Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Days of the King ❯ An Unexpected Visitor ( Chapter 25 )

Chapter 25 - An unexpected visitor

 

"Now what on earth is this?"

The tower watch had spotted a disturbance on the far border.

A lone rider was whipping his mount into a flat-out gallop across the fieldsof Pelennor toward the front gates of Minas Tirith.

 

The Tower Watches always kept at least 20 men on the walls even in peace time, with the certainty of an arrow in the gullet of any advance guard of a hostile force. The woods surrounding the city never had less than 100 members of the Outer Watch laying in ambush for enemies, so the perimeter security for the city began almost 10 miles away.

This fellow was one of the Outer Watch. His news must be important, and not of enemy activity or the small tree-top watch fires would have been lit.

As he neared the gate, the sentry yelled,"What news? You ride like the devil was after you!"

"Not the devil, but one of his jesters, maybe. It's Haradrim, about 200 or so- but only about 50 of them are soldiers. The rest of them...well, I think it's a carnival!"

The mounted sentry was admitted. He rode the streets of Gondor through the several levels of central gates until he was admitted, after identifying himself to each posted guard. This was news too strange to trust to a short message; only an eyewitness could relay this intelligence meaningfully.

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The procession advanced at a leisurely pace.

"If this is an attack, it is the slowest in all the ages of the earth", muttered one of the Tower watch.

The first thing that impressed the eye was the color. Pennants in brilliant reds, blues, greens and yellows; flashes of bronze and silver bewildered and delighted the eye. The lead in the procession appeared to be an oliphaunt, but much smaller than the monstrous war animals that had terrorized the White City. This one seemed nought but a baby, barely 10 feet tall, and had no tusks. Instead, it was brightly painted, like a jester, with garlands of flowers and golden discs about it's neck and brilliant tapestries draped over its broad back.

Music was heard, faint at first; drums, cymbals and silvery horns making a jaunty tune that increased in complexity and volume as the procession neared.

And the oliphaunt danced. At least that was the only interpretation one could make of it's merry gait, punctuated with occasional shakes of its enormous head. Around the beast danced at least one hundred women, festooned with silks and golden adornments. They whirled about the beast, occasionally giving it pats on it's broad brow. From time to time one of the dancers was borne aloft on the beasts' trunk, and struck acrobatic poses almost a dozen feet above the ground.

Behind the dancers marched soldiers. At least, they were armed and armored. A yell from the lower walls carried over, "The soldiers are women, too!"

Indeed, the armored chestplates were crafted in loving and explicit detail of the female form, and the warriors, though crowned with high helms and armed with very tall spears from which hung tassels of every color of the rainbow, were undoubtedly women. They marched with the precision of a military, but with spectacular flourishes of their spears, and occasionally struck them on small rounded shields to add extra percussion to the music.

The final addition to the parade was a moving ziggurat, with a golden throne perched atop the center platform. It was partially covered by a silken canopy, presumably to sheild it's occupant. The lower tiers were occupied by several scantily clad women, whose bejeweled and painted charms could be appreciated even from this distance. It was drawn by four oxen-like creatures. So large were they that the space from curving horntip to horntip was twice the height of a tall man. They were snow-white bulls, with golden tassels on their horns. They, too, were garlanded like the oliphaunt.

The citizenry began to gather about the walls. This was a spectacle of unrivaled color and motion, and all were as children, gawping at the sights of the parade.

The moving festival stopped about 50 feet from the main gate. One of about 20 mounted soldiers trotted forward, and put her hand to her mouth.

"Greetings! Our liege, Rai Dathik-Nessa, greets your good King and the citizens of this great city! He would have an audience with the Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn, sovereign of Minas Tirith!"

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A palace guard at a flat out run almost collided with the King as he departed Gimli's rooms.

"Your Majesty, a guard of the Outer Watch has important news! A potentate with an unusual retinue are almost upon us. He says it is more of a carnival than a military detachment. He says more, but he thought you would wish to hear it from someone who has seen this marvel!"

"Alert General Halmir." said Aragorn."Tell him I want 300 men mustered in 15 minutes along the walls, and my personal guard in formal armor to attend me in 10. Reinforce the guard at the gates, 20 archers on each. And find Wenrick! If he is not at my chamber door, get a lad from the guard to help me with my armor!" He whirled about, and sprinted for the stairs.

'What now!?' Aragorn muttered to himself. There seemed to be forces aligned against him leaving on the tour of his lands, such that none of these incidents could be postponed or ignored. 'I hope this does not bode ill for our journey...'

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Arwen found herself in the palace gardens, shocked into a dazed and distracted state. Her brief flare of rage had ended, and her jealousy gave way to despair. She felt simply hollow and completely alone. She could not seek comfort from Aragorn, for now suspicion tinged with envy was added to her fear - not of him, but of what she had called forth upon him. 'Would that I could command that memory to fade' she lamented.

She forced herself not to pace fretfully, and to casually stroll as she tried to regain her composure. The garden was heady with the scents of new spring growth. Curved stone benches were carefully arranged around ornamental trees, carefully tended patches of brilliant flowers and flowering bushes, and paths of blue and white stone slabs. There was also a pond with a small waterfall, home to tiny colorful fish, that flickered with metallic colors among the pebbles lining the bottom. The smell and feel of water was especially calming to her. Rivendell was a place of water. Everywhere was within a few yards of rivers, streams, and waterfalls.

Arwen had a sudden and unexpected pang of homesickness. Rivendell was probably overgrown bynow, the graceful architecture of her people all but engulfed by the vines and water loving plants that were so beautiful when tended, but could aggressively intrude when neglected.

The thought of Eowyn, with her growing family, and the affection of all of Minas Tirith sparked the dying embers of jealousy to flare briefly, and caused Arwen to feel even morealone. She was Queen of a city and a people that, largely, did not want her. Eowyn was the treasured daughter of one kingdom, and the beloved adopted child of another.

Eowyn seemed to belong everywhere; Arwen felt she belonged nowhere.

It was the future, though, that most concerned her now. Perhaps, perhaps she might still conceive; Elrond had foreseen a child, a son, in her future with Aragorn. But when? It had been ten long years. And now here was another impediment to her marital happiness that she could never have predicted. 'How will I have a child if I have made my husband afraid to touch me for fear I shall act a madwoman?'

 

Arwen sank onto an ornately carved stone bench, and put her hand to her forehead, eyes closed. She breathed deeply, trying to relax from the trials of the last two days. The garden was peaceful; enclosed by high stone walls with no windows facing upon it, and only one entrance.

"Hello again, cousin..."

 

Legolas strolled down the garden path towards her. He stopped to pluck a pale purple bud, very similar in color to her gown. He extended the flower towards her, and surveyed it against the background of her costume for a moment.

"It was a shame to cut short the life of such a pretty thing, for nothing can enhance your perfection..."

Arwen was too distraught to maintain her reserve. There was a question she meant to ask him, and now in her distress, her tongue was loosened.

"Why do you insist upon calling me 'cousin'?' she snapped. "There is no blood between us...'

Legolas feigned surprise.

"Why lady, there is more blood between us than between either of us and any other creature on this side of the sea. Perhaps you have not noticed the family resemblence...?" Here, Legolas, gestured at his own, slightly pointed ears.

'"Kinship enough to recognize the similarities, but certainly not close enoughto prevent a more intimate relationship..." he said, with a coy smile.

"Ugh! I grow ever more weary of your jest, Legolas. It was never amusing, but now I have even more grave concerns , and find your levity not just inappropriate but insulting! Leave me!"

Arwen had clenched her fists, and had so forgotten herself that she felt she could strike him at that moment.

"I am sorry my attempts to charm you have fallen flat; therefore I am sure you will find this last piece of news I have for you even more disagreeable. Aragorn's potential concubines have been chosen by one of his ministers; the choosing will be thrust upon him in mere days. Upon his desk you will find dossiers of the candidates. Your time grows short. I do not make these things so, they simply are. Aragorn's need for an heir will separate you."

Her eyes flew open wide. "How would you know before I do?"

Legolas knelt before Arwen, and took her protesting hands in his.

"Listen to me, Arwen. Being here forces Aragorn to choose between wife and kingdom. Don't make him choose. It will wound you both, perhaps beyond the healing. Leave Minas Tirith. I will not let you be alone, my lady. Give him time to solve these issues, and then decide whether you will return or no..."

Arwen jumped to her feet and snatched her hands away. "I will not leave my husband; I will not forsake my vows to him..."

Legolas stood slowly.

 

"HE will forsake his vows to YOU, Lady, or forsake his vows to ancestors and title. And that will crush you. And him. I will go with him on this fruitless mission, and save his life. In spite of my desire for you, he is still as dear as a brother to me. But for both of your sakes, be gone when he returns. You will not weather the storm that in coming in Minas Tirith, lady..."