Restless

Chapter 5

"Day 54"


Men on horseback were becoming more frequent along the small dirt road and Aragorn smiled. Pleasant memories of this place filled his thoughts and he was suddenly glad that Arwen was at his side. He wanted her to see this place, see the lands, which he, and his ancestors before him, had protected for generations. He wanted to share with her the feelings of the place he long called home.

It was clear the passing men, women and children, had never seen such a royally dressed caravan. By the looks of awe and the gaping jaws as they passed, the people would indeed wonder who these strange travelers were, and to where they were going.

They pushed onward, without rest, determined to reach Bree by sunset, before the gates were closed to outsiders.

When the caravan arrived at dusk, Aragorn was pleasantly surprised to see the wooden gates standing open. The gatekeeper stepped out of his 'office' and stood unmoving at the uncommon vision of royalty that stood before him.

"I will announce your arrival," The Chamberlain sat arrogantly forward in his seat and cleared his throat. He stared down at the dirty, unwashed gatekeeper that stood gaping at the caravan, eyes wide and searching every horsed member as if each were an enemy there to ransack the town.

Aragorn glanced uncomfortably at Arwen before turning his attention to the smiling Chamberlain. "That will not be necessary.”

The Chamberlain favored the King with a very unsavory glance. “My Lord, it is customary to announce such an important visitor. You, Sire, as King of these lands, more than adequately fit that description.”

The gatekeeper turned his attention to Aragorn, eyes wide with recognition. Before either man could say another word, the trees beside the caravan rustled and shook. Royal guardsmen drew their blades and dropped lances from their upright position, to cross before the King. Such a practiced and precise maneuver would be enough to dissuade anyone in the area from foul play.

"Wait," Aragorn held out a steady hand as a Ranger stepped out of the trees, wide smile crossing his dirty face.

"Aragorn!" the man gasped, his face lighting with recognition. "It is good to see that you've finally decided to travel to your Northern Kingdom! We've heard rumblings of your journey."

The gatekeeper turned and ran town the dirt-covered road toward the Inn.

As the Ranger walked toward the King, the guardsmen sheathed their weapons and righted their lances. If the Ranger took note of the momentary danger, he made no mention.

Aragorn leaned down in his saddle to grip the Ranger's hand and forearm in greeting. "Thank you, Súrion. It will be good to see how the Grey Company has done in my absence."

"Much has been done!" the man exclaimed. "You will not recognize your old home, my friend."

Aragorn nodded as the man noticed Arwen sitting astride Asfaloth, quietly watching the exchange. "My Lady," The ranger bowed deeply. "What a beautiful addition you make to this troupe."

Arwen smiled widely as the Ranger took her hand and kissed it gently. "You didn't think I was going to let my husband travel all this way without me?"

"Not at all," the Ranger winked at Aragorn, knowing full well the many years the former Chief of the Dunedain pined after the seemingly unattainable elven princess. “The people will be glad to see their Queen.”

"But, you've just arrived." He regarded Aragorn with a wink." Get yourselves settled and then come to 'The Pony'," he threw a questioning look at Arwen, "If the lady will allow."

Arwen smiled at her husband and nodded at the Ranger. "I wouldn't think of keeping him from reliving old memories and visiting old friends."

"I would like to visit the Inn again. I spent so much time there as……"

The Chamberlain shot the King an indignant look, "Surely you do not intend to set foot 'inside' one of these shabby-looking pieces of architecture? I must advise…"

"I'm quite sure I know exactly what your advice will be, Sir." Aragorn glared at the Chamberlain and the man immediately swallowed any retort waiting on his lips. "But the last time I looked, I was still the King and you, merely my advisor."

The Chamberlain's eyes widened and his mouth gaped at such an apparent degradation of his responsibilities and title. He glanced down at the Ranger, who warefurefully hiding a smile, then back to the King. "With all due respect, My Lord. I am not merely your 'advisor'," he gave a disgusted snort at the simple title, " I am responsible for every…."

“Forgive my hasty reply. I am quite well aware how important you are to me and to the smooth running of my kingdom,” Aragorn said, eyes locking with those of his Chamberlain.

It was clear that the Chamberlain had not expected such a quick and honorable apology as the man simply sat in silence for several moments.

Aragorn leaned down to his friend, whispering “Mark this day, I believe I will never render him speechless again.”

Arwen chuckled quietly, eyes catching the mirth in her husbands gaze as he turned Roheryn and urged the stallion slowly within the city gates.

The Chamberlain shook his head and followed, shouting orders to his servants to prepare a camp for the King's tents.

People stepped out of their dwellings and stood in the street, holding lanterns and candle's by which was their only light to see the royal entourage. The gatekeeper appeared at the door to the Prancing Pony, pointing toward the King, who now rode at the head of the caravan. Barliman the barkeep stood behind the gatekeeper, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide as a saucer of cat's milk.

Aragorn pulled Roheryn to a stop in front of the 'Pony' and smiled at the stunned barkeep. "It has been a long journey, and my men have had to endure my lengthy tales of your legendary ale. Please supply them with all they desire." Aragorn noticed the surrounding streets fill with people but still Barliman said nothing. "You will be well paid." Aragorn added and the barkeep blinked, the promise of coin shaking him from his shocked stupor.

"King?" The man muttered in disbelief.

Before Aragorn could frame a response, his Chamberlain did it for him. "Yes, before you sits Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor. Receive him and his company as befits his station as your Lord and King."

Arwen watched her husband wince at the lengthy title. It was something she was sure he would never get used to hearing, regardless of how long he sat the throne.

Aragorn sighed unhappily and shot a look of disgust at the satisfied Chamberlain. The man merely smiled widely and settled smugly into his saddle.

"Well, whaddaya know," a fairly intoxicated patron stumbled out the door behind Barliman. "They were so desperate for a King they crowned one of them Rangers! Why Strider, I've never seen you looking so fine!"

Arwen exchanged an amused look with her husband but beside them the Chamberlain gasped in horror at the perceived insult. A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd, echoing the Chamberlain's horrified gasp at the drunkard's audacity. "Why, how dare you make such a remark. You shall…"

"Stand down, please." Aragorn raised a hand, silencing the Chamberlain immediately.

"Why thank you, Sir." Aragorn addressed the drunkard directly, lea for forward in his saddle to meet the man's clouded eyes. "It was a long, hard road, but I've fulfilled the destiny for which I was born."

Barliman still stared in shock at the man whom he'd seen for the better part of his life, always quiet, sitting in a corner, watching - always watching. A wanderer. A Ranger. Now King of the rebuilt Northern Kingdom of Arnor and it's sister Kingdom of Gondor. The gatekeeper elbowed Barliman and the man quickly shook the dazed look from his eyes and met the kind, crystal gaze of the King. "You men are welcome here now and always…Sire." The word rolled off his tongue uncomfortably and Aragorn smiled in understanding.

"Elessar is how you may address me. Titles are a formality here that I do not wish to observe."

"My Lord…" The Chamberlain began to protest but was silenced as Aragorn continued to address the barkeep.

"It has been a long and tiring journey, I would most definitely like a mug of your renowned ale. Even Gondor does not brew it so well." Aragorn turned the discussion to a topic in which he felt the barkeep would be more comfortable.

At this, Barliman smiled widely. "Well come in and we will serve you up right! As many pints as you can drink!"

Aragorn nodded and smiled. "Soon. First, I do believe there are a great many people who would like answers to some burning questions." He turned to address the gathered crowed. "Please give us some time to clean up from our long journey and I will see each one of you."

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Aragorn rubbed tired eyes as the last person was escorted from the pavilion. Arwen slipped through the thin veils of silk that served to separate the 'rooms' inside the large royal tent and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. He leaned into her arms and sighed, eyes slipping shut as her sweet scent floated around them. When she slid her hands into his hair and gently massaged his scalp, he released a heavy sigh.

"I should hold my attentions or you will not get your pint of Barliman's ale," her voice was soft as she spoke.

A deep chuckle was his only response and she ceased her attentions. "Go. Get out and have your fun before I keep her here, tied to your kingly duties."

He whirled out of the makeshift throne and caught her in his arms. "Ah, and what pleasant duties those are."

She dropped a kiss on his lips and turned out of his embrace. "I'll be waiting." The silk parted and she disappeared into the makeshift-cha-chamber.

Aragorn stood torn between the anticipated sweet kisses of his wife and the long-missed pipe and ale of Barliman the barkeep. The King shook his head, unable to believe he was even contemplating the choices. He moved to follow his wife when two Ranger's stepped in from the night chill.

"We were told the people were done for the evening." Súrion smiled. "Shall we continue a long-absent custom?"

Aragorn's eyes lighted at Súrion's companion. The long distant relative and the second in command of the rebuilt kingdom stepped forward and clasped Aragorn in a tight embrace. "It's good to see you, my friend."

Aragorn smiled widely. "And you, Elendur!"

Aragorn grinned and reached for where Anduril lay propped against the makeshift throne. Within a few moments, the belt was clasped low around his waist as he walked toward his kinsmen. Before exiting the pavilion, he cast one apologetic look at the silk draped from the roof, vowing to make it up to Arwen when he returned.

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It was uncomfortable for Aragorn to sit in the dusty tavern, unable to blend into the shadows, as was his usual custom. Now, he sat surrounded first and foremost by royal guardsmen, charged with his safety, second by the Rangers, whom he had missed in his long years of absence. Then last came the people still awake at this late hour, many intoxicated and some unable to do anything but stare at the royally dressed men that lined the walls of the establishment.

His discomfort was noticed immediately by the keen eyes of his kindred.

“Take pipe with us, Aragorn!” Elendur clasped his friend on the back and shoved the pipe, as well as a small pouch, into his hand. “There is none better.”

Aragorn smiled widely, and nodded. “Truer words have never been spoken, my friend.” As the king emptied the contents of the pouch into the end of the pipe, he observed. “The crop has been large this year.”

“Indeed it has,” Súrion admitted. “The shortage lasted only while Saruman and his evil servants controlled these lands.”

As Aragorn placed the pipe between his lips, he began to relax, old memories flooding his mind as the leaf began to dull his senses.

Barliman himself served their ale, but he could find no words with which to speak to the former Ranger. His discomfort was palpable as Aragorn knew all too well, having felt it himself before he began to consume large amounts of ale and hobbit leaf.

Several dirty, ragged men sat in the corner silently watching the King and his companions. They whispered quietly to one another, evil smiles spreading across their features as they listened.

Time passed swiftly and the men recounted stories, sat in silence at the memories, and mourned the passing of many a friend. Soon, a very sleepy Chamberlain strode stiffly into the room, eyes searching for the King.

Elendur elbowed Aragorn in the side, who immediately turned wide eyes on the visibly annoyed man.

“My Lord, the hour draws late. If you wish to reach Arnor tomorrow…”

Aragorn, lips loosened a bit by the ale, and smelling of sweet hobbit leaf, clasped the Chamberlain firmly on the shoulder in a severe breach of protocol that left the man too stunned to speak. “Why, you’ve lowered yourself and entered this tavern. I’d never have thought it possible!”

The Chamberlain simply stared at the slightly intoxicated King. The gathered Rangers and royal guard quickly brought mugs to their lips, whether empty of full, to hide their amused smiles at Aragorn’s rather loud, direct comment.

“It is good enough for a King, yet not for the King’s Chamberlain?” Aragorn’s eyes suddenly cleared and the slur vanished from his words.

“I am – unaccustomed, to these places, My liege.” The Chamberlain stuttered, eyeing the nearby Rangers, as well as the patrons, who watched the exchange with great interest.

“I see.” Aragorn took a slow draw from his pipe and closed his eyes, savoring the enjoyment of its taste and aroma. “But,” Aragorn stood suddenly and handed the pipe and small pouch to Elendur, “My man here is correct. The hour is late and it is time for bed. If I am fortunate, my wife will allow me her warmth for the remainder of the night.” A few drunken cheers followed the comment and the Chamberlain winced in disgust.

“We do not ride to Arnor, tomorrow.” Aragorn clasped the hands of his fellow Rangers before turning to the Chamberlain. “We ride to Hobbiton.”

The Chamberlain’s eyes widened. “My Lord. Would it not be prudent to have told me this earlier? Everyone is expecting to reach the Northern Kingdom tomorrow and…”

“That’s why I’m telling you now,” Aragorn interrupted and saluted his old comrades with an old Dunedain gesture of respect. “I realize you long for the comfort of a real bed, but I have my own agenda for the remainder of our trip. There are old friends I wish to visit. Even your heart may be softened by the sweet laughter and smiles of the children of the Shire."

After a short pause, the King continued. "We will be making a stop in Hobbiton before reaching our final destination.”

No one noticed the men in the corner smile in appreciation at the King's comment. One stood and made his way silently out of the tavern as the others leaned closer to hear more of the King's conversation.

When the Chamberlain opened his mouth to protest, Aragorn raised a silencing hand. “It is not your place to question my decisions, Sir.” The annoyance in the King’s voice was more pronounced, thanks to the ale. “See that it does not happen again.”

The Chamberlain nodded slowly as Aragorn turned on his heal and strode out of the tavern, two royal guardsmen at his heels.


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Arwen rolled over as her husbanlledlled off his clothing and slid into the furs beside her. The sweet scent of the Halfling’s leaf fell like a curtain around them nearly masking the indistinguishable scent of Barliman’s famous ale.

“I trust you had a good evening?” Arwen whispered, dropped a warm hand atop his bare chest.

He mumbled something incoherently and she chuckled. He draped a hand low on her waist and pulled her against his side with a heavy sigh.

“I see.” She was unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed with him. It was obvious he’d had a little too much - of everything, but she did not begrudge him some time to relax with old friends. Once they reached Arnor, he would assume strict Kingly duties once again. The Chamberlain would see to that.

When he brought her hand to his lips and dropped a tender kiss to the open palm, she smiled warmly. “I’m sorry to have left you for so long.” Came the slightly slurred apology and she grinned. She pressed herself against his side and rested her cheek against the bare skin of his shoulder. Turning his head, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before drawing her into a tight embrace.

“You smell good,” Arwen whispered against his skin, really much too tired to begin an evening of passion so late. Her mind was tired from the journey but her body was beginning to wake from the intoxicating aroma permeating his skin.

“I always wondered if what they said was true,” Aragorn rubbed a whiskered cheek against the top of her head, breathing deeply of her freshly washed hair.

Arwen sighed and burrowed deeper into his embrace. “Hmm?” She rubbed her cheek against his skin and trailed her fingers down his chest.

“The leaf is an aphrodisiac, love.” In one fluid motion, surprising, considering his level of intoxication, he rolled her onto her back and covered her body with his own. When he captured her lips, she inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as she trembled with excitement beneath him.

“I think you will get no sleep this night,” Arwen sighed as his hands relieved her of her sleeping gown and began to roam gently, but urgently, across her silken skin.

“Worth it,” he murmured against her lips.

She arched her back and whimpered against his mouth as his fingers found what they sought, and delved deep, testing her readiness. Her eyes fluttered shut as his fingers found that sensitive spot and began to move in urgent circles. Her hips jerked in response to his touch and she sucked in a deep breath. Her hips met each plunge of his fingers into her wetness and her eyes squeezed shut at the rapidly approaching release.

“Aragorn!” She cried into his lips as he settled between her thighs and entered her in one, smooth stroke.

She raked her nails down his back, whimpering as he moved strong and steady above her. His scent overwhelmed her senses and his touch enflamed her already tingling body. Their lips met in a kiss that crushed the breath from the both of them, and he groaned long and hard into her mouth. A thin sheen of sweat covered their skin and as quickly as their little interlude began, it was over.

He spent himself within her with one, last, deep arch of his hips, crying out her name in an intoxicated delusion. Her hands tugged at his hair as she followed him into sated oblivion.

Arwen lay exhausted beneath him, her body trembling from their quick, passionate coupling. He pulled her into his arms as he rolled onto his back and covered their chilled skin with the forgotten covers. Without words, they fell into a deep, sated sleep, worrying not what the next day would bring – except very little rest.