lately, there was an annoying similarity to these councils, with hints to him and inquiries to
Arwen about when an heir to the throne of Gondor could be expected.
After 3,000 years with no King, you could not blame the people for wanting some assurance of the
continuity of the line of Isildur...
But as some knew, the immortal Elves were never very fertile. Elrond had produced one child in his
life measured in millenia; Galadriel and Celeborn had none. This ancient race was never very plentiful.
Arwen longed for a child. Elrond foresaw a boy born to them in Aragorn's later years. But 10 years had
passed, and with each cycle of the moon, the news was the same. He would occasionally see Arwen praying
to the spirits of the earth, and the seasons, and the moon, as was the custom of her people. He would
never intrude upon her to ask about her meditations, but they were leaving her sombre and unnaturally
quiet for some time after.
And now she was seeking advice from among her new people, those of Gondor. Well, whatever eased her
mind and brought her some comfort. He enthusiastically cooperated with all her plans, and improvised
some of his own. It will happen in its' own time, Aragorn thought. In its'own time.
He left the antechamber when her heard the great bell sound in the council room.
Aragorn had replaced the dais on which the throne of Gondor sat, reducing it's height. He had also had
10 additional chairs of fine wood and silken upholstery installed on small dais of their own, making
the throne room more of a meeting hall for those (hopefully) representing Gondor's varied interests.
As such a thing had never been done before, it met with skepticism until the King made it clear that
this is how he would rule. He would not be bound by traditions that no longer fulfilled their purpose.
And his purpose was to bring a sense of inclusion to all the folk of his realm.
On his left sat 3 representatives of the nobles, peers of the Realm either distantly related to him or
to the Stewards, or to any of the other ancient families of wealth and priviledge in Gondor. On his
right were seated 4 representatives of the various craftsmen, artisans, and farmers of the city-state.
Two seats were occupied alternatively by generals or captains, allowing the fighting men of Gondor a
direct voice in the future of the city.
The last seat was occupied by Faramir, the last of the line of the Stewards of Gondor. He was a Captain
of the Watch of Gondor, an honored veteran of the wars and the only survivor of the disaster at
Osgiliath, and beside the King, the most noble of all the peers.
He also had cleansed and occupied Minas Ithil, the sister-tower to Minas Tirith, when Sauron was but
weeks defeated. It was still more known by it's name of evil, Minas Morgul, and was the stronghold
of Sauron's greatest general, the cheif of the Nazgul.
Aragorn had also found Faramir to be humble and eager to serve. Proving himself to his new leige was
important to him. Faramir felt fortunate to be given such a position of confidence, and Minas Ithil was
his fiefdom to rule. He had fallen madly in love with Eowyn, who had agreed to wed within weeks of
their first meeting. With the exception of Aragorn himself, he had never seen a man so in love with his
wife after years of marriage.
Faramir, fair hair tinged with a red, tall, strong and obviously a captain of men, was none-
theless honest, fair, quick to smile and Aragorn could never sense any duplicity in him. He was one
bright spot in his councils, and could always be counted on to speak for what was right, not what was
convenient, inexpensive or placed an undue burden on someone else's shoulders.
Eowyn had given him three sons - a tall, serious child nearly 10 years old, and a set of energetic
twins about 6 years old, as pale blond as their mother. She was with child again, which was as well,
for it suited her. She was, well... rounder than when she wore armor and went into battle to defend
king and country against the forces of darkness on the fields of Pelennnor. But then she was but a girl
. She is a woman now, and her rosy complexion, ready smile, joy in her family and as the Lady of Minas
Ithil is a good and fitting life. For for the wife of a hero, a shield maiden of Rohan,
a fierce lady knight in her own right. For she is the sister of Eomer, King of Rohan, and Aragorn was
gladdened she had found contentment and love. Once she had declared her love for Aragorn, but that was
during the dark days of Theoden's confinement at the hands of Wormtongue and Saruman, before the almost
hopeless defense of Helm's Deep.
Aragorn was,at that time, in his own darkness. Arwen's father had asked him to release his only
daughter from her pledge to marry him. Elrond spoke to him gently, but painted a picture of such
desolation for her life with Aragorn, that he told her to go west across the sea with her people,
and think of him no more.
With few words, but a wound as obvious as a sword stroke, she had accepted his words. And Aragorn knew
a numbness of spirit that left him unable to care whether he lived or died.
It was in this void that he had first met Eowyn, and she had revealed her love for him. He remembered
that he was none too gentle with his refusal, and has felt occasional twinges of guilt for his
brusqueness. But that was long ago, and she was happy now, as was he. In the end, they had each found
their true mates, and that was all that really mattered.
Faramir was occupying the council as well as he could. He was not seated; rather on the council floor,
seeming to keep one of the nobles and a grizzled old war veteran from coming to blows.
"I say that this land wants no more war. The Southrons were not bled dry by conflict. They sent only
what they could spare of their fighting forces to Sauron. They are well manned and well armed. Not to
meet their emissaries in state might cause them to explore our defenses to the south. Can we afford
that?" said the Sir Ondoher, as if speaking to a child.
"They are supposedly men, no so different from us, but they brought great beasts of war and
many men to plow our folk and our way of life into the very ground we have tilled for thousands of
years! They must have known Sauron was set to erase man and his works from all the North. Did he
promise that they would be masters of what was left? I will not council equal treatment with any who
willingly helped that great evil to rise. I lost friends, brothers, nephews, and...sons to that war. I
will want an accounting they will not give, I am sure. Send them back south with our swords at their
heels! I believe they want to ride our lands under a lie of peace to assess out strength. Show them
strenght of will! Drive them back across the desert!" said the venerable General Halmir, breath coming
shakily at the end of his tirade.
Aragorn sighed. "Gentlemen, lets take our seats, and start with our oath to Gondor. I see time for
heads to cool is needed now!"
And so began the council...
Tell me what you think at CASTLDDLV@AOL.COM ......