Middle Earth Continues Turning, part 4 (F/A NC-17 slash, mpreg)
On a serious day, more soap opera silliness.
Aragorn was going to war.
The very thought of it took Frodo's breath away and left him feeling sick with fear, as he hadn't been since … before. They'd already fought so long, struggled so hard -- and for what? Frodo had thought the end of the Ring would mean the end of war and destruction. He'd been a fool.
His thoughts kept circling back to those best-forgotten days. He remembered the way it felt to face unnumbered foes who wished you dead. He vividly recalled the mumakil, Sam's oliphaunts, arrayed for battle with so many fierce warriors and weapons carried on their broad backs. Even worse were the stories he'd heard of the war in Gondor, and how fiercely those southron men fought for Sauron. How they'd cut the heads off the dead and thrown them over the walls…
How could this be happening again? And how could Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli and Legolas all be so matter-of-fact about once again risking everything, their lives and those of their people? Frodo realized he'd stopped packing Aragorn's saddlebag and was instead wringing the worn, red woolen shirt in his hands. He was so angry…
A glimpse of silver and blue drew his eyes to the doorway, where Wena stood holding a lamp, watching him with a face full of concern. Frodo tried to smile up at her, but he knew it was unconvincing. Still, Wena nodded and continued down the hallway to Hope's rooms.
Frodo was fine. It was Aragorn who was riding into danger, about to face men who routinely poisoned their darts and arrows. And Frodo had been stupidly naive not to expect it.
The people of Minas Tirith had seen Aragorn in battle, watched him heal their wounded, but that hadn't been enough for them to accept him as king. It had taken Imrahil's allegiance, Faramir's acceptance of the sword and other proofs. Even Gandalf's word had been necessary to reinforce Aragorn's claim to the throne.
So of course others would still wish to test Aragorn, and thus try the strength of Gondor. Men were so -- fragmented, that was the word. There were dozens of countries, hundreds of tribes, and so many customs and beliefs. It was staggering to a hobbit of the Shire, used to harmony and peace. But so few men seemed to trust each other. Instead they lived like wild animals, fighting for territory, when cooperation might have secured plentiful food and shelter for all.
Now the Haradrim were raiding in south Gondor, stealing crops and burning settlements along the border. Legolas and Gimli had traveled south as Aragorn's ambassadors and met with several of the most powerful tribal leaders. None of them would openly defy Gondor, but no matter what seemed to be agreed to in their meetings, the raids continued. Aragorn had agree with Legolas and Gimli that the only option was battle, a full-out war on the Haradrim's own lands, to remind them the might of Gondor would again prevail.
Frodo shook out the shirt he held and folded it, stuffing it inside the bag. Tomorrow at dawn Aragorn would ride, and this time there was no way for a simple hobbit to be involved. Frodo was not a warrior and he had no power to help his love achieve his goals and come home safely. All Frodo could do was pack for him now, while he met with Faramir and his councilors, and in the morning send him off bravely, with no tears.
Frodo finished the packing, then spent time with Hope before tucking her in to sleep. He returned to their rooms and waited, dozing until Aragorn finally arrived. His face was stern but so very weary Frodo knew it took a great effort of will to look so calm.
"Your bags are ready for the morning, Aragorn. Come, sit and have a cordial with me." The decanter full of golden liquid was one of Wena's concoctions. It was perfectly safe for Frodo's babies, but still made mortal hearts and heads feel light and joyous. Frodo sipped a small glass almost every night, and sometimes Aragorn would join him, drinking watered wine instead of the precious elf-cordial. But this night he gladly accepted it, and Frodo knew it would do him good.
After the first long drink Aragorn pulled Frodo to sit next to him on their chaise. Another, and Frodo found himself in the man's lap, tightly held.
"I'm too heavy," Frodo began.
"Hush," Aragorn insisted, and drank deeply from his glass. Frodo did the same, so when Aragorn set down his glass, the goblet he took from Frodo's hand was already empty. Frodo's blood was singing, and Aragorn's kiss only made it more perfect. He felt elevated and powerful, and kissed back with all the passion he could show.
Aragorn quickly peeled Frodo out of his clothes right there, and in his happiness Frodo forgot to be self-conscious. Somehow when Aragorn lifted him to stand on their bed, and kissed his huge belly, Frodo felt beautiful. Beloved.
They were both too aroused by that time to do more than kiss, side by side atop the furs, while Aragorn's big hands rubbed their aroused cocks together. It felt so wonderful that Frodo couldn't last. With a cry and a deep groan he spilled his seed, his mouth still locked with Aragorn's and his hands pulling at the man's powerful arms.
But Aragorn firmly pulled away and stopped touching himself. He knelt up, staring down at Frodo. He whispered, "Look at you, flushed with pleasure and panting for air. Heavy with my children..." His words cut off and he cried aloud, spilling on Frodo's belly. He fell to his back beside the hobbit, his face contorted with the last spasms of his release.
When they'd both calmed, Aragorn pulled Frodo into his arms and covered them with the warm furs. "I'd like to do this several more times. All night, if I could. But I must be awake to ride tomorrow, or risk falling off my horse and damaging the dignity of my house."
Frodo couldn't laugh, though he knew Aragorn intended to be lighthearted, easing serious matters with light words in the way hobbits do. But the reminder of the farewell to come, and of the dangers ahead for Aragorn and the others, took away Frodo's powers of speech. He merely pulled up Aragorn's hand and kissed it, then held it to his face.
Aragorn seemed to understand, for he stopped looking for words and merely dropped kisses on Frodo's head, neck, and shoulder before settling into sleep.
Frodo once again wished he were anyone else. Even the lowliest soldier would be of more use to Aragorn in the days ahead. Frodo had nothing to do but wait here in the city with the women and children. Wait for news of the battle, and for the return of their king.
*** *** ***
Wenathen watched Frodo reading to Hope in the bright sunshine. Six months along now, he'd lost flesh but his burden remained healthy, though very large on his small frame. It cost him some gracefulness -- Frodo quite obviously waddled when he walked now. Yet he still managed to spend full, active days hard at work.
Aragorn had surprised many of his councilors by announcing on the day he left that he was appointing Frodo as his Steward, rather than Prince Faramir. Instead of resuming his hereditary duties, Faramir rode to war with Gondor, commanding Ithilien's troops.
Wena hadn't been present when Aragorn first told Frodo his decision, but she'd seen the stunned look on the hobbit's face and knew how overwhelmed he was at the very idea. It had been a most effective distraction from his grief at seeing Aragorn ride into danger.
But she knew Aragorn hadn't done it merely for that reason, and so did everyone else, now. Aragorn's trust in Frodo was repaid every day. The hobbit managed the myriad duties of Steward very smoothly. Wena could see that at some point in Frodo's youth, he'd been trained to manage lands and people, for he knew how to delegate tasks to others without losing sight of the whole. He understood how the city worked. Frodo knew more about the shortages of foodstuffs in the lower level than Wena herself, and had accurate ideas of the honest price for hay, oats, and most vegetables.
He seemed to have no desire for power, unlike so many of the wealthy men left in the city. Yet Frodo wielded his new authority very effectively, and with a gentle thoughtfulness that impressed almost all those around him.
Though Wena herself understood Aragorn's decision, she had feared that men would not take kindly to being ruled by a hobbit. She hadn't considered the awe and reverence now surrounding Frodo of the nine fingers, thanks to the bards and the annual new year's celebration honoring his deeds. She'd seen that the people loved Hope, but now she knew they loved Frodo, too, for giving their King an heir and bringing laughter back to the White City.
Frodo spent mornings with the wardens from each level of the city, letting them consult him on minor difficulties as well as those affairs that would require his intervention. Wena had duties as Hope's nurse -- but she did manage to check on Frodo several times each morning. It was amazing how long-winded some of the wardens could be, and how ineffectual some were at dealing with even the most simple problems despite the authority the king had granted them. She knew Frodo was making notes on this, to advise Aragorn of changes he might wish to make when he returned.
But only the second warden of the fifth level truly disturbed Wena. So of course he was the one warden Frodo removed from office without waiting for Aragorn's return.
Eritor was a very wealthy and supposedly charming man, but he seemed to Wena's elvish eyes to be a slug, trailing despair and filth behind him. She didn't like the way he looked at Frodo, his face smooth but envy burning in his eyes. But it was worse when Frodo smiled or laughed, and a kind of hate-filled lust would dawn instead. In his greed, Eritor had conspired with the candle merchants to set prices much higher than they should be.
The scheme was uncovered by Frodo after hearing complaints about how dark certain poorer areas had become. Eritor and the merchants might have escaped with a warning, but thieves had found the situation much to their advantage, and a woman had been killed one moonless night on the third level.
Frodo sat in judgement that day before a large crowd, looking very stern -- and small -- on the Steward's seat. "Your businesses are hereby forfeit to the Crown, for you have lost the right to freely trade in good faith with your fellow citizens." Wena knew Frodo planned to rent the confiscated candle-shops to promising merchants, allowing them to eventually buy the business outright.
"I shall not expel you from the City, though you may wish to leave of your own free will. Certainly no honest citizens here will give you work.
"As for you, Eritor, the Crown hereby fines you 10,000 silver coins -- more than your share of the dishonest profits. You claim to have been misled by the merchants, and I have no proof otherwise. But you are also hereby stripped of your warden's medallion, and are forbidden from ever holding an office of honor in Minas Tirith. One so easily led to do evil is not capable of the good judgement and honesty King Elessar requires in his trusted advisors."
Frodo stepped down to the cheers of a happy populace. But Wena was watching Eritor's face, and saw Frodo had made a deadly enemy this day. Like most elves, she saw Men as a childish race, young in Middle-earth and full of foolishness. The merchants, whether sobbing or red-faced with anger and shame, were like that. But Eritor was evil. She vowed that if he tried to harm Frodo, she would kill Eritor without a second thought, and from that afternoon began keeping her knife sheathed in her bosom, as she had not done since the Dark Lord's fall.
Wenathen shook herself out of those memories and smiled at Frodo as he closed his book. Fortunately, his time with the wardens always ended by the noon hour, so he could spend mealtime with Hope. They all relaxed, walking outside for some of their time when the weather remained pleasant, as it was this day. Wena would feed them both while they chattered and played, and if she was giving Frodo warm cordials to sharpen his wits and strengthen his body before he returned to his duties, it was no one's business.
In the afternoons Frodo met with the commanders of the guards. Aragorn had left a sizeable group of soldiers to secure their rear, fearing that the raids in Harad might be a ploy to weaken Minas Tirith's defense. Eomer and Faramir, too, had left their cities well-secured. But soldiers on such routine and boring duty needed to be closely watched lest they cause mischief. Citadel guards, some of the best of Aragorn's men, had been carefully selected and promoted into positions of authority. They were all doing an excellent job of keeping the city secure, and Frodo shared the infrequent dispatches from Aragorn's camp with them, as well as thoughtfully listening to their reports and praising their work.
Once these security issues were finished, Frodo either handled the king's correspondence, or, on alternate days, held court. At first he only heard those cases which could not await the king's return, and refused to sentence any serious offenders to punishment, saying such things must await Aragorn's justice. But after the affair with the candle-merchants, he'd put some thieving ruffians in jail rather than await Aragorn's return, and began hearing all smaller disputes, so that the King would not be burdened with dozens of old grievances when he returned.
Indeed, much of what was brought before Frodo should have been resolved without the Steward's notice. He settled these cases with a healthy dose of hobbit-sense, enforcing agreements which often surprised the parties, but never cost more money than both could easily pay. Often the only price was some of their pride. Frodo insisted in all his judgements that the people of Minas Tirith must learn to live together peaceably, pointing out that there were enough enemies outside their walls. Inside, he wanted only those who understood friendship, cooperation, and loyalty.
Frodo stood and kissed Hope, who smiled despite the shadows in her eyes. It was hard to see their darling girl grow up so quickly, with one father fighting in the south and the other so busy with his duties. Her birthday was only two weeks away, and it now seemed impossible for Aragorn to return in time for the celebration.
"Hope, would you like to make sculptures this afternoon?" Wenathen asked in elvish, delighted to see the solemn little face light up. "We can take the clay to the stables, and model your pony."
"Yes, please Na!"
She smiled at her newly-happy charge, and wished she could so easily lighten Frodo's mood. He looked worn. The hobbit needed rest this afternoon, not hours of bickering. She turned back to Hope.
"Go wash your face and hands, and I'll meet you in the kitchen." Hope ran off and Wena moved to Frodo, stooping a little to speak quietly to him. "You should postpone the military reports for an hour, and take some rest. When you carry so much extra weight, you must rest your back."
Frodo smiled at her, his eyes sad. "I've already cancelled court, but I must hear the reports. Then I promise I'll rest until dinner."
"Thank you. I know you still feel healthy, but I sense fatigue in you."
"A little, perhaps. Nothing a nap won't fix," Frodo replied.
Nothing Aragorn's return wouldn't solve, Wenathen thought, but did not say.
She found Hope in the kitchen, where the third assistant cook was already boiling starch and flour to make the modeling clay. The princess was happily rolling out dough for a tart -- a rather large tart, but Hope explained that it was to be shared with Fwo and must be large enough for a hobbit. Wenathen smiled at her just as horns sounded outside the window, distant but drawing nearer. Messengers, and they were blowing the royal salute!
She left Hope in the care of the servants and went to the Hall to see what news came from the battlefield. Frodo and his officers were already at the door, waiting, as was a huddle of courtiers. Further off, past the White Tree, more citizens were arriving, the crowd parting only enough to let the horses through.
The two couriers who rode up wore guard insignia. They were filthy and one was wounded in the shoulder, the other in the leg, but they each carried letters for the Steward. Frodo accepted the parchments, then dismissed the men, ordering them to immediately report to the healers on the sixth level. Frodo sent one of his own guards to return their horses to the stables on the first level, then opened the first scroll.
His hands remained steady as he closed the first roll and read the second, longer document through. Though his face remained expressionless, Frodo turned an alarming shade of white and Wena thought he swayed a bit before swallowing, visibly taking a deep breath, and recovering himself.
"The message is from King Elessar," he announced clearly. "The chiefs of Harad have asked for peace. A treaty will be drawn up and signed shortly, and our soldiers will be returning to Minas Tirith." The crowd cheered, but Frodo raised his hand for silence and continued, "A garrison will be stationed at the border to enforce the treaty, and some men must be assigned duty there. Volunteers from South Gondor and Lebennin will be trained over the next year to permanently man the garrison."
The people cheered the news again, but Wenathen kept watching Frodo, wondering what was in the second letter. This could not be the news that had made him blanch with fear.
The crowd dispersed and Frodo dismissed his soldiers, then looked about and motioned to Wena. She approached him quickly, remaining silent until they were inside the Hall and completely alone.
"What is it, Frodo?"
"You must go to Aragorn immediately. Legolas writes that he was slightly wounded in one of the first skirmishes, and though he claims it was nothing, the wound has not healed properly. He fears Aragorn could lose his leg, because the wound seems to be mortifying."
Wena's face tightened as she tried not to show her fear, but understanding and knowledge were plain in Frodo's eyes. "I can ride to him tonight, if you wish. But I don't like to leave you alone in your condition."
"Nonsense. I've been perfectly well. If you would, please concentrate on packing your salves and medicinal herbs. I'll attend to the rest, and have Lissasus brought to the Citadel for you."
"As you wish, Frodo. But promise me..." He paused and looked up at her with all his attention, his calm resolve reassuring Wena more than any words could.
"I'll do whatever you advise. You know I want my children to be healthy and safe."
"Have a runner send Aven the healer to me, and I'll give him instructions for treating you. Meanwhile, courage." She quickly hugged Frodo and kissed his brow, then ran swiftly to her rooms. She'd barely begun sorting items for her bag when a number of servants arrived to assist her. She let them pack up her clothing, sent one to pack some clean, loose clothes for the king, and kept another woman with her to carefully wrap the jars she selected in cushioning cloths to protect them on the road.
It was only an hour later when she rode off, leading a second horse laden with healthy fresh foods for the wounded and her supplies. Frodo watched from the steps of the Citadel with Hope in his arms. Wena had told him it was dangerous to be lifting the child now, but she understood why he'd done so this night. Hope was very upset about Wena's departure, even though she seemed to understand that her father needed elvish nursing. Her face was tear-streaked as, held safe in Frodo's arms and clutching her favorite doll, Hope waved at Wena and tried to smile. Twisting in her saddle, Wena did the same, though she would not allow her own tears to fall.
Even when the road reached the turn for the sixth level and she could no longer see them, Wena sensed the two tiny figures behind her, glowing with love. Wena carried what she could of their love with her, knowing it was the best possible medicine for the king.
TBC
Aragorn was going to war.
The very thought of it took Frodo's breath away and left him feeling sick with fear, as he hadn't been since … before. They'd already fought so long, struggled so hard -- and for what? Frodo had thought the end of the Ring would mean the end of war and destruction. He'd been a fool.
His thoughts kept circling back to those best-forgotten days. He remembered the way it felt to face unnumbered foes who wished you dead. He vividly recalled the mumakil, Sam's oliphaunts, arrayed for battle with so many fierce warriors and weapons carried on their broad backs. Even worse were the stories he'd heard of the war in Gondor, and how fiercely those southron men fought for Sauron. How they'd cut the heads off the dead and thrown them over the walls…
How could this be happening again? And how could Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli and Legolas all be so matter-of-fact about once again risking everything, their lives and those of their people? Frodo realized he'd stopped packing Aragorn's saddlebag and was instead wringing the worn, red woolen shirt in his hands. He was so angry…
A glimpse of silver and blue drew his eyes to the doorway, where Wena stood holding a lamp, watching him with a face full of concern. Frodo tried to smile up at her, but he knew it was unconvincing. Still, Wena nodded and continued down the hallway to Hope's rooms.
Frodo was fine. It was Aragorn who was riding into danger, about to face men who routinely poisoned their darts and arrows. And Frodo had been stupidly naive not to expect it.
The people of Minas Tirith had seen Aragorn in battle, watched him heal their wounded, but that hadn't been enough for them to accept him as king. It had taken Imrahil's allegiance, Faramir's acceptance of the sword and other proofs. Even Gandalf's word had been necessary to reinforce Aragorn's claim to the throne.
So of course others would still wish to test Aragorn, and thus try the strength of Gondor. Men were so -- fragmented, that was the word. There were dozens of countries, hundreds of tribes, and so many customs and beliefs. It was staggering to a hobbit of the Shire, used to harmony and peace. But so few men seemed to trust each other. Instead they lived like wild animals, fighting for territory, when cooperation might have secured plentiful food and shelter for all.
Now the Haradrim were raiding in south Gondor, stealing crops and burning settlements along the border. Legolas and Gimli had traveled south as Aragorn's ambassadors and met with several of the most powerful tribal leaders. None of them would openly defy Gondor, but no matter what seemed to be agreed to in their meetings, the raids continued. Aragorn had agree with Legolas and Gimli that the only option was battle, a full-out war on the Haradrim's own lands, to remind them the might of Gondor would again prevail.
Frodo shook out the shirt he held and folded it, stuffing it inside the bag. Tomorrow at dawn Aragorn would ride, and this time there was no way for a simple hobbit to be involved. Frodo was not a warrior and he had no power to help his love achieve his goals and come home safely. All Frodo could do was pack for him now, while he met with Faramir and his councilors, and in the morning send him off bravely, with no tears.
Frodo finished the packing, then spent time with Hope before tucking her in to sleep. He returned to their rooms and waited, dozing until Aragorn finally arrived. His face was stern but so very weary Frodo knew it took a great effort of will to look so calm.
"Your bags are ready for the morning, Aragorn. Come, sit and have a cordial with me." The decanter full of golden liquid was one of Wena's concoctions. It was perfectly safe for Frodo's babies, but still made mortal hearts and heads feel light and joyous. Frodo sipped a small glass almost every night, and sometimes Aragorn would join him, drinking watered wine instead of the precious elf-cordial. But this night he gladly accepted it, and Frodo knew it would do him good.
After the first long drink Aragorn pulled Frodo to sit next to him on their chaise. Another, and Frodo found himself in the man's lap, tightly held.
"I'm too heavy," Frodo began.
"Hush," Aragorn insisted, and drank deeply from his glass. Frodo did the same, so when Aragorn set down his glass, the goblet he took from Frodo's hand was already empty. Frodo's blood was singing, and Aragorn's kiss only made it more perfect. He felt elevated and powerful, and kissed back with all the passion he could show.
Aragorn quickly peeled Frodo out of his clothes right there, and in his happiness Frodo forgot to be self-conscious. Somehow when Aragorn lifted him to stand on their bed, and kissed his huge belly, Frodo felt beautiful. Beloved.
They were both too aroused by that time to do more than kiss, side by side atop the furs, while Aragorn's big hands rubbed their aroused cocks together. It felt so wonderful that Frodo couldn't last. With a cry and a deep groan he spilled his seed, his mouth still locked with Aragorn's and his hands pulling at the man's powerful arms.
But Aragorn firmly pulled away and stopped touching himself. He knelt up, staring down at Frodo. He whispered, "Look at you, flushed with pleasure and panting for air. Heavy with my children..." His words cut off and he cried aloud, spilling on Frodo's belly. He fell to his back beside the hobbit, his face contorted with the last spasms of his release.
When they'd both calmed, Aragorn pulled Frodo into his arms and covered them with the warm furs. "I'd like to do this several more times. All night, if I could. But I must be awake to ride tomorrow, or risk falling off my horse and damaging the dignity of my house."
Frodo couldn't laugh, though he knew Aragorn intended to be lighthearted, easing serious matters with light words in the way hobbits do. But the reminder of the farewell to come, and of the dangers ahead for Aragorn and the others, took away Frodo's powers of speech. He merely pulled up Aragorn's hand and kissed it, then held it to his face.
Aragorn seemed to understand, for he stopped looking for words and merely dropped kisses on Frodo's head, neck, and shoulder before settling into sleep.
Frodo once again wished he were anyone else. Even the lowliest soldier would be of more use to Aragorn in the days ahead. Frodo had nothing to do but wait here in the city with the women and children. Wait for news of the battle, and for the return of their king.
*** *** ***
Wenathen watched Frodo reading to Hope in the bright sunshine. Six months along now, he'd lost flesh but his burden remained healthy, though very large on his small frame. It cost him some gracefulness -- Frodo quite obviously waddled when he walked now. Yet he still managed to spend full, active days hard at work.
Aragorn had surprised many of his councilors by announcing on the day he left that he was appointing Frodo as his Steward, rather than Prince Faramir. Instead of resuming his hereditary duties, Faramir rode to war with Gondor, commanding Ithilien's troops.
Wena hadn't been present when Aragorn first told Frodo his decision, but she'd seen the stunned look on the hobbit's face and knew how overwhelmed he was at the very idea. It had been a most effective distraction from his grief at seeing Aragorn ride into danger.
But she knew Aragorn hadn't done it merely for that reason, and so did everyone else, now. Aragorn's trust in Frodo was repaid every day. The hobbit managed the myriad duties of Steward very smoothly. Wena could see that at some point in Frodo's youth, he'd been trained to manage lands and people, for he knew how to delegate tasks to others without losing sight of the whole. He understood how the city worked. Frodo knew more about the shortages of foodstuffs in the lower level than Wena herself, and had accurate ideas of the honest price for hay, oats, and most vegetables.
He seemed to have no desire for power, unlike so many of the wealthy men left in the city. Yet Frodo wielded his new authority very effectively, and with a gentle thoughtfulness that impressed almost all those around him.
Though Wena herself understood Aragorn's decision, she had feared that men would not take kindly to being ruled by a hobbit. She hadn't considered the awe and reverence now surrounding Frodo of the nine fingers, thanks to the bards and the annual new year's celebration honoring his deeds. She'd seen that the people loved Hope, but now she knew they loved Frodo, too, for giving their King an heir and bringing laughter back to the White City.
Frodo spent mornings with the wardens from each level of the city, letting them consult him on minor difficulties as well as those affairs that would require his intervention. Wena had duties as Hope's nurse -- but she did manage to check on Frodo several times each morning. It was amazing how long-winded some of the wardens could be, and how ineffectual some were at dealing with even the most simple problems despite the authority the king had granted them. She knew Frodo was making notes on this, to advise Aragorn of changes he might wish to make when he returned.
But only the second warden of the fifth level truly disturbed Wena. So of course he was the one warden Frodo removed from office without waiting for Aragorn's return.
Eritor was a very wealthy and supposedly charming man, but he seemed to Wena's elvish eyes to be a slug, trailing despair and filth behind him. She didn't like the way he looked at Frodo, his face smooth but envy burning in his eyes. But it was worse when Frodo smiled or laughed, and a kind of hate-filled lust would dawn instead. In his greed, Eritor had conspired with the candle merchants to set prices much higher than they should be.
The scheme was uncovered by Frodo after hearing complaints about how dark certain poorer areas had become. Eritor and the merchants might have escaped with a warning, but thieves had found the situation much to their advantage, and a woman had been killed one moonless night on the third level.
Frodo sat in judgement that day before a large crowd, looking very stern -- and small -- on the Steward's seat. "Your businesses are hereby forfeit to the Crown, for you have lost the right to freely trade in good faith with your fellow citizens." Wena knew Frodo planned to rent the confiscated candle-shops to promising merchants, allowing them to eventually buy the business outright.
"I shall not expel you from the City, though you may wish to leave of your own free will. Certainly no honest citizens here will give you work.
"As for you, Eritor, the Crown hereby fines you 10,000 silver coins -- more than your share of the dishonest profits. You claim to have been misled by the merchants, and I have no proof otherwise. But you are also hereby stripped of your warden's medallion, and are forbidden from ever holding an office of honor in Minas Tirith. One so easily led to do evil is not capable of the good judgement and honesty King Elessar requires in his trusted advisors."
Frodo stepped down to the cheers of a happy populace. But Wena was watching Eritor's face, and saw Frodo had made a deadly enemy this day. Like most elves, she saw Men as a childish race, young in Middle-earth and full of foolishness. The merchants, whether sobbing or red-faced with anger and shame, were like that. But Eritor was evil. She vowed that if he tried to harm Frodo, she would kill Eritor without a second thought, and from that afternoon began keeping her knife sheathed in her bosom, as she had not done since the Dark Lord's fall.
Wenathen shook herself out of those memories and smiled at Frodo as he closed his book. Fortunately, his time with the wardens always ended by the noon hour, so he could spend mealtime with Hope. They all relaxed, walking outside for some of their time when the weather remained pleasant, as it was this day. Wena would feed them both while they chattered and played, and if she was giving Frodo warm cordials to sharpen his wits and strengthen his body before he returned to his duties, it was no one's business.
In the afternoons Frodo met with the commanders of the guards. Aragorn had left a sizeable group of soldiers to secure their rear, fearing that the raids in Harad might be a ploy to weaken Minas Tirith's defense. Eomer and Faramir, too, had left their cities well-secured. But soldiers on such routine and boring duty needed to be closely watched lest they cause mischief. Citadel guards, some of the best of Aragorn's men, had been carefully selected and promoted into positions of authority. They were all doing an excellent job of keeping the city secure, and Frodo shared the infrequent dispatches from Aragorn's camp with them, as well as thoughtfully listening to their reports and praising their work.
Once these security issues were finished, Frodo either handled the king's correspondence, or, on alternate days, held court. At first he only heard those cases which could not await the king's return, and refused to sentence any serious offenders to punishment, saying such things must await Aragorn's justice. But after the affair with the candle-merchants, he'd put some thieving ruffians in jail rather than await Aragorn's return, and began hearing all smaller disputes, so that the King would not be burdened with dozens of old grievances when he returned.
Indeed, much of what was brought before Frodo should have been resolved without the Steward's notice. He settled these cases with a healthy dose of hobbit-sense, enforcing agreements which often surprised the parties, but never cost more money than both could easily pay. Often the only price was some of their pride. Frodo insisted in all his judgements that the people of Minas Tirith must learn to live together peaceably, pointing out that there were enough enemies outside their walls. Inside, he wanted only those who understood friendship, cooperation, and loyalty.
Frodo stood and kissed Hope, who smiled despite the shadows in her eyes. It was hard to see their darling girl grow up so quickly, with one father fighting in the south and the other so busy with his duties. Her birthday was only two weeks away, and it now seemed impossible for Aragorn to return in time for the celebration.
"Hope, would you like to make sculptures this afternoon?" Wenathen asked in elvish, delighted to see the solemn little face light up. "We can take the clay to the stables, and model your pony."
"Yes, please Na!"
She smiled at her newly-happy charge, and wished she could so easily lighten Frodo's mood. He looked worn. The hobbit needed rest this afternoon, not hours of bickering. She turned back to Hope.
"Go wash your face and hands, and I'll meet you in the kitchen." Hope ran off and Wena moved to Frodo, stooping a little to speak quietly to him. "You should postpone the military reports for an hour, and take some rest. When you carry so much extra weight, you must rest your back."
Frodo smiled at her, his eyes sad. "I've already cancelled court, but I must hear the reports. Then I promise I'll rest until dinner."
"Thank you. I know you still feel healthy, but I sense fatigue in you."
"A little, perhaps. Nothing a nap won't fix," Frodo replied.
Nothing Aragorn's return wouldn't solve, Wenathen thought, but did not say.
She found Hope in the kitchen, where the third assistant cook was already boiling starch and flour to make the modeling clay. The princess was happily rolling out dough for a tart -- a rather large tart, but Hope explained that it was to be shared with Fwo and must be large enough for a hobbit. Wenathen smiled at her just as horns sounded outside the window, distant but drawing nearer. Messengers, and they were blowing the royal salute!
She left Hope in the care of the servants and went to the Hall to see what news came from the battlefield. Frodo and his officers were already at the door, waiting, as was a huddle of courtiers. Further off, past the White Tree, more citizens were arriving, the crowd parting only enough to let the horses through.
The two couriers who rode up wore guard insignia. They were filthy and one was wounded in the shoulder, the other in the leg, but they each carried letters for the Steward. Frodo accepted the parchments, then dismissed the men, ordering them to immediately report to the healers on the sixth level. Frodo sent one of his own guards to return their horses to the stables on the first level, then opened the first scroll.
His hands remained steady as he closed the first roll and read the second, longer document through. Though his face remained expressionless, Frodo turned an alarming shade of white and Wena thought he swayed a bit before swallowing, visibly taking a deep breath, and recovering himself.
"The message is from King Elessar," he announced clearly. "The chiefs of Harad have asked for peace. A treaty will be drawn up and signed shortly, and our soldiers will be returning to Minas Tirith." The crowd cheered, but Frodo raised his hand for silence and continued, "A garrison will be stationed at the border to enforce the treaty, and some men must be assigned duty there. Volunteers from South Gondor and Lebennin will be trained over the next year to permanently man the garrison."
The people cheered the news again, but Wenathen kept watching Frodo, wondering what was in the second letter. This could not be the news that had made him blanch with fear.
The crowd dispersed and Frodo dismissed his soldiers, then looked about and motioned to Wena. She approached him quickly, remaining silent until they were inside the Hall and completely alone.
"What is it, Frodo?"
"You must go to Aragorn immediately. Legolas writes that he was slightly wounded in one of the first skirmishes, and though he claims it was nothing, the wound has not healed properly. He fears Aragorn could lose his leg, because the wound seems to be mortifying."
Wena's face tightened as she tried not to show her fear, but understanding and knowledge were plain in Frodo's eyes. "I can ride to him tonight, if you wish. But I don't like to leave you alone in your condition."
"Nonsense. I've been perfectly well. If you would, please concentrate on packing your salves and medicinal herbs. I'll attend to the rest, and have Lissasus brought to the Citadel for you."
"As you wish, Frodo. But promise me..." He paused and looked up at her with all his attention, his calm resolve reassuring Wena more than any words could.
"I'll do whatever you advise. You know I want my children to be healthy and safe."
"Have a runner send Aven the healer to me, and I'll give him instructions for treating you. Meanwhile, courage." She quickly hugged Frodo and kissed his brow, then ran swiftly to her rooms. She'd barely begun sorting items for her bag when a number of servants arrived to assist her. She let them pack up her clothing, sent one to pack some clean, loose clothes for the king, and kept another woman with her to carefully wrap the jars she selected in cushioning cloths to protect them on the road.
It was only an hour later when she rode off, leading a second horse laden with healthy fresh foods for the wounded and her supplies. Frodo watched from the steps of the Citadel with Hope in his arms. Wena had told him it was dangerous to be lifting the child now, but she understood why he'd done so this night. Hope was very upset about Wena's departure, even though she seemed to understand that her father needed elvish nursing. Her face was tear-streaked as, held safe in Frodo's arms and clutching her favorite doll, Hope waved at Wena and tried to smile. Twisting in her saddle, Wena did the same, though she would not allow her own tears to fall.
Even when the road reached the turn for the sixth level and she could no longer see them, Wena sensed the two tiny figures behind her, glowing with love. Wena carried what she could of their love with her, knowing it was the best possible medicine for the king.
TBC