Too Long to Wait: The Tantrum
Aragorn leaned against the arched doorframe that separated
Ellohir's room from their own, grinning as Frodo scurried
to find clothes for Ellohir. He lifted an elaborately
carved wooden trunk and pawed through the tiny shirts and
vests.
Ellohir's room was darling, and Aragorn had to admit Frodo
had done a wonderful job in designing it. Frodo had
commissioned an artist originally from Umbar to paint the
walls a shimmering blue, giving the room the appearance of
being underwater. Colorful fish of varying shapes and
sizes decorated the underwater scene, as well as an octopus
and stingray. Now that Ellohir was mostly privy trained, he
had what he called a "big boy bed," a matter of great pride
for him. Low to the ground, the bed was built to look like
a boat. The base was curved and if pushed, it could rock
back and forth. Many a night Frodo had rocked Ellohir to
sleep while telling him a story.
"We're going to market, Ellohir!" Frodo said, and his
cheeks were flushed with excitement. He gave Aragorn a wry
smile. "I know you find my enthusiasm amusing, Aragorn, but
you know we've not gone anywhere as a family for a long
time."
"True." Aragorn nodded, almost wishing to pack Ellohir away
elsewhere because Frodo's full lips, slightly parted in
amusement, were tempting, and he wished they could indulge
in a long kiss.
"What's market?" Ellohir asked, looking from Aragorn to
Frodo. He was dressed in his leggings and naught else, his
ungainly feet in socks.
"It's a marvelous place," Frodo said, choosing a gray shirt
from Ellohir's trunk. "Fruits and vegetables straight from
the earth and freshly picked from trees. Not to mention the
baked cinnamon bread, nuts with honey, Elvish candy, toys
from Dale, musicians and jesters!"
Aragorn laughed again, wondering who was more thrilled,
Frodo or Ellohir.
"We're going there?" Ellohir's eyes shone.
Aragorn's heart clutched with guilt as he saw the
excitement this rare outing caused for his small family.
Aragorn rarely had the time or inclination to go. He would
not allow Frodo to take Ellohir alone. No matter how well
guarded the city, there always existed those with evil
intentions who might see capturing or harming Frodo and
Ellohir as an easy way to target a king they might not
like. Most people meant no harm, of course. They only
wished a glimpse of the king and especially of the heir,
who had come under the strangest of circumstances.
"Ellohir, here is the gray shirt…" Frodo said. "The vest
will go just fine with it. You'll soon need new shoes,
won't you?" Frodo laughed, glancing at Aragorn. "Look -
hobbit feet to be sure!"
Aragorn shrugged, unimpressed. "I've always maintained he's
more Hobbit than Man, Frodo, and he'll not need shoes much
longer."
"Oh, please!" Frodo laughed roughly. "Get on your jacket,
Ellohir."
"No jacket." Ellohir scrunched up his face, and Aragorn
cringed. There was bound to be a battle because Frodo
would never let Ellohir out without a jacket and Ellohir
would not willingly wear one. "No jacket."
"Yes, jacket." Frodo stood firmly in front of him, holding
out the faded green jacket. Ellohir stepped backwards, his
shirt only half buttoned, his face reddening.
"Ellohir," Frodo said, his brow creasing with irritation.
"You will wear a jacket or you will stay home with Alia.
Which do you prefer?"
"No jacket." Ellohir crossed his arms.
Frodo snagged Ellohir's sleeve with a gasp of triumph and
managed to wriggle the jacket on one arm. Ellohir dragged
them both to the floor, squirming and letting out such a
pitiful squall that surely everyone in the upper level
would hear.
"Ellohir, settle down!" Frodo's fresh excitement from just
a few moments ago had faded. "All right then. You will
stay home."
"Ellohir," Aragorn broke in sternly, holding out two other
jackets. "You do not have to wear that jacket." Ellohir
stopped crying immediately. "But you must wear one of
these. Which one, darling?"
Ellohir calmly pointed to the maroon jacket. "That."
Ellohir stuck his arms out compliantly as Aragorn put the
jacket on him. Aragorn raised his eyebrows at Frodo, who
scowled back at him. All too often Frodo gave the
impression that he handled Ellohir's bad turns so much more
effectively than Aragorn, and it was nice for the hobbit to
be humbled occasionally.
***
Aragorn chose three guards to accompany them, and soon
enough they were on their way out of the city's upper
level.
"Are you well enough to walk, Frodo?" Aragorn asked.
"Certainly," Frodo said, catching hold of Ellohir's hand.
The boy smiled up at him, his cheeks rosy. "I feel as if I
could walk all the way to the Shire."
Ellohir walked without complaining, and he commented on
everything in a breathless voice, barely pausing long
enough for Frodo and Aragorn to answer.
"Why do the guards wear black and silver?…that store front
is silly looking with the dancing goat on it…who is that
fat man carrying all those buckets?…Where does that road
go?…Is a baby horse the same as a pony?…Frodo, will there
truly be jesters?…Are all those banners there because of
you, Aragorn?…will I get to wear a sword when I'm king?…Is
there a king in the Shire, Frodo?"
At last they reached the market, and it swarmed with
people. The guards walked close to Aragorn and his family,
and people parted before them, staring and bowing, placing
hands to their chest in wonder. Frodo felt a bit
embarrassed, and even Ellohir was quiet for a time, too
overwhelmed by the crowds, the booths, the pipe music, the
scent of freshly baked bread, and the colorfully dressed
jesters.
***
Sitting high and proudly on Aragorn's shoulders, Ellohir
craned his head over the crowd, trying to find the booth
that sold babies. Frodo had once said that he had bought
Ellohir at the market, and now that he knew what the market
was and he was here in the midst, he was all the more
curious. He didn't truly believe Frodo, of course, but he
just wanted to make sure there really wasn't such a booth.
If there was, he might ask Frodo if they could buy another.
Ellohir would love a nice boy to play with. The guards'
sons were big and rough, and sometimes they made fun of his
big feet and called him a "halfling." Ellohir did not know
what a halfling was, and he could not tell from the older
boys' voices whether it was a good thing or not.
Ellohir wanted Frodo to hold him. He felt somewhat insecure
and dizzy up at this great height, and he tugged at
Aragorn's ears.
"What is it, Ellohir?"
"I want down!"
"Will you be able to walk?"
"Yes, I can walk!"
Aragorn swung Ellohir to his feet, and Frodo took his hand
again. Ellohir squeezed the much loved hand and asked,
"Frodo, where are the baby booths? I think we need a little
brother for me!"
He was disappointed when Frodo only laughed but did not
answer, but there was so much to see and do, that Ellohir
soon forgot it.
***
Frodo pulled at Aragorn's elbow. "I shall be right back.
I see something at that vendor across the street that is
perfect for Sam! I will leave Ellohir with you."
Aragorn nodded. "Have a care." He watched Frodo dodge the
crowds of Big People as he crossed the street. Frodo
looked so small among them, and it was odd to Aragorn to
see that. Frodo filled his world.
"I want to go with Frodo," Ellohir said, tugging at
Aragorn's elbow.
"No, darling. Frodo will be right back."
"I want to go with Frodo," Ellohir said insistently,
tugging at Aragorn's hand. Aragorn saw the familiar crease
in Ellohir's brow.
"Look!" he said, desperate to distract the toddler. "See
the jester's going to sing for us soon! Let's go see!"
"I want Frodo!" Tears sprang to Ellohir's eyes. Aragorn
wondered if the boy had gotten enough sleep lately. He
seemed much crabbier today than usual.
"Frodo will be back. Let's go watch the jester."
Several people nearby watched with amused grins, though
they turned away when Aragorn looked in their direction.
"Even the king has to deal with…" he heard a woman say with
a laugh as she disappeared into the crowd.
"My liege," one of the guards broke in. "Shall I fetch
Frodo?"
"No," Aragorn said firmly. "Absolutely not. Ellohir will
learn that sometimes he must wait."
Ellohir threw his head back and wailed, tears bubbling from
his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.
"Ellohir," Aragorn said roughly, and even his guards turned
to him in surprise. "Settle down!" He was annoyed by how
uncomfortable he was becoming by the stares and amused
muttering comments. He was king. He could command the
market clear out and shut down if he so desired, though
that would, of course, only make it worse. "If you do not
stop, we'll not buy you anything."
"Frodo."
"No, Frodo will not either. If he does, I shall take it
away and you will never see it again."
Ellohir's chin quivered and fresh tears formed. Aragorn's
heart clutched with regret. At least Frodo's scolding
didn't sound cruel. Where was that hobbit, anyway?
"Shall I?" The guard glanced in the direction of where
Frodo was shopping.
"No." Aragorn grasped Ellohir firmly by both shoulders. The
boy's scowl was nearly identical to Frodo's when he was
angry, but Aragorn could not let himself soften. Aragorn
shook Ellohir just slightly, and the boy broke into a
piercing weeping as he slumped to the ground. Surely all of
Minas Tirith could hear. Certainly half of the city was
gathered nearby, watching with great interest, yet not
daring to step in to help or give advice. A guilty pang
filled Aragorn's stomach. Surely Frodo had heard Ellohir's
cry and would be convinced Aragorn could not handle the
boy.
Aragorn looked around for the hobbit, and there he was --
squeezed between a hefty woman carrying a basket on her
head and a man holding a mule. Frodo watched with a smug
smile, arms crossed. Well, Aragorn refused to call to him
for help. Sooner or later, Frodo would be unable to bear
Ellohir's crying anymore and he would intercede.
Ellohir was now lying on his back, crying in hoarse sobs,
kicking his big shoe-clad feet on the ground, his face
flushed and wet with tears. He was saying something, but
Aragorn couldn't decipher it through the crying. Aragorn
met Frodo's glance and shrugged in defeat.
Frodo ran to them and fell to his knees near Ellohir.
Ellohir had not seen him yet and let out a giant kick that
caught Frodo in the chest and knocked him backwards.
Aragorn grunted in anger, and letting Ellohir cry, he
helped Frodo to his feet. Frodo rubbed at his chest,
catching his breath.
"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked as a dull throb of
embarrassed fury filled his chest.
Frodo nodded. "I'm all right. Let's just go back home.
Ellohir has had enough."
"That he has," Aragorn said, slinging Ellohir, who was
still kicking and crying, over his shoulder. The look in
his eyes must have been frightening indeed because the
crowd scrambled in a near panic to move out of the way.
"Aragorn, do not…please do not overreact." Frodo trotted
after him, but Aragorn did not slow his pace.
"He will never behave like this in public again."
"Aragorn…" Frodo gasped. "You'll not strike him…?"
Aragorn twisted his head toward Frodo in fury. How dare he
ask such a thing! "Have you ever seen me strike anyone,
Frodo? Do you not perceive me as clever enough to think of
a more effective way to discipline him?"
"It's not that…"
"And keep your voice down! We are not in the privacy of our
quarters!"
Ellohir cried all the way home. As they approached the
steps that led to their quarters, Frodo spread his arms
out. "Give him to me!" Frodo begged. "He'll quiet in my
arms."
"Out of the question," Aragorn said. "That is exactly what
he wants and I'll not reward him."
"But he will quiet…"
"I just want him in bed as quickly as possible, Frodo. Once
he's there, he can cry all night if he wishes."
By the time they reached their quarters, Frodo was
desperately out of breath from following Aragorn's pace,
and Aragorn felt the first stirrings of guilt, especially
since Ellohir was still sobbing hoarsely.
"Oh, Aragorn," Frodo said with a sigh, touching Ellohir's
bottom. "He's wet his breeches."
Aragorn sighed wearily. "What a mess this outing was,
Frodo."
In the boy's room, Aragorn set Ellohir down, and the boy
stood, head tilted up, his face contorted in misery, still
sobbing.
"Ellohir," Frodo said. "Take down your breeches, they're
wet."
Aragorn tugged them down without waiting for him to obey.
Frodo found fresh undergarments and a nightshirt.
"I don't want to go to bed!" Ellohir sobbed.
"All that crying has made you tired," Frodo said as sternly
as he could. "And you were very naughty for Aragorn today."
Ellohir sobbed, clutching at Frodo. "I…I just wanted…I
wanted you."
Aragorn saw Frodo's eyes soften, and he shot him a warning
glance. "Ellohir, put on your nightshirt. You are going to
bed early without a story and without supper."
"No supper?" Frodo questioned in a whisper.
"He ate plenty at market today," Aragorn whispered back.
Ellohir continued to cry. Aragorn gathered him into his
arms, his heart softening at the pitiful sound, and carried
him to bed. Ellohir struggled to keep his eyes open as
Aragorn placed him gently under the covers, tucking the
blankets around him. He kissed the boy on the brow, and led
Frodo out of the room.
***
If there are images in this attachment, they will not be displayed. Download the original attachment
This snippet of TLTW takes place just after the tantrum (Ellohir is about three and a half).
Disclaimer: Don’t own it. Don’t make money off it.
Frodo tossed and turned. He could not seem to find a comfortable spot, and Aragorn had gone to speak to some of his advisors and had still not come back up to bed. His thoughts kept turning to Ellohir, alone and hungry in the dark, without even having had his story or warm milk.
Frodo froze. As if in answer to his thoughts, a jagged sniffing and weeping came from Ellohir’s room. Frodo scrambled to light the lamp on his side of the bed. It had to be past midnight, and poor Ellohir was still awake and miserable from the day’s events. Aragorn had demanded Ellohir be left alone until morning, but Frodo’s heart wrung. Hobbit children were never sent to bed without supper. Even as a young rascal in Brandy Hall, that had never been Frodo’s fate. A sound whipping -- also nearly unheard of in the Shire -- was considered less cruel.
Frodo crept out of bed and into Ellohir’s room.
“Ellohir, darling.” The little boy was huddled on his side, and he trembled from exhausted tears. His face was wet, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Frodo’s throat filled with pity and guilt. Surely if Aragorn saw this, he would cease his punishment at once.
Frodo sat on the stool next to the boat-shaped bed and rubbed Ellohir’s back.
“I…I’m hungry,” Ellohir said quietly, as if the strength had already been drained from him. “I…I…” He hiccupped. “I’m sorry…don’t want…please don’t be mad at me anymore…I’m scared and Aragorn…he wouldn’t even come in to say good night…” The sobbing began in earnest again.
“I’m not angry with you, Ellohir,” Frodo said, feeling tears in his own eyes. “Not anymore. I will get you your supper right now. Can you hold on a few moments?”
Ellohir took a few deep breaths as he nodded. He wiped his face, trying to calm himself.
Frodo crept out of the room. He quickly dressed, praying Aragorn would not come back at that moment. He did not feel like arguing with him about Ellohir’s punishment at this late hour. In Frodo’s opinion, Men had somewhat of a cruel streak when it came to handling their children. Children of Men were under such iron rule, forced to behave to such a high standard all the time. He had seen the way some of the guards and treated their children, and it just didn’t seem right.
One day not too long ago Frodo had chastised one of the bigger boys for yanking a toy away from Ellohir. The boy’s father, one of the Citadel guards, had overheard and had boxed the boy’s ears without thought. The child had cried, but there had been no mercy. In fact, the guard had grown angrier with the boy and had shamed him for crying like a maid child.
Frodo sought out the pantry and went to work. He was familiar with everything in it, and of course, he had free reign, much to Aragorn’s slight chagrin. He thought that Frodo should just ask a servant to bring him what he wanted. Frodo had not the heart to tell Aragorn that though the cook was surely the best in the realm, he still had not mastered true hobbit cooking.
Twenty minutes later, Frodo was trotting up the stairs to the quarters he shared with Aragorn and Ellohir holding a big plate full of fried mushrooms, scrambled eggs, toast with butter and jam, and strawberries. The aroma sparked the hunger pangs in Frodo’s stomach and he imagined he would probably pick at whatever Ellohir did not eat. He had nearly reached the door, when Aragorn’s voice called from behind him.
“It is late for a snack, even for a hobbit.”
Frodo’s heart sank. He had hoped at least to get the food into Ellohir’s room before Aragorn returned. “Yes, indeed,” he said stiffly.
“Well, perhaps we can sit together and share it. I’m a little hungry myself.”
“Aragorn, no,” Frodo said with a frustrated sigh as he entered their room with Aragorn just behind him. “You know it’s not for me.”
Aragorn’s voice grew cold and he rested his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “Ellohir is to be alone and he is not to eat until tomorrow morning.”
Frodo’s cheeks flamed, remembering the bewildered grief on Ellohir’s face, and he pulled out of Aragorn’s grasp. “I know you are accustomed to interacting with your advisors and guards, but do not take that harsh voice with me.” His heart bumped rapidly against his chest. He had never spoken so roughly to Aragorn. “Go in there and speak to him. He is heartbroken.”
“It is because you give into him like this that his bad behavior is reinforced,” Aragorn said.
“Bad behavior?” Frodo said. His arms were beginning to tremble from holding the heavy plate for so long, but he feared to put it down…just in case Aragorn in his present stubborn mood was pitiless enough to take it away. “All children get over stimulated sometimes, and Ellohir is not used to crowds. We do not take him out enough.”
Aragorn stayed firm. “That is no excuse for his behavior. If you let him get by with this, Frodo, he will do it again. If you stay firm, he will see that when he misbehaves like this, there are severe consequences. He is an heir to a throne, which means we must be a little harsher on him than we would a normal child.”
“Go see him,” Frodo said weakly. “Please. It is past midnight, which means it truly is tomorrow morning.”
Aragorn closed his eyes in defeat and muttered something that sounded like, “Utterly useless.”
He strode into Ellohir’s room, where the boy was sitting cross-legged, patiently waiting for the food. Frodo hoped he had not overheard the argument. His face brightened when he saw Aragorn and Frodo - and a plate full of food.
“Thank you!” he cried out to Frodo. “I’m so hungry!”
“You will not disobey me like that again?” Aragorn asked sternly, kneeling beside Frodo, who sat on his stool again. “Especially out in the market?”
“No,” Ellohir said, shaking his head, looking pleadingly at him.
“You kicked Frodo, you know. You could have hurt him-“
“Hush!” Frodo nudged Aragorn as new tears formed in Ellohir’s eyes. “There’s no harm done.”
“All right then, Ellohir,” Aragorn said with much more tenderness. “There now, you may eat. Frodo got you some wonderful hobbit food.”
“I love Frodo’s food!” Ellohir said, tears nearly forgotten. Frodo perched the plate on the edge of his bed, and Ellohir leaned forward, digging into it with voracity no doubt unrivaled in Gondor.
Aragorn leaned over and kissed Ellohir’s head, and he was rewarded with smiles from both Ellohir and Frodo.
“You are right,” Aragorn murmured in Frodo’s ear. “My heart is already much lighter. I cannot bear to stay angry with him.”
“We’re hopeless,” Frodo said with a giggle.
Aragorn climbed to his feet. “I will get his warm milk.”
Go on to next part