Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ Reunion ( Chapter 21 )
[ 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: 08.24.2008 | Updated On: 12.14.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 197 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery / Drama / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.24.2008 | Updated On: 12.14.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 197 | Status: Work In Progress
A/N: Now would be a great time to claim ownership of my original characters, Augra, Braethan, Wenrick,
Ondoher, Versia, and Milar.
Chapter 21- reunion
Minas Tirith was more spectacular than Pippin remembered. Of course, ten years ago, the city had suffered
the attacks of Sauron for years prior to his coming, clinging to Gandalf as the mighty Shadowfax bore them
from Edoras to the White city. The trip has been a blur, and there wasn't much time to admire the architecture,
what with orcs, trolls, Southrons, oliphaunts and the terrible war machines closing on the city gates, and the
mad Denethor throwing his troops into chaos and his son Faramir into a premature funeral pyre.
He now sat his own mount, a sturdy pony obtained from stables in Osgiliath. Legolas rode a brown and white
stallion bareback, as at ease mounted as walking, running, fighting or joking with his comrades. Pippin sighed.
It was not Legolas' fault that all was effortless for him. He squared his shoulders and tried to sit taller in the
saddle. The measure of a man was not in comparison to others as much as the standards he sets for himself.
Pippin had vowed to be the best warrior he could, and would not let the magnificence of his comrades- in-
arms diminish his determination to fight with all the skill he had acquired over the years and the honor he
sought to gain.
Pippin had never fit back into Hobbit society very well. Although hailed as much of a hero as Merry, Samwise,
and Frodo, he had always felt hollow, as if by standing next to his braver fellows he perpetuated a falsehood
that ate at his conscience every day. He had hoped this day would come, another chance at glory, or at least
a chance of redemption.
Legolas was humming a tune, the same he had been singing in Elvish and whistling on and off since Osgiliath.
"What is that song, Legolas?" Pippin asked. The Elf seemed rather merry as they traveled towards a rendezvous
with battle.
Legolas chuckled. "I don't know how well it will translate into the common tongue, but it is a poem I've put to
music." He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he seemed to see into some far distance,
entranced.
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place..."*
There was silence for a moment, as Legolas stopped his song. He chuckled, somewhat embarrassed.
"There is more, much more, but my heart is too full to speak of it now."
Pippin gave his comrade an appraising look. "Legolas, you're in love! Who is she?"
"A lady as far above me as the moon, but love cares not for practical matters. For now, I content myself
with thinking of her, and composing poems that I might tell her my thoughts if ever I have the chance."
Legolas eyes shone with a dreamy light. "To show her my love is what I live for. If the gods grant me
their favor, I will have what I have most desired in this world. And that is not a thing most creatures upon
this earth can say."
Pippin tried to image what lady had so smitten his Elven comrade. His concepts of beauty were undoubtedly
quite plebian compared to Legolas', but after meeting Galadriel, Arwen, and Eowyn - all noble women of great
beauty and courage, he could perhaps just begin to imagine what sublime and transcendent creature had so
captured his comrade's heart.
There were several maidens among Hobbit kind that looked favorably upon the (comparatively) tall, bronze and
rakish figure that Pippin now presented to his folk, but he had forsaken the potential comforts of marriage,
home and hearth in order to set right the indefinable longing to be the man all of the Shire thought he was.
He was not Merry, who helped to destroy the witch king of Angmar. He was not the resolute Frodo, determined
to see that most odious and miserable task done, even at the cost of his life. And he certainly was not the
valiant and resourceful Samwise, whose loyalty and steadfastness was now a thing of legend among hobbit-kind.
He was Pippin - the irresponsible child, the meddler, unable to control his impulses and he who had gravely
imperiled the mission of the Ringbearer on three occasions. To be fair (and here Pippin sat more upright
in his saddle) he did save Lord Faramir from being burned alive by his father. And he had killed one orc
within the city walls (but that was certainly more panic and luck than heroics).
The city of the realm of Gondor shone like a great alabaster sculpture among the surrounding mountains, set
on the green velvet of the plains of Pelennor. Again, Pippin would be among the great, but not, this time, by
happenstance, but by his own will.
Pippin's stomach growled. "I hope I can still get breakfast at the palace. I'm starved!"
Legolas laughed. "I am sure the royal kitchens can satisfy even a hobbit's appetite. Come then!" He spoke
a whispered word to the horse, who bounded forward. " The sooner there, the closer we will both be to our
desires!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Aragorn's rest was troubled. Arwen's raving discomfited him so, that he feared to precipitate another fit
by his presence in their bed. He had slept in far more uncomfortable places that a warm, dry, carpeted
floor, but to know that it was he that terrified her gnawed at him with needle sharp teeth.
Aragorn had never imagined that he could cause her to fear him; the very thought sickened and enraged him.
He could not soothe her, for he was the cause of her fright. So he settled for a soldier's solution. He would
guard her door, and not intrude upon her pain for the moment. The way she had looked at him...! Some part
of their profound bond, something inexpressibly precious was being destroyed before his very eyes, and he
was helpless to stop it.
It was no good. True sleep eluded him, and the fitful tossing simply allowed more agonizing thoughts to rise.
Better to occupy his time with final preparations for his journey. His wife's distress was beyond his ability
to help, at least at this time. Perhaps a few days away would calm her. Best, then, to be about it. Already
fully dressed, he rose to his feet quietly. Arwen slept, curled defensively under the bedcovers, her breathing
a bit rapid and shallow. He took a step towards her, perhaps for a kiss or a caress, and then thought the
better of it.
Aragorn turned on his heel and opened the hall door. Wenrick was doing a fair imitation of a statue,
completely asleep on his feet, sword planted in front of him to assist in bracing him against the wall.
Sitting opposite, cross legged, her sharp little eyes fixed upon his own, was Augra.
"I would have thought you in more need of sleep that any of us, except Eowyn." He noted her sombre
expression. "Is Eowyn well? What brings you here so early, Augra?"
Augra rose to her feet slowly, and with a small grunt of discomfort. She spoke in a low voice. "I am weary, my
lord Aragorn, but I cannot rest until we have spoken at some length." Here, she sighed. "Having the sight can
be both a boon and a burden. I have...learned some things of great importance to you and the realm, sire. I
believe it my duty to inform you as soon as possible." She stepped closer to Aragorn. "But you will want
privacy for my news, my lord. Some is dire, and some most...delicate...indeed."
Aragorn's brow knitted in concern. Augra was a woman hardened to life's practical realities, not lightly
perturbed. Her tone and manner indicated matters of grave concern.
Aragorn closed the sitting room door quietly behind him.
"There is a small chamber next to the throne room for private conference. Come. We will speak there."
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Lord Ondoher promised the council that he would arrange the selection process for suitable concubines
with the utmost discretion. True to his word, he had the envelopes with the information regarding
these candidates delivered to Aragorn's private conference chamber, all secured within another envelope
and bearing his family seal.
He had decided to cull the selection from five women to three. One was his daughter, and the others were
two nieces. Three very different women, representing some of the best blood of Gondor. His own.
Ondoher, Versia, and Milar.
Chapter 21- reunion
Minas Tirith was more spectacular than Pippin remembered. Of course, ten years ago, the city had suffered
the attacks of Sauron for years prior to his coming, clinging to Gandalf as the mighty Shadowfax bore them
from Edoras to the White city. The trip has been a blur, and there wasn't much time to admire the architecture,
what with orcs, trolls, Southrons, oliphaunts and the terrible war machines closing on the city gates, and the
mad Denethor throwing his troops into chaos and his son Faramir into a premature funeral pyre.
He now sat his own mount, a sturdy pony obtained from stables in Osgiliath. Legolas rode a brown and white
stallion bareback, as at ease mounted as walking, running, fighting or joking with his comrades. Pippin sighed.
It was not Legolas' fault that all was effortless for him. He squared his shoulders and tried to sit taller in the
saddle. The measure of a man was not in comparison to others as much as the standards he sets for himself.
Pippin had vowed to be the best warrior he could, and would not let the magnificence of his comrades- in-
arms diminish his determination to fight with all the skill he had acquired over the years and the honor he
sought to gain.
Pippin had never fit back into Hobbit society very well. Although hailed as much of a hero as Merry, Samwise,
and Frodo, he had always felt hollow, as if by standing next to his braver fellows he perpetuated a falsehood
that ate at his conscience every day. He had hoped this day would come, another chance at glory, or at least
a chance of redemption.
Legolas was humming a tune, the same he had been singing in Elvish and whistling on and off since Osgiliath.
"What is that song, Legolas?" Pippin asked. The Elf seemed rather merry as they traveled towards a rendezvous
with battle.
Legolas chuckled. "I don't know how well it will translate into the common tongue, but it is a poem I've put to
music." He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he seemed to see into some far distance,
entranced.
"SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place..."*
There was silence for a moment, as Legolas stopped his song. He chuckled, somewhat embarrassed.
"There is more, much more, but my heart is too full to speak of it now."
Pippin gave his comrade an appraising look. "Legolas, you're in love! Who is she?"
"A lady as far above me as the moon, but love cares not for practical matters. For now, I content myself
with thinking of her, and composing poems that I might tell her my thoughts if ever I have the chance."
Legolas eyes shone with a dreamy light. "To show her my love is what I live for. If the gods grant me
their favor, I will have what I have most desired in this world. And that is not a thing most creatures upon
this earth can say."
Pippin tried to image what lady had so smitten his Elven comrade. His concepts of beauty were undoubtedly
quite plebian compared to Legolas', but after meeting Galadriel, Arwen, and Eowyn - all noble women of great
beauty and courage, he could perhaps just begin to imagine what sublime and transcendent creature had so
captured his comrade's heart.
There were several maidens among Hobbit kind that looked favorably upon the (comparatively) tall, bronze and
rakish figure that Pippin now presented to his folk, but he had forsaken the potential comforts of marriage,
home and hearth in order to set right the indefinable longing to be the man all of the Shire thought he was.
He was not Merry, who helped to destroy the witch king of Angmar. He was not the resolute Frodo, determined
to see that most odious and miserable task done, even at the cost of his life. And he certainly was not the
valiant and resourceful Samwise, whose loyalty and steadfastness was now a thing of legend among hobbit-kind.
He was Pippin - the irresponsible child, the meddler, unable to control his impulses and he who had gravely
imperiled the mission of the Ringbearer on three occasions. To be fair (and here Pippin sat more upright
in his saddle) he did save Lord Faramir from being burned alive by his father. And he had killed one orc
within the city walls (but that was certainly more panic and luck than heroics).
The city of the realm of Gondor shone like a great alabaster sculpture among the surrounding mountains, set
on the green velvet of the plains of Pelennor. Again, Pippin would be among the great, but not, this time, by
happenstance, but by his own will.
Pippin's stomach growled. "I hope I can still get breakfast at the palace. I'm starved!"
Legolas laughed. "I am sure the royal kitchens can satisfy even a hobbit's appetite. Come then!" He spoke
a whispered word to the horse, who bounded forward. " The sooner there, the closer we will both be to our
desires!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Aragorn's rest was troubled. Arwen's raving discomfited him so, that he feared to precipitate another fit
by his presence in their bed. He had slept in far more uncomfortable places that a warm, dry, carpeted
floor, but to know that it was he that terrified her gnawed at him with needle sharp teeth.
Aragorn had never imagined that he could cause her to fear him; the very thought sickened and enraged him.
He could not soothe her, for he was the cause of her fright. So he settled for a soldier's solution. He would
guard her door, and not intrude upon her pain for the moment. The way she had looked at him...! Some part
of their profound bond, something inexpressibly precious was being destroyed before his very eyes, and he
was helpless to stop it.
It was no good. True sleep eluded him, and the fitful tossing simply allowed more agonizing thoughts to rise.
Better to occupy his time with final preparations for his journey. His wife's distress was beyond his ability
to help, at least at this time. Perhaps a few days away would calm her. Best, then, to be about it. Already
fully dressed, he rose to his feet quietly. Arwen slept, curled defensively under the bedcovers, her breathing
a bit rapid and shallow. He took a step towards her, perhaps for a kiss or a caress, and then thought the
better of it.
Aragorn turned on his heel and opened the hall door. Wenrick was doing a fair imitation of a statue,
completely asleep on his feet, sword planted in front of him to assist in bracing him against the wall.
Sitting opposite, cross legged, her sharp little eyes fixed upon his own, was Augra.
"I would have thought you in more need of sleep that any of us, except Eowyn." He noted her sombre
expression. "Is Eowyn well? What brings you here so early, Augra?"
Augra rose to her feet slowly, and with a small grunt of discomfort. She spoke in a low voice. "I am weary, my
lord Aragorn, but I cannot rest until we have spoken at some length." Here, she sighed. "Having the sight can
be both a boon and a burden. I have...learned some things of great importance to you and the realm, sire. I
believe it my duty to inform you as soon as possible." She stepped closer to Aragorn. "But you will want
privacy for my news, my lord. Some is dire, and some most...delicate...indeed."
Aragorn's brow knitted in concern. Augra was a woman hardened to life's practical realities, not lightly
perturbed. Her tone and manner indicated matters of grave concern.
Aragorn closed the sitting room door quietly behind him.
"There is a small chamber next to the throne room for private conference. Come. We will speak there."
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Lord Ondoher promised the council that he would arrange the selection process for suitable concubines
with the utmost discretion. True to his word, he had the envelopes with the information regarding
these candidates delivered to Aragorn's private conference chamber, all secured within another envelope
and bearing his family seal.
He had decided to cull the selection from five women to three. One was his daughter, and the others were
two nieces. Three very different women, representing some of the best blood of Gondor. His own.