Prologue:
A Normal Life

There was harmony around the campfire.

Gandalf believed this was because the forces of good and evil were weary of their ageless conflict and had retreated from battlefield of the world for a brief interlude, no doubt to plot and plan their next offensive against each other. A sigh of relief escaped the land at this stalemate, manifesting in a gentle breeze that swept through the air when the field of battle was empty. The land settled comfortably to enjoy this brief equilibrium however long it lasted. Across Middle earth, the urge to destroy and fight had withered away for a night, though no one truly noticed it in the twilight hours of the dark.

Smoking his pipe, Gandalf noted the Fellowship was enjoying the lethargic pace that followed their evening meal. The cool rather than icy temperatures of the night were welcomed and if there was a cold bite to the air, the fire certainly chased the unpleasant feeling away. They sat around campfire, drinking in the comfortable atmosphere that had settled around them as they took a rare moment of rest, when the dangers of the quest and the conflicts within the group seemed terribly far away. During this brief sojourn, it was easy to forget that they were Nine Walkers embarking on a great quest to save Middle earth, but rather a group of companions, journeying the same path.

It was just as well, Gandalf decided as he let out a puff of smoke from his pipe. Even an Istar’s patience could be taxed by the behavior he had been forced to tolerate these past few days. Despite himself, he knew he was reaching the end of his rope when he began to wonder if it was such a terrible thing to use the powers of the Sacred Fire to turn each member of the company into some form of life that was incapable of speaking. A frog perhaps? No good, he shook his head silently because frogs could croak. Insects would only swarm and cause the same irritation despite lacking the power of speech. He had descended the order of beasts that might be suitable when he realized that he was devoting all together too much thought to this entire idea.

It was not that the company was truly aggravating, it was simply that they had such difficulty tolerating each other. With each rising conflict, this hostility grew so fierce that there was no need to fear being killed by orcs or wraiths, when the deed could be easily accomplished by anyone of them in a fit of temper. The tension was so thick that Gandalf was being driven to smoke so much leaf that he had almost exhausted his personal supply. Since the quest could not be delayed in order for him to make a quick trip to South Farthing to replenish his supply, the wizard was rather irate by the whole situation.

Fortunately, at this moment, all seemed quiet and peaceful and for their own sakes as well his sanity, harmonious as well.

Frodo was no longer spending every waking moment bemoaning his fate at being the possessor of the One Ring, despite voluntarily agreeing to take the thing to Mordor while Sam was not constantly telling him (and everyone else for that matter) how courageous his master was undertaking this great quest. Legolas and Gimli had paused in their quarrelling like wayward children, a rather extraordinary feat considering one was more than a century old while the other was three thousand years old. Even Merry and Pippin had ceased to remind them it was time to break their journey for either breakfast, lunch, morning tea, dinner or for that matter, mushrooms. Boromir had also stopped glaring at Aragorn as if at every turn, the Ranger was preparing to claim something else that did not belong to him, be it the throne of Gondor or the last morsel of food left in Sam’s cooking pot. This was of course when Boromir was not staring at Frodo with longing for the One Ring.

Or at least Gandalf hoped it was his longing for the One Ring.

"I wonder what Rosie is doing?" Samwise Gamgee spoke out loud to no one in particular.

He referred to Rosie Cotton of course, the young daughter of Farmer Cotton who always had a kind word to him and smiled whenever he passed by.

"Probably still waiting for you to say two words to her," Frodo retorted, drawing a dark look from Sam.

"I speak to her all the time!" The hobbit exclaimed but by the shade of red his ears was turning at Frodo’s remark, it was clear that his intentions towards her ran deeper than mere conversation.

"Is she your lady then?" Legolas inquired.

"No!" Sam sputtered aghast. "She’s just Rosie, a girl I know." His voice escaped him in a nervous stammer.

"Can you believe he is known for his silver tongue among the girls in the Shire?" Pippin teased as Sam turned an even crimson with embarrassment. It did not help that Pippin’s remark had produced a ripple of laughter throughout the company at Sam’s expense.

"Don’t feel bad Sam," Frodo rose to the occasion as always when it came to Sam’s self esteem. "Pippin isn’t any better at talking to girls then you are, about how you feel about them. I saw him sneaking looks at Diamond of Long Cleeves at Bilbo’s party."

"Diamond?" Merry stared at his best friend in amusement. "You didn’t tell me!"

"Its none of your business that’s why," Pippin bristled and gave Frodo a dark look, especially when Sam was now grinning ear to ear at not being alone in his uncertainty around the ladies.

"How do any of you Shire folk expect to bear children if you cannot even speak to the fairer sex?" Boromir laughed heartily. "Women like men taking charge. You have to let them know how you feel and sweep them off their feet."

"And you know all this from your wealth of experience as an unmarried man?" Aragorn could not resist adding with a certain hint of smugness, since he was the only one in the company who actually had a woman in his life.

"One does not need to be married to know how to treat women," Boromir retorted sourly. "Besides Ranger, what would you know of women other than the wenches whose favors you no doubt traded coin for whilst wandering in the wilds of the north?"

"More than you that is for certain," Legolas muttered softly, perfectly aware of Aragorn’s relationship with the Evenstar and was almost tempted to reveal to Boromir that the Ranger as he called Aragorn, had claimed the heart of the loveliest elven female of her day. However, Boromir was already envious enough of Aragorn by the fact that he was Isildur’s heir and the rightful king of Gondor. If he were to know that Aragorn was to wed the most beautiful woman in Middle earth, it would crush his spirit or at the very least, throw him into a deeper fit of depression.

"I am rather surprised that you’re not married Mr. Elf," Samwise remarked suddenly and shifted the focus of the conversation away from Aragorn who did not appear happy to discuss his experiences with the opposite sex in any shape or form. "You’re very much older than all of us."

"My people are immortal," Legolas answered the hobbit’s question, realizing that it was a genuine inquiry and that it was a good opportunity to detract Boromir’s attention from his earlier statement regarding the Evenstar. "We do not see any reason to make haste when choosing a mate."

"Choosing a mate?" Gimli stared at him. "You speak as if you are choosing a cow for breeding!"

"Nicely put Master Gimli," Gandalf chuckled, shaking his head at the whole conversation.

"With the dwarfs," Gimli spoke up taking the opportunity to explain the mysteries of dwarf women and the institution of marriage as a whole, "it is the lady that does the choosing. If you are good enough for her, she will often find some way to let you know it."

"I am sure Rosie will let you know Sam," Frodo said good naturedly, "I’ve seen how she looks at you."

"I don’t know," Sam dropped his gaze into the fire, a little uncomfortable speaking about so personal a matter. "I have thought about settling down and getting a wife when this is all over, if we live through this that is."

"I’m sure you will," Aragorn added warmly. "If stout heartedness alone is all that is needed to carry us through this quest, I am certain that you will produce enough for all of us to go to Mordor and back again. I do not doubt that you will one day settle with your Rosie and lead a good, long life."

"I’d settle for normal," Sam replied, smiling at Aragorn for his understanding words.

"Normal?" Gandalf snorted. "What exactly is that fabled state of being?"

"You don’t think its possible to lead a normal life Gandalf?" Frodo asked warily because since was the one thing that enabled him to endure this terrible ordeal to destroy the One Ring, the hope of returning to the Shire when it was all said and done.

"Normal is a matter of perspective," Gandalf remarked, blowing the shape of a blooming flower in smoke out of his mouth before continuing. "There is extraordinary in everything, even in what one perceives as normalcy. I am certain a man who goes about his every day business will encounter trials that will vex him as greatly as any danger we face during our quest."

"I hope not," Merry replied. "All I want to do when this is all done is to get back to the Shire and have things the way they were before we started out on this whole adventure. I mean I’m happy to do what needs to be done but I do miss the quiet."

"Me too," Pippin agreed. "We never faced barrow wrights or avalanches or any of the terrible things we’ve seen until leaving the Shire. I’ll be glad when we’re home again and seen the last of them."

"I wish I had your choices," Aragorn replied softly and surprised himself by meaning it.

He knew that he was poised at the edge of destiny with the quest to rid the world of the One Ring. Events that had always been more myth and prophecy to him were now starting to take shape in reality and Aragorn knew where it would ultimately lead. He knew without clairvoyance or any keen elven insight that his days of freedom were numbered, that the quest of the One Ring would close out his carefree existence as the Ranger Strider. Whatever was borne out of the destruction of Isildur’s bane, Aragorn knew that when it was over, he would be King and that was not a thought that he relished.

"Choices arise whether you wish them or not," Boromir stared him straight in the eye and for the first time both men shared an empathy with each other at being so helplessly trapped by the whims of Fate. "There never seemed to be any for me until recent days and they can be as perplexing as they can be frightening. My brother and I might find ourselves facing entirely different paths from what we always envisioned."

Boromir tried not to look at either Frodo or Aragorn as he made mention of that.

"I do not care," Gimli replied oblivious to the interplay between Aragorn and Boromir. "All I wish when we are done here is to see the mountains of Erebor again. My kind are happiest with the earth above our heads, not the stars. I have no thirst for roaming wildly and I have seen far too much than I would like already. I think before this quest is done, I will have had my fill of adventure and the world beyond my home."

"I expect that I shall sail across the sea once we have accomplished our endeavors at Mordor," Legolas replied, joining the suddenly introspective turn the conversation had taken. "If Sauron is defeated, there is no more reason for the Eldar to remain in Middle earth."

"Well," Frodo Baggins replied, wondering briefly at the knowing look in Gandalf’s eyes as he spoke, "it will be good when this is all over and everything is back to normal again."

"Yes," Gandalf snorted, as if privy to some enormous secret that none of them were aware, "normal life indeed."

Part One:
Aragorn Takes A Day  

Eldarion was crying.

The Evenstar stared at her son; a brow furrowed over her eyes, her jaw was set and determined. Some would say she wore an expression of impending battle for her expression as she stood before her son in his crib, trying to discern why he was choosing to wail as if a dozen Nazgul were pounding at the door. She did not know how long she had been standing before the babe, studying him with the scrutiny of a hawk about to sweep upon its prey, hoping that her deep observation would yield an answer to the question that weighed so heavily upon her thoughts.

This business of motherhood was nowhere as easy as she imagined it would be.

Infants were rare among her people because elves were so long lived. Most who chose to have families did so quickly and early on in their lives, thus most of the elves that Arwen knew had already left their child rearing days behind them. She had seen small elven children only once or twice in recent years and had not spent enough time among the race of men to see how their children were raised from infancy. It was because of this mystery that she had endeavored to miss nothing in her son’s life, aware that his years were far shorter than her own because he was more human then he was elven.

"What is the matter?" She cried out finally, unable to endure this pitiful wailing any further. "You are fed. You have not soiled yourself and I have held you for so many hours that my arms ache and yet you still persist in crying!"

Eldarion’s face was red and slick with tears, his eyes staring at his mother in need that was bewildering to her. Arwen let out a small groan, picking him up again, hoping that her embrace would dispel this mood the child had fallen into. The crown prince of Gondor ceased his crying briefly as he felt the comforting arms of the one person he was recognized above all others before sputtering his silence away in another burst of tear.

"Oh Eldarion!" Arwen groaned falling into her chair. "I wish I knew what was wrong!" Her voice started to waver in frustration. "I am not a good mother. I cannot tell what ails you! Perhaps they are right, I should allow a nurse to look after you since I am not fit! How am I supposed to be the Queen of Gondor when I cannot even tend to a baby!"

Eldarion voiced his agreement loudly with a plaintive wail, ensuring that his mother soon joined him in his tears.

It was this scene that greeted King Aragorn Elessar of Gondor upon his entrance into the nursery where he found himself stopping short at the sight of both his wife and son weeping loudly. Arwen was cradling Eldarion in her arms, rocking the infant back and forth, with more than a tinge of desperation in her eyes as she continued to sob. It was difficult to say which of the two appeared more despaired but for the sake of his well being, particularly in the presence of his rather temperamental wife, it was best that he attempted to resolve the situation with as much sympathy (and pandering) as he could muster.

"Arwen, what is the matter?" He asked and immediately winced.

"What is the matter?" She barked at him, tear running down her cheeks. "Can you not see?"

"I see that you are upset," he said cautiously, aware that in her state she was easier to anger than a Balrog after an encounter with an untidy Istar.

"I am not upset!" She burst out vehemently through her tears.

"Obviously," he replied with a completely neutral voice aware that he walked a knife’s edge.

"Why will he not stop crying!" She glanced at Eldarion as she made this tearful declaration. "I am his mother and I cannot stop him from weeping so. He has not stopped other than to take a breath and each time I put him down again, he resumes his screaming! How am I suppose to be a good mother if I cannot discover what troubles him! He is only a child! He relies upon me to look after him, to interpret his every need! What kind of mother am I if I cannot unravel this simple mystery!"

All Aragorn could think of in the face of this revelation was the fact that Ioreth had not been exaggerating when she had sought him out in the throne room.

"Arwen," Aragorn said gently, walking gingerly towards his wife as if he were approaching a disgruntled bear in the wild. At least out there he was allowed to be armed, Aragorn thought silently to himself.

"Let me take him for awhile," he offered, "you are exhausted and you have not slept well because of your fretting over this child."

"FRETTING!" Arwen fumed. "I am not fretting!"

Even when he was fighting Nazgul, Aragorn never had to think that fast.

"It was an ill choice of words," he explained smoothly, showing no signs of panic even though inside he was fearful of aggravating her nerves any further. "You have been paying devoted attention to Eldarion since this birth, I think you are merely exhausted in mind and in body. Let me share the duty, after all, I did have something to do with his creation and ought to have some share of the burden of his care."

"I would have preferred you shared the ten hours of labor it took to deliver him," she said dryly, her tears evaporating a little more quickly than her anger.

Aragorn had no response to that statement and he took the universal approach of every father encountering this same comment which was to shut up and say nothing.

Unfortunately, his ordeal was far from done for the instant he took Eldarion from Arwen and cradled the child in his arms, the crown prince chose that instant to betray Aragorn by falling silent, his tearful display dissipating in a few short breaths. Aragorn rolled his eyes in ire, perfectly aware of what was coming when he noted the expression of dismay that crept into Arwen’s face when she realized what had happened.

"You see! Even you are better at this than I am! He stops crying for you!" Arwen continued to sob. "He knows I am a terrible mother!"

As Aragorn stared helplessly as Arwen launched into her tirade, which Ioreth claimed to be perfectly normal for young mothers with their first child, Aragorn came to the conclusion that it was time for Arwen to take a holiday to Ithilien.

A long holiday.

************

Aragorn never thought he would see the day when he was happy that Arwen was leaving him for a length of time. However, in recent months she had undergone trials that would tax even the most willful of minds and the rest away from Gondor, in his opinion would do her sanity (and his) a world of good. It did not require much convincing for Arwen to agree to take a trip to Ithilien to visit Eowyn, for even she was not completely oblivious to the incendiary state of her temperament of late. It was not often that elves lost their temper but when it did happen, Aragorn knew when to seek cover and ride out the conflagration.

Ioreth, who had become their most trusted counsel in these early days of parenthood had explained how some new mothers, at least those that were human, were often prone to mood swings as their body recovered from the experience of childbirth. It appeared to Aragorn in light of Arwen’s recent mood that elven women also suffered a similar affliction. Indeed the two hours he was forced to sit and listen to Arwen as she blamed him for everything under the sun, including the sinking of Beleriand despite his not even being born at the time, would seem to confirm this belief.

Of course the situation was not aided by the fact that throughout her tirade, Eldarion had not cried once in his arms.

Eventually however, when she had calmed down sufficiently, Aragorn convinced Arwen that perhaps it was time that she took up Eowyn’s offer to visit Ithilien. Since arriving in Minas Tirith, Arwen had only made two trips away from the White City and neither of those were occasions she could remember with any fondness. A leisurely trip to visit a good friend, such as Eowyn was to the Queen of Gondor, would only do Arwen good and in truth, Aragorn did think she needed a rest even if his motives were a little self-serving. Besides, the King thought with a smile of evil satisfaction worthy of Sauron, Arwen and Eowyn together could torture Faramir for awhile.

There were times when it was good to be the king.

Thus Arwen left for Ithilien with an escort that comprised of an entourage of Gondor’s finest soldiers who would ensure that the Evenstar arrived at her destination safely. In truth, Aragorn could not deny feeling a little sad at her departure but he knew without doubt that she needed some time away from the White City to simply be Arwen and not the Queen of Gondor or for that matter, Eldarion’s mother. He would have considered going with her if not for the fact that he was needed to rule and someone had to care for Eldarion while she was gone. There was no way Arwen would have left the White City for one moment if she thought her son would without even one of his parents.

With Arwen’s departure and the palace returning to some semblance of normalcy, Aragorn found himself again embroiled in the management of the Reunified Kingdom. It was no easy feat sitting in rule over a land that had only known peace in recent years. The map of Middle earth had changed significantly since the War of the Ring with new colonies being established and the land of Mordor no longer a threat it had once be. Aragorn found himself creating alliances, establishing new lines of trade and establishing relations with races he would never had imagined worthy of the effort, like the Haradirim and the Easterlings. However, his acquaintanceship with Legolas’ wife Melia had taught Aragorn that not all the Easterlings were evil and some were merely victims of Sauron’s rule.

Such occupations filled Aragorn’s days following Arwen’s departure and time seemed to move past him faster than he would like. Despite himself, he missed Arwen more than he dared to admit, until he longed so much for her that he did care if she returned with the same temperament that had precipitated his sending her away to Ithilien, as long as she was with him. His days were full of work but his nights were terrible indeed and he found himself wandering the halls of the palace in the evening, surprising his household staff and his guards by his unexpected appearances. Apparently, his skills of stealth as a Ranger had not waned one bit for he had almost been cleaved in half by the cook when he surprised her in the kitchen whilst pilfering a late night snack.

After placing his entire staff on full alert for almost a week, for they were living in constant vexation of when he might suddenly emerge to catch them unawares, Aragorn decided that he needed to get out of the palace for awhile before he drove them to revolt in protest. What to do with this time was a difficult question though for the requirements of his kingship ensured that he could not wander too far from Minas Tirith. Personal quests of late had taken him from the White City for weeks on end and though his councilors and ministers could run the day to day business of the kingdom in his stead, Gondor still needed its king.

However he chose to occupy himself for a few days, it would have to be without leaving Minas Tirith.

"There are days Eldarion," Aragorn remarked as he fed the child that night after Ioreth had carefully prepared the infant’s bottle, knowing how much the king looked forward to doing this duty himself. "There are days when I wish that things were the way the were before the War. As a Ranger, I could go anywhere. Now I am trapped in my own palace, unable to leave because matters of state require me close to home. How am I supposed to not become mad from this confinement?"

Eldarion who was busily drinking his milk, offered his sympathy in a loud guzzle.

Aragorn pined for the days when he traveled with Legolas and Gimli across the land into Rohan and leading the Fellowship through Middle earth during the quest of the Ring. Though the times had been perilous indeed, the simple joy of crossing the land on his own volition without entourages and guards was terribly inviting and was still a siren song that was difficult to resist. He had taken for granted the freedom to move about without having to account for himself, to go where he wished when he desired to do so. This business of answering to everyone seemingly, when he wanted to take some time for himself was terribly vexing.

"There are so many things I wanted to show you my son, the Argonath, Amun Hen, Parth Galen, Fangborn, the Shire," Aragorn let the words tumble from his lips, a litany to the past he could not recapture though he wanted desperately to at times. He stared at his son, thinking about all the places that he had had seen in his life and feeling this overwhelming sense of loss at knowing by the time Eldarion was old enough, much of what he remembered would be gone. "But it appears that I am as chained to this place as you."

Saying the words out loud had a rather astonishing effect upon the king for in that instance he came to the shocking conclusion that he was preparing to allow this thing to happen. He was the King of Gondor, the Elfstone, one who was capable of summoning the dead. There was no reason why he should allow himself to be trapped in his palace like a prisoner, when he had faced far worse in his life. He was Aragorn Elessar and he would go where he would and he dared any one to stop him.

Besides, if he were crafty enough in his departure from the palace, no one would ever have to know.

"Eldarion," Aragorn stared purposefully at his son who by now had ingested more than half of the bottle’s contents, "we are not languishing here like trapped animals, we are going out. Tomorrow, we will venture into the city and see where our feet take us. Frodo’s uncle often spoke of great adventures beginning as simply as this and we shall embark upon one on our own."

Whether or not it was because he had drained his bottle or because his father’s words gave him reason for alarm, Eldarion looked up at Aragorn with a decidedly uneasy expression on his cherubic face.

"Now do not look so discouraged," Aragorn chided, not about to let the child’s frown dampen his enthusiasm for this plan, "trust me, nothing can go wrong."

Aragorn should have known he was tempting fate.

***********

"Sire, this is a terrible idea," Ioreth declared, attempting to talk sense into the king whom she was certain had lost his mind.

"Ioreth, you worry too much," Aragorn remarked as he proceeded to pack Eldarion’s belongings into the pouch attached to a travelling harness he could mount on his back to carry the child about. "I am merely taking my son through Minas Tirith for a day or so. I see nothing so terrible about it."

Ioreth rolled her eyes in disbelief at his nonchalance to the whole business. She wondered if Denethor had been this difficult and then recanted that thought because Denethor would probably have no need to wander beyond the walls of the palace, not when he had a palantir in his possession and no doubt used it to see what was transpiring around his kingdom. Unfortunately, Aragorn was not one of those rulers accustomed to remaining behind the walls of their domicile, as the last week revealed when he had driven every member of the household to distraction by the surprise appearances he made everywhere.

Palace life functioned smoothly with member of the household priding themselves in the knowledge of the king’s whereabouts at al times in order to ensure that they could anticipate his every need. It was an unspoken agreement between house and king that had lasted for generations, that Aragorn was now suddenly flouting this tradition by having the audacity to go where he willed, no matter how unexpected had created a stir throughout the ranks of those dedicated to service within the palace. No doubt this behavior had arisen from the fact that the Queen had gone to Ithilien and Ioreth knew that it was very possible the household staff might burst into spontaneous celebration when she returned.

Either that or kneel at her feet in reverential worship.

"You are the king, it is not safe for you and the little prince to be simply wandering about the city," Ioreth tried once again to reason with Aragorn, her eyes wincing at the sight of him in his old Ranger clothes. Suddenly, Ioreth understood why Arwen had ordered Aragorn’s entire wardrobe from his wandering past, burnt. Ioreth was glad that the lady was not here, for it would vex Arwen to no end to discover that he had managed to hide some of it from her.

"Ioreth," Aragorn straightened up and looked at the nurse who was also quickly becoming his the head of his household staff since she had the amazing ability to be able to handle them as well as she used to handle patients in the House Healing. "I was a Ranger for many years, I have fought orcs, trolls and even a watcher. I have somehow managed to keep and elf and a dwarf from disemboweling each other during the quest while at the same time ensuring that nothing stands in the way of hobbits and their meals, I am certain I will be able to handle myself in the White City."

Ioreth was starting to see why Arwen needed the time in Ithilien.

"I understand that Sire," she said neutrally, "and I applaud your abilities for I have seen how ravenous the halfings can be but those were days when no one knew you were king and you did not intend on taking an infant with you."

Aragorn did not pause in his preparations as he lifted Eldarion from his cradle. The child was dressed warmly and appeared rather happy to be picked up by his father, a situation that did not improve Ioreth’s case against this journey. Aragorn gave his son a proud smile and then turned smugly to Ioreth, ‘you see he is happy to go."

"He is a baby," Ioreth exclaimed. "You could make a burping sound and he would find that amusing."

"I will have you know lady," Aragorn stared her straight in the eye, "my son finds it highly entertaining when I do that."

"Oh Elbereth!" Ioreth groaned, seeing no good coming from this endeavor.

"Ioreth," Aragorn said after he placed Eldarion in his harness and slung the entire contraption onto his back. "I know what I am doing. I am going to show my son the city he is bound to rule someday because I will not have him perched up here in an ivory tower, knowing nothing of the people whose fates he commands. I want him to know them as I know them, as I know you," he met her eye with a little smile.

Ioreth sighed, feeling her resistance give way to the charm of that smile. Even at her age, she was not overpowered by the presence of the man, even when he was behaving like a dullard.

"How long will you be gone?" She asked finally, caving in to his wishes against her better judgement.

"No more than a day or two," Aragorn grinned, grateful for her blessing even though as king he did not require it. However, since meeting Ioreth, she was the one person whose respect he had been determined to earn because Aragorn suspect she did not give it easily, even to her king.

"And you simply intend to walk about the city?" Ioreth stared sharply at him, "nothing else? You will not venture beyond it?"

Aragorn puffed up his chest as he gave her an impatient look, "I promise I will remain in Minas Tirith and will return in two days. I assume you are able to keep my departure something of a secret?"

"It will be difficult to do since the household is waiting with abated breath for your next unexpected appearance," Ioreth said dryly.

"No need for sarcasm," Aragorn gave her a look.

"There is plenty of need for sense but I do not see that being accepted either," the lady retorted.

Aragorn’s response was to ignore her and as he left the nursery with Eldarion on his back and his sword resting comfortably in its scabbard at his hip. As Ioreth watched the king of Gondor embarking upon his little ‘adventure’ she could not help but think that this entire affair would end in disaster.

*************

After managing to slip out of the palace unnoticed by anyone, not an easy thing to do with a child strapped to one’s back, Aragorn entered the Minas Tirith he was seldom allowed to see. When he had first entered the White City, it had been during the War of the Ring and then he had come as the leader of an army. After he had been crowned king, the opportunity to truly familiarize himself with the place never came for his ability to blend into the background was greatly hindered by his title. As he moved through the streets, seeing people go about their day to day business with no inclination that he was anything but a father travelling with his son, Aragorn chided himself for not doing this sooner.

No one paid much attention to the tall man with the scraggly hair and clothes even more worn as he walked through the streets of the city. Women paused briefly to wonder at the child perched upon his back, thinking how sweet it was that he should carry his child with him but other than that, Aragorn raised little interest among his people. He did so taking deep breaths of air, tinged with the contrasting smells of animals, manure, food cooking and the equalizing fresh breeze that mixed it all into a unique scent that was uniquely Minas Tirith. Walking along the rows of houses and shops that framed the streets, Aragorn forgot how wonderful it was to be completely anonymous again.

He entered the marketplace and saw a large collection of stalls awaiting patronage beneath pitched tents. Everything from exotic foods to weapons was being sold and customers were swirling through them like flies, perusing all manner of wares on display. Aragorn found that it was easy to lose himself in the crowd and he joined his people in this endeavor, pausing at stalls, admiring what was being peddled. He purchased a nice iridescently shelled necklace for Arwen, thinking how the color would reflect against her skin and her eyes.

Freeing Eldarion from his confinement in the harness upon his back, Aragorn carried his son for awhile as they came to a stall whose main trade was the sale of livestock. While Aragorn had no need of cows, sheep or chickens for that matter, Eldarion bounced up and down in excitement at seeing the animals and so Aragorn saw no reason to take a closer look at the creatures. He had to confess to smiling as Eldarion patted the nose of a heifer with his tiny hands before breaking into a smile that could melt even Sauron’s heart.

It was at this point that Aragorn unwisely introduced his son to a litter of puppies awaiting sale.

A tan colored puppy with large ears and slightly disproportionate feet was soon on standing on its hind legs it he started lapping at Eldarion’s face, producing a stream of baby giggles from his son that was clearly delight. The creature itself was very engaging and Aragorn could not help enjoying the sight of his child stroking the pup’s sniffing nose. The whole scene was very heartwarming and reaffirmed his belief that this day out had been a good idea.

Until Aragorn tried to leave.

Eldarion began whimpering as the new toy was taken from him, staring at his father in dismay before bursting into tears.

"I think the babe is smitten," the heavyset man who was the proprietor of the stall said wearing the smug smile of triumph of one who knew a sale was eminent.

"I do not think so," Aragorn replied firmly, "he is too little for a pet."

Eldarion continued to bawl, drawing the attention of those around him, wondering what Aragorn was doing to the child.

"Oh I do not think so," the man drawled confidently. "Clearly, he thinks otherwise as well. This pup comes from good breeding; her mother and father were both animals with great loyalty for their masters. This child could have no better friend and companion."

"Buying a pet for my child is something that requires a joint discussion by myself and his mother," Aragorn answered seriously.

"You are the man of the house," the proprietor, who was very good at weakening resolved customers, declared loudly, "surely a man is a king in his own home. Show some spine; your son clearly loves the pup. You do not think that King Elessar would allow himself to be dictated to by his queen, would you?"

*************

"You are going to get me killed," Aragorn stared disapprovingly over his shoulder at Eldarion who was smiling happily at the puppy who was following behind them on a leash. "How am I going to explain this to your mother? You she will not scream at but me? Do you have any idea what kind of mood she has been this past few weeks? Even a Balrog would run for cover."

Eldarion was oblivious to his father’s plight because he was too busy being entertained by his new pet.

"I suppose it is too much too hope that I will receive any sympathy from you in this matter?" Aragorn sighed, feeling his heart soften as the smile on his son’s face at the presence of the puppy who looked just as equally thrilled to be following them home.

"You expect me to name the thing as well?" Aragorn muttered as he left the marketplace, before anything else caught his eyes. Strangely enough, he thought it was with Arwen that he would have the problem of unwanted purchases, not Eldarion.

"We could call it Boromir," Aragorn remarked with a perfectly devilish smile. "However, I have a feeling Faramir would not be entirely impressed."

Aragorn fell silent as he decided that after a morning like this, a meal and a cup of ale was definitely in order. Selecting a tavern that was not too lively for Eldarion’s sake, Aragorn entered the confines of the establishment with the puppy following closely at his heels. The moment he entered the place, he drew the attention of the patrons within who stared at him with curiosity. After all, it was not often that they were treated to the sight of a grown man traveling with an infant and a puppy. Aragorn cursed under his breath, feeling his cloak of anonymity fall away like Pippin’s ability to keep to himself that Mr. Underhill was in fact Frodo Baggins.

Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, Aragorn found himself a table at the corner of the room, hoping the shadows in the place would make him blend into the background again. Fortunately the attention of the span of the average tavern customer was brief and the arrival of comely wench with half exposed bosom in a dress one size too small for her soon made him a forgotten issue and Aragorn could relax once again.

"Oh what a lovely baby," a tavern maid greeted as she came to his table to serve him.

Eldarion was resting comfortably in his harness which was resting on one of the free chairs, within easy reach of his father. Eldarion’s attention was still fixed on the pup who was patiently allowing the small child to tug gently upon its floppy ears as it stood against the chair on its front paws near the infant.

"Thank you," Aragorn answered, unable to keep the pride from his voice, "he is my son."

"He is so beautiful," the maid gushed as she took a moment to tweak Eldarion’s nose before being rewarded with a toothless smile. "Where is his mother?"

She was a pretty young thing, no more than twenty he wagered with hair the color of corn silk, a child Aragorn thought to himself as she stared at him with more than passing interest. If he was no so utterly in love with Arwen, he might have considered returning similar attention but since he was, Aragorn decided the best course of action was to be indifferent to her obvious designs upon him.

"She has gone away for a few weeks but will be returning soon enough," Aragorn answered politely, hoping that was enough to deter her interest.

Unfortunately, the lady had other ideas, "that is shame," she smiled at him with a suggestive smile. "I would have enjoyed keeping you and your babe company."

"I am certain you would have," Aragorn replied, "however, for now a meal is all that we require."

"A meal is what you will have," she answered, "but you if require more, I am certain that I can accommodate you."

Aragorn watched as she sauntered away before noticing Eldarion’s attention had drifted away from the pup to rest upon him. The child seemed to be staring at Aragorn with accusation in his eyes and, his small bow shaped mouth was curved in disapproval.

"Do not look at me like that," Aragorn defended himself. "I did nothing to encourage her. I cannot help it if I have always been a lure to the fair sex. You should have seen your Aunt Eowyn when we first met, she was mad for me but I had eyes only for your mother. It is a terrible curse to be constantly set upon by women who think me irresistible."

Eldarion did not speak but his expression spoke volumes.

************

Meanwhile, Arwen Evenstar was making known to the household that the Queen of Gondor had returned. Her journey to Ithilien had been cut short when a spate of bad weather a few days after they leaving the White City had seen hard rain against the mountain ranges of Emyn Arnen that made the possibility of a landslide a very real threat. Now that the rains had passed, her escort, Captain Darond had proposed returning home, to wait until the land had settled a few days before making the attempt again. Despite being disappointed at having her journey cut short so prematurely, Arwen could not deny that she was happy to return home to her king and her son. Even though she had been away from them only a few days, it had done her good to be away from things and she was now eager to be reunited with her family.

"My lady!" Ioreth greeted in the great hall as servants moved past her as they carried Arwen’s belongings to her chambers.

"Ioreth," Arwen said warmly, wrapping her arms around the woman in a warm embrace, "how good to see you."

"It is good to see you," Ioreth replied, genuinely pleased to see the Evenstar’s return although she was unaware of how Arwen would take the news of Aragorn’s ‘adventure’ into Minas Tirith. "We did not expect you home so soon."

"Well I did not expect to return so early but rains have been harsh against the mountains of Emyn Arnen, Captain Darond feared the rain may have loosened the earth and we risked being caught in a landslide if we continued." Arwen answered as she pulled away from Ioreth again.

"Then it was wise that you returned," Ioreth declared for it would surely devastate the king if anything happened to his beloved queen.

"So," the queen asked, looking about her and wondering why her husband had not yet come to greet her, "where is Estel?"

Ioreth debated how she was going to answer this. If it were councilors or other members of the court who asked for the King, Ioreth could respond easily enough, remembering what leave Aragorn had given her to keep his departure from the palace a secret, however, it was an entirely different matter concealing the truth from the Queen. "He is not in the palace," Ioreth responded after a moment.

"Not in the palace?" Arwen stared at the woman; "he has left the White City then?"

It was an understanding that only an emergency or a preordained trip would be reason enough for Aragorn to leave Minas Tirith. If there was any business involving the king in Gondor, more often than not, it would be settled here in the palace.

"No, he remains in Minas Tirith," the wise woman answered, finding it harder and harder to conceal the truth, particularly from an elf.

"Then where is he?" Arwen asked, experienced enough to know when someone was speaking to her with hesitation.

"He is in the city," Ioreth responded at last. "He was very lonely without you here my queen, so he chose to spend a day or two in Minas Tirith, traveling in the manner of ordinary folk, not as king."

"Oh," Arwen nodded, not understanding what all the fuss was about. "You need not appear so anxious revealing that to me Ioreth," the queen smiled. "My husband knows how to take care of himself. He has fought a great many of things in his time to be ever caught unawares by anything. Perhaps the time away from all this pomp will do him good. He is a wanderer at heart after all. Being a Ranger has left that mark upon him."

"Well that is good to know," Ioreth sighed with great relief, "I thought for certain you would be upset that he and Eldarion…"

"WHAT?" Arwen exploded cutting Ioreth off with that startled exclamation. "He took Eldarion with him?"

"Why yes," the older woman started to stammer and then realized that she had made an uncalculated error with that unwitting revelation.

"He took my son with him?" The Queen sputtered in fury. "Did you not try to stop him!"

"I did but he was determined that the boy see the world as he saw it," Ioreth struggled to explain and defend Aragorn at the same time.

"The boy is less than six months old!" Arwen exploded in fury. "He is still a baby! The only thing of interest to him at the moment is where his milk comes from!"

"I did attempt to point this out to the king but you know how he can be," the nurse remarked.

"Oh yes," Arwen grumbled as she stormed towards the palace doors again, "I know precisely how he can be. My father warned me you know, about the foolishness of men, but no, I was determined to have one for my husband! Estel is not like that, I told my father, he is sensible! Sensible as a post!" She concluded that statement in an angry spat that Ioreth was not brave enough to argue with under any circumstances.

"My lady where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Arwen almost growled and it was a very disconcerting sound coming from an elf, "to find that dullard I married!"

**********

Aragorn was regretting walking into this tavern for a meal. The serving maid who had propositioned him earlier did not give up easily and each time she passed his way, offered him another alluring smile of invitation that only needed him to say the word to realize a steamy, night of passion. If he were a single bachelor again, he might not have minded the attention but since he was a married man, presently in the company of his infant son, this was rather disconcerting. Instead, the king settled down to finish his meal promptly, ensuring that Eldarion and the pup were fed as he wolfed down his food in order to make a swift departure from the place.

"Are you certain I can get nothing for you?" The lady asked when Aragorn asked to pay.

"Nothing," Aragorn said indifferently, his eyes taking notice of a rather large woodsmen entering the establishment from the corner of his eyes. It was rather difficult to miss the man actually since on a good day he would most likely be able to meet Treebeard eye to eye. The behemoth swept his gaze across the room and came immediately to rest on the table where Aragorn was presently occupying.

"That is a shame," she sighed wistfully, her hand reaching for a lock of his hair to which Aragorn pulled away swiftly. "I would have liked to have gotten to know you better. It is so rare to see men who care enough about their children to keep them so close."

"My wife trained me well," Aragorn said stiffly, standing up from the table and reaching for Eldarion who had fallen promptly asleep after his milk. "I take my leave of you lady," he said graciously, tossing a few coins on the table in payment of his meal.

"Erzsébeth!" The giant bellowed as he saw Aragorn and the lady in each other’s company.

The woman turned around and barked with annoyance to the man striding towards her, "What do you want Illym? I told you that it is over between us!"

Aragorn watched the way the giant’s eyes narrowed as she made that declaration and was suddenly beset by a terrible feeling that things were about to turn very ugly if he did not leave right this instant.

"I love you Erzsébeth," the man pleaded desperately, "I will not lose you! Tell me what I can do to prove myself to you? What can I do to win your heart?"

"Nothing!" She hissed viciously, "you can do nothing for my heart has hardened against you words."

Aragorn attempted to retrieve Eldarion so that he could slip past the quarreling lovers while he still could when suddenly, he heard the giant respond curtly. With a sinking feeling, he knew that his promise to Ioreth to stay out of trouble was about to reach an abrupt end.

"Is that because you have found another? Have you bestowed your affections upon this scruffy, Northman? He looks like some kind of rogue!" the man accused Aragorn almost predictably.

"This rogue has more heart in him then you will ever have!" The lady came to Aragorn’s defense much to the king’s exasperation. "He is not afraid of being a father or having children!"

"I see," the one called Illym turned his angry gaze upon Aragorn once more. "You would steal my lady?"

"I would steal nothing," Aragorn declared hotly, his head swimming at how fast this situation had deteriorated to this point. "She is not mine to steal."

"You are right about that!" The giant roared and lunged towards Aragorn.

The king had barely enough time to leap out of the way before the table and everything on it went flying under the man’s bulk. Eldarion who was still on the chair was awakened by the commotion and immediately started crying at being roused from his sleep abruptly. Erzsébeth who was the center of this triangle let out an ear-piercing scream for her suitor to stop this violence that went largely unnoticed.

"Stop it Illym!" she shouted. "Leave him alone!"

"You would defend him!" he accused. "Who is he to you then? Has he captured your heart in my stead!"

"I have captured no one’s heart!" Aragorn growled in anger. "I came here for a meal! I do not have any designs upon her at all!"

The man turned to him and then asked, "is she not good enough for you?’

Aragorn let out a frustrated groan, "oh for the love of Elbereth! I do not wish to hurt you but if you persist on this attack, I will defend myself."

The giant’s response to this was to pick up the table and fling it in Aragorn’s direction. By now, Erzsébeth had picked up Eldarion, keeping him out of harm’s way while the puppy circled her feet as it watched cautiously the brawl unfolding before them. The tavern owner had sent someone running out the door as the rest of the patrons, formed a small island around the two men, watching the proceedings with great interest though none would dare become embroiled in the affair. They knew Illym and the strength of the giant’s rage when properly inspired and though they felt for this stranger who became unwittingly caught in the web created by the man and his lady, they were none to eager to face his wrath by involving themselves in the matter.

Unsheathing Anduril, Aragorn swung at the chair that was thrown at him and demolished the chair with one powerful strike. His opponent, somewhat surprised by the skill of his swordsmans skill, paused a moment before picking up another table and protecting himself as he advanced upon Aragorn. The patrons at that particular table scurried away as their plates clattered noisily to the floor. Aragorn saw the table coming at him and dove beneath it, managing to crawl through the man’s legs to the other side of him. Without wasting any time, Aragorn threw a kick in the center of the Illym’s back and sent him sprawling. Both man and table went crashing and when the behemoth attempted to stand, he found himself staring at a blade against his throat.

"I do not wish to hurt you," Aragorn repeated himself breathing hard, more out of annoyance then exertion. "But this foolishness will stop. I have no designs upon your lady and I believe that if you paused a moment to consider things instead of thinking through the fire of jealousy, you will know that I am right."

Unfortunately, the answer never came because at that instant, the local constabulary filed into the tavern and arrested them both.

************

Aragorn stared through the bars of the community gaol house and wondered if things could get any worse.

In the cell next to his, sat Erzsébeth’s suitor appearing just as disgruntled as Aragorn at the position they now found themselves in. Both men had been casting smoldering glares of accusation at each other that occasionally manifested itself as insults. Aragorn could not believe the situation he was in and wondered what his court would think if they knew the King of Gondor had been arrested for being disorderly in a public place. He would never live down the shame. Unfortunately, the embarrassment of his situation was the least of his troubles at the moment. The crime for which he was accused would mean he could find himself incarcerated for days and aside from the obvious inconveniences this would cause, what would become of Eldarion in the meantime?

Fortunately at present, Eldarion seemed to be the center of attraction in the gaol house as he held court with the constables who were charmed indeed by the babe. Aragorn supposed that he ought to be grateful they were treating Eldarion with such care but that did not alleviate the problem of his incarceration. As much as he loathed his next course of action because he had wanted to remain anonymous for as long as possible, he could not permit this play to continue any further. The role of the ordinary citizen had gone as far as it could, Aragorn needed to be king again to extricate himself from this situation.

"Constable," Aragorn went to the bars and peered at the man holding Eldarion in his lap. "Release me, I am King Elessar."

The chatter of those assembled fell silent with that statement as the constables looked at each other with astonishment before they all burst out laughing. Even Illym in the cell next door had erupted into similar amusement and suddenly Aragorn was visited with the notion that this day was about to get a good deal longer.

"King Elessar?" The Head Constable, a man name Laemir, stared at him with unhidden disbelief. "Whatever are you doing in a tavern accosting a maid?"

"I am the king," Aragorn smoldered, "you know very well that I was a Ranger well before I became King of Gondor. Did it not occur to you that I might wish to walk amongst people on occasion and I did not accost any maid!"

Even as he said it, Aragorn knew he sounded ridiculous.

"And I suppose this babe here is the Crowned Prince?" The man looked at Eldarion skeptically.

"As a matter of fact yes," Aragorn answered before being met with more laughing and sniggering following that claim. "Look, I chose to leave the palace with my son for a day. I do that on occasion, all I wish of you is to be released so I can return there."

"Now listen to me," the constable said sharply. "You are in a bit of trouble that will take more than a day to deal with once we see the magistrate. This attempt of yours fools no one and belittles yourself. Continue this nonsense and I will have impersonating the king added to your list of offences."

"I am not impersonating the king!" Aragorn hissed. "I am he! I am Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor, I fought at Pelennor and at the Hornburg! If you do not believe me have someone summon the lady Ioreth from the palace and she will confirm this with you."

"I know the Lady Ioreth," Laemir returned tautly, "she is a good woman with long service in the House of Healing. She is too good to be bothered by lies such as yours. Now stop this charade and tell me how to get in touch with the child’s mother. I am certain she must be worried sick out of her mind that her child has been stolen by a lunatic!"

If she knew, he would be partially right, Aragorn thought to himself.

"That is my son!" Aragorn insisted, refusing to give up hope that he might convince the constable of his identity just yet. "The sword on that table which you have seen fit to confiscate from me is Anduril! It was the forged by the shards of Narsil, the blade that cut the One Ring from Sauron’s hand. I am who I claim to be?"

One of the other constables picked up Anduril that had been taken from Aragorn’s hand with the united effort of three of their number, two of which were nursing bruises to their face and were not at all impressed by it.

"The weapon does look as if it was reforged," the man remarked.

"So?" Laermir exclaimed incredulously, "that could be said of any sword! This man looks like he just came out of the wilderness! I will not for an instant believe this is King Elessar!"

"I am King Elessar!" Aragorn snapped. "When the kingdom goes to complete ruin while I am in here, you will have no one but yourself to blame!"

"I will try and live with the shame," Laemir retorted. "In the meantime, I am bound to turn this child to the local orphanage, until we are able to locate his mother."

"That will not be necessary," a new voice filled the room and if Aragorn thought he had been in trouble before this moment, he had grossly miscalculated his estimation of peril when he saw Arwen enter the gaol house, followed by Captain Darond.

Laemir’s jaw dropped open in horror as Arwen swept into the room, her presence filling its normally dreary confines with the glow of her beauty. There was no question that she was the queen for everything about Arwen spoke royalty and while Aragorn’s appearance might make it difficult to believe that he was King Elessar, Arwen’s could not be denied for she was the Evenstar and her beauty could not be mistaken for any other. The other constables had dropped to their knees, quivering in fear at the mistake they had made for, if the Queen of Gondor was here, then the man that they had dragged into the cell was indeed the King. Equally, while they were all reeling from the news, they were also entertaining fears of what manner the king would order their executions for their monumental mistake.

"You really are the king?" Laemir stared aghast at Aragorn with nothing less than horror in his eyes.

"I told you that I was," Aragorn said smugly but his triumph lasted briefly when he saw the look of cold fire in Arwen’s eyes directed at him.

"How did you find me? He asked her softly.

"Captain Darond did a little investigation and learnt that a man with an infant was arrested for brawling in a tavern. Since I know of no other male foolish enough to land himself in such a predicament with a child in his company, I immediately guessed it was you," Arwen retorted sarcastically.

Captain Darond ordered one of the constables to open the cell but somehow Aragorn felt safer behind bars.

"Would you please give me my son?" Arwen said sweetly to the constable but her tone was one that made no man present dare disobey, Aragorn included.

Mutely, Laemir handed Eldarion to Arwen who broke into a smile that captured the heart of everyone present as she held her babe close to her. Eldarion, familiar with her scent, immediately bounced happily in her embrace, recognizing the one person who offered him even more comfort than the father who was presently in the cell beyond his reach.

"Hello my love," Arwen cooed gently in her son’s ear. "Have you been wandering about the city with your imbecile father?" She said this is a tone so sweet, she could have been telling Eldarion a bedtime story as far as anyone was concerned.

"Undomiel, I can explain," Aragorn stammered.

"Explain?" She replied, still looking at her son, wearing a smile on her face and speaking in that soft dulcet tone. "Explain what? That you decided to relive your youth by taking our son out of his nursery and into the world without any protection whatsoever? If you wanted to go wandering about the countryside, you did not have to take Eldarion with you. He can barely sit up properly, how could you even think of taking him out the palace? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"I wanted to show him the outside world, beyond the gilded cage of the palace," Aragorn struggled to explain, further humiliated by the fact that this conversation was being carried out in full view of the gaol house’ occupants.

"And obviously you have done an excellent job since I find you here," Arwen met his gaze with an icy gleam in his eyes.

"That is not his fault, your highness," Illym suddenly made himself heard from the other cell. "If I had not involved him in a fight over my Erzsébeth, he would not be here. I thought he was attempting to woo her."

"Do… not… help…. me!" Aragorn snapped as Arwen’s brow arched tautly over that snippet of news.

"We are returning home NOW," Arwen said coolly, turning on her heels and storming away from the cell.

"Sire, I am so sorry! Please do not behead me or my men for this! We were only doing our jobs! It is our duty to keep order!" Laemir started to babble, his mind finally releasing him from his shock enough to form some measure of response to what was transpiring today.

"I do not begrudge you Constable," Aragorn sighed as he stepped out of the cell and was given a thoroughly sympathetic look by Captain Darond who knew what the King was about to endure at the hands of his queen. "Let us put this behind us shall we?"

"Aragorn!" Arwen barked as she reached the door, "we are leaving."

"Yes Undomiel," he said meekly and dropped his head like a condemned man on his way to his execution.

"Wait," one of the constables called out before either Arwen or Aragorn could leave the room. "Do not forget your dog."

"Dog?" Arwen asked. "What dog?"

Aragorn swore under his breath as he came to the realization that while his day was over, his night was just beginning.

Frankly, he would prefer the cell.

Authors Note: This story is set in the days following the fan fic Easterling. It deals with an OFC romance, though not what I consider a Mary Sue. However, if OFC’s are not to your taste, you can skip this chapter, it won’t make any difference to the rest of the story. Those of you who do decide to stick around – Melia is a former Ranger who married Legolas at the end of the Easterling. This was after debating with the agonizing decision of marrying an elf that would outlive her and would mourn her all the days of his life, after her passing. Eden Ardhon is the v name I gave to the colony Legolas established in South Ithilien.

Part Two:
The Ceremony

"I thought we not going to do this," Melia stated unhappily as she stared at the apple in one hand and a knife in the other.

"I had not planned on it," Legolas frowned with just as much ire, looking around his surroundings with clear disapproval of their present situation.

"This is entirely your fault," she declared firmly, sinking the blade deep into the flesh of the fruit.

"My fault?" He stared at her pointedly, "how pray tell is it my fault?"

"I do not know," she turned a stormy eye upon him, "but since we are now married now, I might as well enter the spirit of things and blame you for everything."

"At last," he returned just as acerbically, "I finally recall why I chose to remain unwed for three millennia."

"It is too late now," she offered sweetly with a smug expression. "We are both in the same soup."

Legolas let out a heavy sigh and regarded his wife of just two months; "this cannot be as bad as we think."

"Then why did we agree not to do this before? You promised we would not have to endure this nightmare. What we did together was binding enough, not to mention simple and discreet. This is more fanfare than either of us would like," Melia accused him even though she knew it was not his fault that they were faced with this predicament. Circumstances had simply evolved to its present condition without either of their unwitting assistance.

"Well I had to tell you something," he replied just as smugly, "how else would I get you to bed me?"

Predictably, she smacked him on the side of the arm with her jaw dropped slightly open in outrage. However, the moment lasted briefly and her eyes narrowed in calculation, "that proves how much you know. You need not have promised me that and I would have still bedded you."

"They are our friends and family," Legolas replied, attempting to use sentiment to crack her belligerence, "they mean well."

"And it is that thought alone that keeps me here at your side, instead of taking my horse and heading for the hills. I hear the Shire is nice this time of the year," she offered him a little smile.

Despite their acidic remarks to one another, husband and wife cherished each other deeply. To an observer, their banter appeared rather cutting at times, however, in truth it was merely a little bit of playful mischief they both indulged in whenever together.

"That is good to know," he returned her smile with one of his own and then confessed, "I am not looking forward to this any more than you are."

Legolas and Melia remained where they were for a moment, exhaling deeply as they remained where they were, terribly aware of what awaited them once they left the safety of its surroundings. They had been married but only a number of weeks, little over twos month actually. The ceremony where they had bound themselves to each other had been a private affair where golden rings were exchanged with none of the fanfare that should have taken place when an elven prince was wedded.

Melia was still rather skittish about the whole notion of being his wife, despite her realization that she loved him and she wanted to spend her life with him. Legolas had not wanted to overwhelm her with the pomp and fuss that came with an elvish wedding and decided that a simple ceremony would serve them well enough. They had married in Eden Ardhon with only a few elves in attendance as witnesses though it was hardly necessary. As far as elves were concerned, the consummation of their love in the flesh was binding enough without the need for ceremony. This would have suited Legolas and Melia well enough for they were both very much in love and did not need a ceremony to symbolize their union, however it was only proper that they made some effort to celebrate their marriage.

Unfortunately, this view was not shared by everyone as Legolas was soon to learn after making the mistake of sending news of his marriage beyond the borders of Eden Ardhon to his friends and to his father.

What had transpired following the sending of this intelligence to Gondor, Ithilien, Mirkwood and Rohan respectively had set in motion a sequence of events that had now avalanched into the predicament that awaited Melia and Legolas beyond the walls of their temporary refuge.

"We should have kept it secret," Melia remarked, aware that she was speaking to delay the inevitable.

"How so?" Legolas stared at her. "Were you going to run and hide under the covers of our bed each time someone happened by?"

"You know what I mean," she gave him a look.

"Who knew my father would be so upset," Legolas shrugged, still smarting from the sharp cuff about the ear he had received from Thranduil when the King of the Woodland elves decided to pay his son an unexpected visit following receipt of the news. It appeared that although Thranduil had disapproved of Legolas’ choice to bind him to a mortal woman, there were some traditions that could not be ignored even if the woman his son had selected was not to his liking. It was considered extremely bad manners for the Prince of Mirkwood to bind himself in the flesh to any woman without so much as a ceremony to mark the day. Three thousand years old he might be but when Thranduil yelled, Legolas might as well have been ten years old again caught sneaking into the ladies chambers for a peek.

"How is your ear?" She asked, aware that it was a very sensitive appendage and a cuffing would have hurt considerably.

"Sore," he muttered unhappily, his pride was more injured then his ear.

"When this is over, I will sooth your pain," she said sympathetically.

"That is minor compared to what awaits us when we join them," he retorted glumly, starting to feel his own optimism waver.

The first thing the king had demanded upon arriving in his son’s realms was that they be married, "properly" as Thranduil put it. This demand was not aided by the fact that Aragorn, King of Gondor and supposedly his best friend, echoed the same sentiments in a return message following Legolas’ announcement. Faramir and Eowyn had actually arrived in Eden Ardhon to make their objections to their quiet ceremony known in person. Actually Eowyn had arrived, Faramir was more or less a reluctant travelling companion. Before long, Thranduil had found a fellow conspirator to plan the wedding that neither Legolas nor Melia had wanted.

Traditional elven weddings required a feast to be shared between the two houses that were to be united. Since Melia had no house to speak off, the friends she had made since arriving in Middle earth filled this void. Like a general sending his troops to war, Thranduil was directing Eowyn to make his son’s wedding ceremony a spectacle that would be remembered for the next century, much to the chagrin of both Legolas and Melia. What was worse, the elves of Eden Ardhon were soon similarly captured by the fervor of upcoming nuptials and it was not long before husband and wife found they were the only people left in the colony who did not look forward to the event.

************

Eden Ardhon was still a collection of half finished constructions, winding uncompleted around the great trees that made up the wood of South Ithilien. While not as foreboding or as thick as Mirkwood, South Ithilien’s trees were still impressive indeed and it had been Legolas’ intention to build a city very much in the spirit of Lothlorien. Thus most of the fledgling buildings were constructed in great deference to the trees. Some were aloft in the magnificent branches of the larger trees while others were on the ground, framed by the thick canopy of leaves overhead.

"Father, this great wedding you desire is not possible!" Legolas has beseeched Thranduil as the king voiced his plan for the evolving nightmare of this wedding. "Eden Ardhon is far from being able to host a gathering of the size you wish. Our buildings are barely completed. My people are living in tents like wanderers!"

Thranduil frowned unhappily, forcing to accede to Legolas’ point that far at least, but not quite prepared to give up entirely. The elven lord’s eyes moved across the half made colony around him and saw that his son was quite correct, many of the structures being built were weeks away from completion. Indeed most of the elves in Legolas’ colony had created for themselves make shift homes with tents that were given shelter under the canopy of branches and leaves around the larger trees. Numerous such tents were scattered throughout the expanse of the half built city and Thranduil was struck with the memory of his earliest days in Mirkwood, when he had first established his kingdom there.

"You are right," Thranduil nodded though his eyes were still fixed upon the spread of green above their heads. It was as if the forest had reached up and ensnared the sky in veil of lush vegetation. Beams of sunlight peeked through the spaces through the branches and leaves, illuminating the tiny specks in the air like fire flies. It was a pretty place that his son had chosen to build his city and even more so with the tents pitched in the background. There was a sense of beginning about what he was seeing and Thranduil wondered if this was what it had been like for the Quendi when they had first emerged from the Mere of Cuiviénen?

"Then you will forget this whole idea?" Legolas dared to hope.

Thranduil gave his son a look, "of course not! We will simply have it here out in the open."

"Out in the open!" Legolas exclaimed with exasperation. "You wish to have a huge wedding feast when there is not even a roof to put it under?"

"I do not remember you being so pensive about everything," Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I had hoped marriage and the attentions of a wife particularly in the bed chamber would allow you to relax a little. Honestly, it bewilders me how I sired such a serious child. I blame your mother – she stopped feeding you at the breast too soon."

"You have no idea how much I truly did not need to hear that, father," Legolas retorted with an expression of distaste on his face.

"Fine but I will tell you what you do need to hear." Thranduil turned to face Legolas, wearing an expression of his own upon his face and was one that the Prince of Mirkwood was very familiar with. It was one that told Legolas that he was about to be told how things were, whether or not he liked it. "You chose to marry this young woman whom I do not doubt loves you as much as you love her, despite my objections to the fact that she is mortal and any union between the two of you will only end in tragedy. I accepted your choice though it pains me to know that it will only serve to bring you grief someday. However, since you have chosen yourself a bride, you will show the proper customs that is demanded of someone of your station. You may be the Lord of Eden Ardhon but you were the Prince of Mirkwood first and my son so you will obey me in this Legolas, I will have you married in accordance with the traditions of our people. Is that understood?"

He stared at Legolas hard with an unflinching gaze. Suddenly Legolas Greenleaf, one of the nine walkers in the Fellowship of the Ring, the hero who fought at the Hornburg and Pelennor Fields, felt as if he were a child again, unable to do anything under the intimidating power of his father’s voice but obey.

"Yes Sir," he swallowed thickly.

"Good," Thranduil smiled, patting his son on the back now that they got that little point cleared up. "Now that is settled, we will having the wedding here in the open. It will be under the stars and surrounded by the forest. We will have a feast the likes of which has not been seen before and at the end of that feast, you will be married in a traditional ceremony."

Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Legolas nodded glumly and that muttered, "I still do not know how we are to house our guests. It seems terribly rude to make them endure tents. It is cold this time of the year."

"We will manage, most of our guests will be elves and we are folk accustomed to the stars over our heads. I suspect that since the King of Gondor was so vocal about the lack of celebration regarding your marriage, I doubt that he will miss the event now that we are undertaking it. From all you told me of King Elessar, he is no stranger to the wilds, not when he was a former Ranger."

"No," Legolas agreed, "however, the Evenstar is with child so travel may not be so easy for her."

"Nonsense," Thranduil retorted with a snort, "women are much stronger than you think. Why the things your mother and I used to get up to when you slumbered in her belly," the king smiled devilishly.

"Once again," Legolas stared at his father, "you have no idea how much I truly did not wish to hear that either."

Thranduil threw up his hands in exasperation and declared, "would this suit you better? One day your mother and I were walking through Mirkwood and there you came, an infant in a basket being borne on the backs of two squirrels…"

"Sarcasm does not become the King of the Woodland elves," Legolas said sourly.

Thranduil ignored his son’s quip, far more interested in the space they were presently standing it and how it could be utilized to serve as a makeshift banquet hall. He knew that he was driving his son to distraction but Thranduil was more concerned with observing the proper traditions for the marriage because honestly, Legolas and Melia would need all the blessings they could get. Thranduil was by no means a superstitious man but a small part of him hoped that the grace of the Valar’s blessing upon his son’s union with the former Ranger might help to avert the inevitable tragedy of their future together

"Now we must set to work on the invitations at once," Thranduil continued, his mind moving at a juggernaut pace. Normally this sort of thing was the purview of the boy’s mother but in her absence, Thranduil was required to take her place and there were more than enough enthusiastic members of Legolas’ colony to aide him in this endeavor.

Legolas shifted uncomfortably into resignation at what would happen with or without his consent and decided that he might as well have some say in how the affair was to be conducted, particularly to the guests he wished to attend the ceremony. "Then I would have Gimli there, I believe he is still in Minas Tirith building Aragorn’s gates. It would be nice if the hobbits could be present but I doubt that they would be able to make such a long journey."

"I think I can presume upon Gwaihir to aid us by bringing them here if you wish them to attend," Thranduil replied, please to see that Legolas was making his own wishes known and he was also aware of how dear the Shire people were to his son. He himself had a fondness for the halflings after his encounter with the Ringbearer's cousin during the Battle of the Five Armies. He still had the gift presented to him by Bilbo Baggins.

"What of your lady?" Thranduil inquired, "has she anyone she would like to attend this gathering?"

"No," Legolas shook his head. "She has no family to speak of, although that is not necessarily a bad thing," he muttered the last part under his breath, staring at Thranduil with narrowed eyes who did not notice to jibe made at his expense and if he had, was doing his best to ignore it.

"Fortunately Pallando is here with us, so we can be assured of entertainment but if we must, we will procure more from the White City. They do not necessarily have elven sophistication but I supposed that beggars cannot be choosers."

"Nicely put," Legolas retorted, dreading the circus this wedding was rapidly evolving into and feeling completely powerless as it spiralled more and more out of control with each passing moment.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at his son, noting Legolas’ less than enthusiastic manner to the event. "Do not worry son," Thranduil remarked, resting his hand on Legolas’ shoulder, "I will take care of all the arrangements. When the day arrives, you will have nothing to worry about, I promise."

***********

"Nothing to worry about indeed," Legolas snorted as he thought about Thranduil’s promise. "I should have known better."

Following Thranduil's decision to hold the wedding feast beneath the stars, it seemed as if the entire colony had come to a standstill because the only thing anyone was remotely interested in was the festivity. Legolas had to remind himself that his father meant well, that Thranduil was not purposely attempting to usurp his authority and there had been more than one occasion where Nunaur, the captain of his guard, had been forced to take the bow from his lord’s hands to save Legolas from doing something unfortunate with the weapon. This was no easy feat for Nunaur considering Legolas’ temper flared quite frequently over the next few weeks as preparations for the wedding continued around the Lord of Eden Ardhon.

Melia was unprepared to think ill of Thranduil when all his planning had come to fruition so beautifully despite their ambivalence to the whole affair. The marquis under which the banquet was to be held had been decorated beautifully with flowers and dusted with all the glitter and splendor that could be managed of elves. It looked far more inviting than any feast held within four walls and suited the personality of the couple it was honoring more than either would like. Still she could not deny being intimidated by the prospect of being the center of attraction. It was hard enough living with elves, knowing that each and everyone of them had seen times she could not even hope to dream.

"You have to admit," she gazed at her prince. "Your father accomplished an astonishing feat by arranging this day. I did not think it was possible to accommodate this gathering, not to mention house them properly for the length of the festivities."

"Never underestimate Thranduil," Legolas frowned, "in the end he always get his way in all things. However in this instance he received a good deal of help from my supposedly loyal subjects.

‘They are loyal," she pointed out, "what they did, they did out of love for you."

"I would have preferred if they did not encourage him," Legolas retorted.

"Do not blame them completely or Thranduil for that matter, Eowyn is as much to blame as your father," Melia pointed.

"True," Legolas agreed as they sat facing each other. Between them a plate of fruit was their only sustenance and Melia continued her efforts peeling the apple of its skin. Legolas watched her hands deftly cut the green from the white flesh, aware that her delicate hands could cut flesh with similar ease and wondered at the paradox that she was and they were together. "I had no idea that she had such talents."

"Beneath the heart of every shield maiden, there is a matriarch awaiting to emerge," Melia smiled and she slipped a sliced piece past her husband lips, "I can see her presiding over a household of children someday."

"Poor Faramir," Legolas shook his head, "she overpowers him."

"I doubt it," Melia retorted, wondering how he could be so long lived and yet so wrong at times. Of course he was male and allowances had to be made, even if he was an elf. "Faramir enjoys playing spectator to Eowyn’s endeavors. He loves her dearly but sees no reason to insinuate himself upon her until it is required. I think when he puts down his foot, the whole of Ithilien quakes."

"Rather like it is with us?" Legolas offered her a teasing smile.

"In your dreams," she said sweetly.

"We could slip away from here," his brow arched in suggestion. "Take the horses and ride. I am certain we would find ways to occupy ourselves." He picked up a slice of apple she had cut and slipped it past her lips.

Melia took a bite, chewed a little and swallowed before answering him, "what happened to us being able to endure this?"

"I came to my senses," he replied.

"We are cowards neither of us," Melia sighed, feeling herself being pulled to the lure of his words. "Why is this so difficult?"

"It is not," Legolas confessed. "We simply make it that way for ourselves. Our friends have come a long way to see us, we should not be hiding away like children."

‘We are not hiding," Melia corrected him quickly, "we are merely taking a rest from the festivities."

"Please," he gave her a look. "We stole food and went for the first hiding place we could think of – I think in the common tongue, that is referred to as hiding."

"It was your fault," she declared defensively. "You allowed this to happen."

"I allowed this to happen? Are we back to thing being entirely my fault again?" He asked tersely.

"Yes," she pouted. "I can think of no other place to lay the blame."

"You could have told Eowyn that you did not wish this spectacle either," Legolas pointed out. "I did not see you protesting when she was making preparations around you?"

"Have you ever attempted to reason with Eowyn when her mind is determined?" Melia demanded. "I tell you, if will alone was capable of moving mountains, Eowyn could singled handedly displace the Misty Mountains into the Western Sea."

"You could have beseeched Faramir for help," Legolas reminded, not about to have the sole blame for this nightmare placed upon his shoulder.

"I did ask Faramir to help," she hissed. "He told me to endure it like a Ranger."

Legolas almost laughed at that but he reminded himself that she had a knife and knew how to use it. "It is a lovely dress though. I had no idea how lovely you look in elven clothing."

"Why thank you Prince," Melia replied. "I cannot believe I married such a silver tongued charmer."

"Be grateful that you only endured a dress fitting," Legolas complained. "I was introduced to the charming Gondorian custom where it was necessary to drink oneself completely ill before the night of one’s wedding. I am rather surprised that Aragorn managed to remain standing during his wedding to the Evenstar."

Melia started to chuckle, recalling in what state she found him the night before and could not deny that there was much reason to laugh even though her amusement was producing a dark expression on his handsome face.

"Am I to assume you will never let me forget what transpired last night?" He glared at her.

"I only regret that I did not have an artist put it to canvas," Melia giggled. "I am certain generations to come would pause and admire the Lord of Eden Ardhon at his very best."

"So much for sympathy from my loving wife," the elf grumbled. His activities the night before was part of the reason, fruit was the only thing he could eat safely without turning as green as his name.

"Your loving wife?" She stared at him. "In the condition I found you? You were lucky I did not cuff you myself! Am I to understand that in order to marry me you were willing to punish yourself that much?"

"At this moment, I can very much understand my reasoning," Legolas quipped back, not wishing to think too much about the night before.

What of it he could remember anyway.

**********

They say it was tradition among the men of Gondor to celebrate an impending marriage in this way, however as far as Legolas was concerned, it was merely a good excuse to imbibe too much draught. In any case, Legolas had little choice but to endure it since he was the guest of honour in the proceedings. It appeared to be the one tradition that all the males attending the ceremony were happy to participate be they men, elves, hobbit or dwarf. While it did not surprise Legolas in the slightest that Aragorn, Faramir, Eomer, Merry, Pippin, Sam and Gimli were happy to indulge themselves in his supposed honor, the prince was rather astonished to see his father and Celeborn taking part in the festivities.

As it was, Legolas was somewhat surprised to see Celeborn leaving Lorien to attend the ceremony but supposed after giving the matter some thought that Celeborn was not likely to refuse an invitation made by his neighbor and another elven lord. It further surprised Legolas that though Celeborn had attended the wedding, Haldir was absent and had sent his brother Rumil in his place instead. Legolas would have thought that the march warden of Lorien would be certain to come since his younger brother Orophin had joined the colony when Legolas first set out from Mirkwood. However, Legolas could not deny feeling a little glad at the elf’s absence since Haldir had paid entirely too much attention to Melia than Legolas would have liked.

Like everything else about this wedding, the celebration took place outdoors for it was the agreed consensus of all that any kind of drinking binge should take place well out of the hearing of their women. Thus, they gathered at a small clearing near the banks of the river that Legolas often used with his men for camping whenever they went hunting for game or for orcs. It was not very far away from Eden Ardhon but there was still a good measure of isolation in its locality that the males engaging in this particular custom required at this time.

A fire burned in the middle of their campsite with food and drink having been laid out by those charged with wedding preparations prior to their arrival. The moods around the fire was one of relaxation, with everyone enjoying a moment of rest after the labors of travelling to attend the ceremony as well the preparation that went into making it happen. The Fellowship still remaining in Middle earth was joined by Thranduil, Celeborn, Orophin, Rumil, Elladan, Elrohir, Pallando and Eomer. Legolas had feared this ‘custom’ of Gondor would result in a wholly undignified and embarrassing display of inebriation but thankfully he was wrong. The gathering was one of relaxation and good humor.

"You see," Aragorn said with a smile as he rested beneath the foot of a tree, "this was nowhere as bad as you thought? Was it?" The King of Gondor appeared very much like the Ranger as he sat there with his mug of draught in his hand.

"No it is not," Legolas had to confess as he sipped gently at the dwarf draught that Gimli had brought specifically to the wedding for this evening. He was careful to imbibe it in discreet amounts, aware of what happened to him the last time he drank the stuff in large quantities. "But then so much of this occasion has spiraled out of my control," he remarked a little more sarcastically then he intended.

"Do not think I am unaware of who you refer to when you say that my son," Thranduil retorted, taking a perverse delight in inspiring his son’s utmost chagrin. "I am rather surprised that you were even good enough to tell us that you and the lady were even married at all."

"Yes," Legolas stared at his father with narrowed eyes, "after all, it turned out so well when I did."

"Think of it this way," Aragorn added with a little smile, "at least you have some measure of dignity in all this, for Eden Ardhon is not that peopled. Imagine if you had been forced to wed in Minas Tirith? Arwen and I considered eloping."

"Elrond would have had you recaptured and bound before you even reach the gates of the White City," Celeborn joked with a lopsided grin that indicated that he was no better with dwarf draught than Legolas, despite being far older than any of those present save perhaps the Istar Pallando. "Deny his daughter of her wedding? You were lucky he did not shoot you full of arrows the first time you spoke your feelings about my grand daughter."

"He did give me that look," Aragorn chuckled, remembering the gleam in Elrond’s eyes when he had first looked upon Aragorn as a potential suitor for his daughter’s hand.

"Yes," Elladan nodded. "You were fortunate he only told you to go reclaim your kingdom before you could marry Arwen. You should have heard his first response to your feelings for my sister."

"His first response?" Aragorn stared at them questioning.

"I do not recall specifically what was said," Elrohir grinned mischievously, "but I am certain the words spoken had some involvement with waiting until Beleriand surfaced from the sea again before allowing that scruffy looking man child anywhere near the Evenstar."

"Scruffy looking?" Aragorn groaned, "why does everyone say that?"

"Because you could not see yourself and we could," Legolas retorted with a grin, glad the focus was taken off him a little.

"It is hard to remained perfectly groomed in the Wild," Aragorn declared haughtily, "is that not true Faramir?"

"Leave me out of this," Faramir quickly replied. "I will not get drawn into this discussion, it will only end badly for me."

"But when you were a Ranger, your camp was behind a waterfall," Samwise Gamgee pointed out. "You would be able to bathe all the time."

"One does not get undressed a good deal when being that close to Mordor," Faramir pointed out. "The only thing worse than dying is to be captured by orcs in the flesh, literally."

"I think I would rather take the death," Merry shuddered in disgust, grateful that nothing like that happened when he and Pippin were captives of the Uruk Hai.

"Do not worry," Gimli said with devilish gleam, "I think they prefer full sized people anyway."

"That paints such a disturbing picture in my head that I think I need another drink," Legolas replied pouring more of the dwarf concoction into his glass. Actually, once one got accustomed to the unrefined taste of it, the draught was rather good.

"Be careful with that," Aragorn warned. "You know how you are with drink."

"Indeed," Thranduil was inclined to agree, having never seen his son imbibe very often, if at all. "The last thing I wish is to have you suffering its consequences on the day of your wedding."

"Trust me," Legolas gave Thranduil a look, "I cannot imagine how much more I could suffer."

"Wait until she decides to plan a wedding for one of your friends," Faramir muttered while downing his drink and showing clear signs of being affected by it, "then you will know true suffering."

"You should not say such things," Thranduil stared at the Lord of Ithilien. "The Lady Eowyn has been most helpful throughout all this."

"I have never seen her this way," Faramir remarked, marveling at the transformation that Eowyn had undergone since becoming Thandruil’s unofficial aide in the wedding preparations. "She is like a woman possessed. There was a time I could speak to her as if she were one of my Rangers or councilors, but since this wedding, all I have been able to get out of her is whether or not the tent matches the tablecloth. It is very disturbing. When this is all over, I would like back the woman I married, the one who could teach me a thing or two about the sword, not about the merits of matching place settings."

"I would have liked my lady to come with me on this occasion," Gimli confessed, feeling a little disappointed that Lorin had not deign to journey form the Glittering Caves to join him at the wedding. "However, women of my kind do not like to leave home."

"I would like to see what a dwarf woman looks like," Pippin remarked. "I don’t think in all the travelling that we’ve done, that we’ve ever seen one."

"They keep mainly to their caves and do not wander greatly," Aragorn explained. In all his years of traveling he could count the number of times he had actually seen a female dwarf and even then he still was not certain if it was a female he had seen. Female dwarves, not only dressed like their males but tended to look the same as well, however, that was not an observation he was about to bring up in front of Gimli, not unless he wanted to be on the receiving end of an axe.

"You know how women are," Sam remarked. "I couldn’t get Rosie to come either."

"I think it was the fact that she would have to get here on the back of an eagle that put her off a little Sam," Merry pointed out.

"Well I wasn’t terribly thrilled about it either," Pippin retorted darkly, remembering the humiliating journey to reach Eden Ardhon.

"You should not complain," Thranduil gave the hobbit a look and a stare of that intensity was not something a hobbit could endure for long. "I had a terrible time apologizing to Gwaihir for that mishap."

"Mishap?" Merry started to laugh, "he retched all over that poor eagle! I was certain Gwaihir was going to throw Pippin off."

"In any case," Thranduil rumbled unhappily. "It appears that you will be riding horses back to your lands."

"I think I rather that anyway," Sam answered. "Maybe I could see what a lady dwarf looks like after all."

"My Lorin would be most happy to receive you," Gimli said proudly, never one to refuse the chance to show visitors the Glittering Caves.

"Oh before I forget to mention it," Aragorn turned to the King of Rohan, "Prince Imrahil wishes to see you when you journey back with us to the White City."

"How is he?" Eomer inquired. In order to attend the wedding, he had ridden from Edoras to Minas Tirith, with little time to pause and socialize before setting out again. Although Eomer would have liked very much to pay a call on Imrahil, there had not been enough time for that if he desired to attend Legolas’ wedding.

Aragorn let loose a sly smile, "I have it on good authority that he wishes to marry of his daughter, a great beauty by the name of Lothiriel."

Eomer seemed to grow a shade paler, "and pray tell what does this have to do with me?"

"Take a wild guess," Faramir sniggered.

"Ho, ho," Merry started to laugh. "It appears that Legolas will not be the only one getting married. Perhaps we will gather again for your nuptials Eomer."

"I have not even met the girl!" The King of the Mark started to stammer.

"Might I suggest that you employ Eowyn in the business of arranging the celebrations," Legolas added with no small measure of satisfaction. "The lady is quite adept at managing a spectacular event. Is that not true father?" He gazed at Thranduil snidely.

"She certainly managed here and it will warm my heart seeing you taking center stage tomorrow," Thranduil returned just as sweetly, reminding Legolas that his ordeal was long from over.

"Oh no," Faramir started to groan. "I do not think I can endure Eowyn arranging another wedding."

"There is not going to be a wedding!" Eomer exclaimed exasperated and his ire was further heightened by the look of resignation everyone was giving him. "I am not getting married!"

"Of course not," Aragorn replied with a completely straight face.

Eomer looked at him suspiciously, "are you simply saying that to make me feel better?"

Aragorn smiled faintly, "of course I am."

Suddenly, Eomer felt like he needed another drink.

*************

Legolas’ promise to stay sober lasted as long as it took for Eomer to convince them all that he was not going to be married any time soon, which was to say not very long since they all knew better. Usually when someone had gone to all the trouble to arrange any kind of union, particularly between royal houses, it was more or less a formality for the groom or the bride to actually give their approval. Since Eomer had been King for sometime, there was no way that he could escape impending matrimonial bliss unless he suddenly revealed to Imrahil that he found Elladan rather attractive, which was not entirely true but after five mugs of dwarf draught, seemed like a perfect solution his problem. Unfortunately, Elladan, who though quite drunk, was not in such a state of blind stupor that he would admit to take part in such a plan.

At some point throughout the night, restraint was discarded completely. While Thranduil, Pallando, Sam and Celeborn snored harmlessly, the younger members of the gathering decided that this would be a grand time to go on an adventure. At least one last adventure before Legolas and Eomer (who was still protesting that he was not getting married) were tied down to a wife for good. Deciding that they never really got to see the insides of Baradur since Frodo had destroyed the One Ring before they were capable of storming its Black Gates, the entire group decided that it was to Mordor they would go.

That Mordor was several days away and that they were all drunk did not once enter their thoughts.

Taking all that could be carried, the remaining three bottles of draught, the party left their gathering place, choosing to enter Mordor by following the River Pouros and then across Ephel Duath, penetrating the ring of mountains that surrounded the dark lands. They were almost to set off when they realized that they would probably need weapons, since none of them were armed. Orophin remarked that Gimli’s breath alone would have killed a dozen orcs and to this Legolas concurred since he was on his knees so many times that he was actually the correct height to tell the difference. Aragorn claimed he would need Anduril for not only was it the sword to fight orcs but when brandished correctly made him look very kingly indeed.

Thus the party entered Eden Ardhon, attempting to sneak quietly into what they believed was the armory to gain their weapons. Unfortunately, too much alcohol had greatly reduced Aragorn’s sense of direction and instead, they wandered unwittingly into the tents occupied by the entertainers Thranduil had brought from Minas Tirith for the wedding feast the next day. A cry of alarm was sent through the entire colony when the acrobats, believing that they were being accosted by orcs in the dead of night, since all their foes had terrible breaths, used their skills to fight off their attackers.

Rushing to the aid of their brethren, the fire breathers, the jugglers and the knife throwers soon joined the fray. Within minutes, a battle was being waged that involved bodies spinning through the air, colorful balls flung back and forth like projectiles and small, impractical knives barely missing drunken targets. Meanwhile Elladan and Elrohir, tackling one knife thrower, were leapt upon by a fire breather, who nearly set the tent alight in his efforts to aid his comrade. The hobbits, not about to let the twins suffer the indignity of defeat by a pudgy man capable of breathing flame, soon banded together and brought down him down with their small but efficiently pummeling fists.

All this activity brought down the tent, smothering the fire breathers and ensuring that no balls or knives were thrown, as the entire group struggled beneath the canvas, hurling abuse and indignities at each other. One voice, possibly belonging to Eomer or Aragorn, demanded to know why Legolas would keep balls in the armory while another voice, most likely an abused acrobat, wanted to know since when Orcs had such fine blond hair. With no discernible weapon in their keeping, a battle cry echoed through the colony with a distinctly Gondorian accent, telling one side that it would take more than wooden balls to defeat the Fellowship.

It was during all this chaos that Nunaur managed to mobilize his guards to deal with the situation. Melia and Eowyn, still clad in their night dresses but sufficiently armed, braced themselves to fight as they saw the march wardens of Eden Ardhon remove the tent under which the fierce battle was taking place. Once it was removed, they were treated to the sight of tangled limbs and displays of hair pulling, ankle biting and balls trapped in places where there should be no object of any kind.

"Faramir!" Eowyn cried out, recognizing her husband’s head locked around the legs of an angry acrobat. "Is that you?"

"You come in good time!" Eowyn heard him shout, "hand me your sword and I’ll do away with this shape shifting orc!"

"Shape shifting orc?" Eowyn and Melia muttered looking at each other.

Eowyn shook her head in disgust and then went to rescue her husband whose first response upon being freed told her that they were going to Rohan.

"Rohan?" She managed to ask, pushing his mouth away as he attempted to kiss her with his alcohol drenched lips.

"Yes, your brother is getting married." Faramir grinned.

Somewhere, from under the two acrobats and one juggler piled on top of him and past the throat his hand was wrapped around, Eowyn heard her brother shout, "NO, I’M NOT!"

"Oh can you smell them?" Arwen made her presence known as she reached the scene of the commotion. Terribly pregnant, she did not move as fast as the rest of the elves who were attracted to the noise and were staring in stunned disbelief at the scene before them.

"I think Morgoth in the void could smell them and I believe mine requires assistance." Melia nodded, seeing a familiar lock of blond hair peering through a mountain of bodies. She took a step forward and motioned Nunaur to her. Reaching her hand through the rapidly disintegrating heap, she soon found what she was seeking.

"I have him," she told no one in particular.

Pulling Legolas past the disengaging embrace of a juggler who was latched around his foot with Nunaur’s help, the elf burst into a dazed smile when he was under the light of the stars again.

"I think," he said to Melia just before he passed out, "I am getting accustomed to this dwarf draught."

*************

Melia was still sniggering as the memory of how she had found him, produced a smile across her lips. Of course, she, Arwen and Eowyn derived some measure of satisfaction by the suffering of the party this morning when the full consequences of too much drink impressed itself upon them. The colony had split into two factions, those who were still unable to stop laughing each time one of the gathering came into view and those who could do nothing but stare in horrific disbelief. It had taken of Arwen’s charm and Thanduil’s gold to keep the entertainers from leaving after the previous night’s activities and a promise to help them recover all lost balls and knifes.

"Does your head feel any better?" Melia asked gently, feeling a little guilty for amusing herself so much at his expense.

"Do you even care?" Legolas pouted, wondering at the bite marks on his wrist and wondered which one of the acrobats had given him that bruise.

"Of course I care," Melia answered caressing his cheek lightly and kissing him on the lips, "I just wonder whether or not Sam would care to add this chapter in his book about the Fellowship."

"Remind him of it and I will leave you," Legolas warned, feeling even more embarrassed when Melia started to laugh again. The last thing he needed was for the next ten generations to be reminded of what had happened last night. As it was, he was going to have a difficult time enough, trying to block the memory from his own mind.

"Think of it this way," she added after a moment. "At least you did not try to lead the charge against the shape shifting orcs."

Legolas’ face grew an even deeper shade of red as he recalled Aragorn’s battle cry. "I never thought I could be so ashamed of my behavior."

"Do not worry yourself," she patted his shoulder sympathetically, "you will never have to fear jugglers or acrobats again."

"Very funny," Legolas retorted and looked around their surroundings. "How long do you think we can hide here?"

"I do not know," Melia shrugged, "I am certain that the ceremony would be starting soon."

"I would not be surprise if they are scouring the colony for us," Legolas smiled as he picked up the last piece of fruit between them.

"Probably," Melia sighed, "we cannot remain hidden like this forever."

"I know," Legolas agreed. "Sooner or later they are going to find us."

"You mean sooner," Aragorn’s voice suddenly broke through the rustling of fabric of the tent they had been hiding in. They had chosen Thranduil’s tent under the notion that it was the last place anyone would suspect the bride and groom to take refuge.

"Hello Aragorn," Legolas smiled nervously, "how surprising it is to see you here? Were you looking for my father?"

Aragorn stared at him through narrowed eyes and a sore head, "Legolas, you should be ashamed of yourself and you too Melia."

"We were taking a moment," the Ranger attempted to say.

"A moment?" Aragorn snorted, pushing his way past the flaps and sitting down before both of them. "You have the entire population of Eden Ardhon awaiting for your arrival at the ceremony and the captain of the guard, being driven to insanity by Thranduil who insists he find you! If it did not occur to me that you would seek as your sanctuary, the last place anyone would look, I would be still searching as well!"

"I suppose we should brave this," Legolas sighed meeting Melia’s gaze.

"How bad could it be?" Melia shrugged.

"Well if you linger here any longer and your father finds you Legolas, it could be very bad indeed," Aragorn reminded.

"You are a true friend," Legolas gave him a look.

"I know," Aragorn replied, "and as I a true friend, I am compelled to do this." With that, the king of Gondor poked his head out of the tent and shouted loudly, "I FOUND THEM!"

Legolas shook his head in resignation and met Melia’s gaze, "to think, I fought at his side."

"Come on Prince," Melia replied taking her husband’s hands. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you and the King can resume your invasion of Mordor."

Both man and elf exchanged glances with the same thought crossing their minds.

Wives.

Part Three:
The Master of Bag End  

There were strange curtains on his window.

Not plain curtains with a single color that was understated and proper for a single gentlemen living on his own but rather floral curtains, with large pasty colored daisies imprinted across sky blue fabric. Frodo stared at the curtains for a few minutes, wondering what had happened to the plain, green gingham curtains he had been accustomed to seeing for so long. There were sensible curtains for gentlemen that were trying desperately to regain his reputation as a sensible hobbit. It was bad enough that Frodo was now viewed with the same eccentricity that had dogged Bilbo following his return to Shire from his adventures abroad, without his routine being disrupted by unexpected changes in his household.

Like these curtains.

It was his own fault he supposed he had brought this upon himself. When he had asked Sam and Rosie to move in with him, Frodo had not considered the ramifications of having two extra people sharing his life. He only thought of Sam’s happiness because his best friend was torn by his loyalty to him and his love for Rosie Cotton. After everything that Sam had done for him, Frodo was determined to spare Sam the ordeal of having to choose between them by making the offer of having Sam and Rosie come live with him at Bag End. Only after the deed was done, did Frodo realize what a big change it was going to have upon him personally to have not only Sam living with him but Rosie as well.

It never occurred to him that there would be vast differences in sharing a house with a woman as opposed to a man. Why should it? For years he had lived with Bilbo and they had got along quite well, without the slightest hint of discord. Their routine was comfortable and familiar, with no unexpected surprises, quite a feat when one remembered how peculiar Bilbo could be at times. Even after Bilbo had gone and Sam was a regular visitor to Bag End, Frodo had found it perfectly pleasing to have the gardener about, sometimes even to stay. However, from the moment Rosie had entered the hobbit hole in Bagshot Row, her impact upon the household was marked and unlike anything that Frodo had experienced before whenever he had company to stay.

The curtains were only the latest in a long list of trials that Frodo had been forced to endure since giving the couple a place in Bag End. For starters, how is it that women did not recognize the concept of simply enjoying the quiet after an evening meal? Frodo was accustomed to putting up his feet and reading a book or working on his after dinner. For him, it was one of the last pleasures of the day before turning in for the night. However, it was almost impossible to do now with both Sam and Rosie occupying that time with him and insisting on conversation as if he was starved for it. Worse yet, they were newlyweds and their talks seemed mostly fixated upon telling him how wonderful the other half of their couplet was.

It was enough to make him regret ridding himself of the One Ring.

Unfortunately, conversation was not the worst of it. Frodo wondered if perhaps Sam and Rosie would have benefited from a honeymoon first before moving straight into Bag End because the first few nights with them under his roof was more than he was able to handle. After all the things he had seen in his life time, what with Nazgul, barrow wrights and Shelob, Frodo had never thought he would fear so much the sound of the bed creaking next door in the middle of the night. During these occasions, Frodo would dive under his pillows and try not to think about the fact that Sam and Rosie were probably engaging in all sorts of intimacies in the next room. Nor was it easy to remain in good humour when he woke up the next morning, irritated and weary after being unable to sleep for more than a few hours when Rosie and Sam were so cheerful after their twilight antics.

Frodo knew he was being a little selfish. After all, one could not simply invite others into one’s life without expecting to be some changes but this was really not what he had expected. It was bad enough that he did not always feel well and lately the frequency of his spells was starting to become difficult to hide. He did not want Sam to be intruded by the knowledge that he was not getting better but worse because Sam had endured enough by accompanying him to Mordor to destroy the ring. Still, Frodo did not know how much longer he was going to conceal his illness from his best friend, when he was having trouble hiding the fact that Sam and Rosie were driving him insane by his inability to cope with them in his home.

Now as he stared at the curtains that he was quickly growing to despise with a passion, Frodo did not see the day improving and decided that perhaps what he needed was to get out of the house for the day. The illness he would confess to no one, not even Sam was keeping him indoors more than he liked. While he spent this time working on his book, Frodo could not deny that part of his ill temper of late was due to the fact that he was becoming a little house bound. Considering the adventures he had endured in recent years, one would think that he would happy to take refuge inside his home but the truth was, Frodo had become accustomed to the open spaces and what was more, he missed it.

Peering through the windows, he saw that it was a beautiful day outside and resolved himself to enjoy it and put aside his troubles with Sam and Rosie for the time being. He could think of nothing more relaxing than to work on his book in the sunshine. He used to love sitting under the party tree for hours but that was now impossible after it had so cruelly been cut down during Saruman’s unfortunate occupation of the Shire. Fortunately Sam had planted some of the seeds that Galadriel had given him in Lothlorien and now the glade was covered in mallorn saplings that were flowering sporadically. Frodo could think of worse things than to spend an afternoon surrounded by that loveliness.

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo," Sam’s voice interrupted his evolving plans for the day.

"Good morning Sam," Frodo greeted his best friend in the world.

Sam was always up a good deal earlier than he, preferring an early start, as was the practice of any good gardener. Certainly that was his Gaffer had always told him anyway. Sam entered the kitchen, glad to see Frodo had a little color his pallor though not much. Ever since they had returned from Mordor, it did not appear as if Frodo was recovering the way he should and it was part of the reason why Sam had been so torn when it had come time to marry Rosie. As much as he loved Farmer Cotton’s daughter, he could not deny that a part of him that would always feel bound to take care of Frodo.

"Got some fine apples out of the tree," Sam announced as he went to the kitchen, carrying a bucket full of the fruit. "If we’re lucky, Rosie can make us pie for dinner."

"That would be nice," Frodo found that he quite liked that possibility. Despite the fact that the woman had invaded the sanctity of his kitchen by removing his plain, comfortable curtains and that her presence in the house with Sam ensured Frodo could again never think any noise at night to be innocent, he had to admit she was a marvelous cook. Personal differences aside, when it came to food, he was still very much a hobbit.

"Oh I see you’re admiring the curtains Rosie put up," Sam pointed out, mistaking completely the reason why Frodo had been staring at them when he entered the kitchen.

"Yes," Frodo’s mood darkened at the memory of the offending fabric but reminded himself that Rosie had probably meant well. "I did notice. Its very nice,’ he lied through gritted teeth.

"Oh I’m so glad you like it Mr. Frodo, I was a bit worried to tell the truth. I didn’t think Rosie ought to be changing things without asking you first," Sam replied, relieved that Frodo did not mind, after all it was an imposition enough that they were both living here.

"It’s alright," Frodo answered, unable to stay angry when Sam was so concerned. "It was a bit of surprise but I’ll get use to them."

"She just wants to fit in so badly," Sam continued to speak as he put the kettle on the fire. "I mean it was so terribly kind of you to let us stay here. If you didn’t I don’t think we would even be married yet. Rosie’s determined to see to it that you never regret letting us come to stay in Bag End."

If Frodo could have cursed under his breath, he would have.

Sam could not have made him feel guiltier even if he tried. If Frodo did not know Sam as well as he did, he would have been inclined to believe that Sam was trying to make him feel badly but the stouthearted gardener was too noble for such manipulation. Frodo released a resigned sigh, determined to endure the teething problems that came with suddenly sharing a home with others for the first time because the alternative would hurt Sam too much and that was something Frodo would not do, no matter what.

Frodo sat down at the kitchen table, allowing himself to enjoy the pot of tea that Sam was obviously preparing for him. He could not hear Rosie in the house and assumed that she was at the market doing the daily shopping. Frodo had become accustomed to her shopping for dinner early in the day and mentally wondered what she was cooking this evening. He was grateful that Rosie had taken over the chore of cooking because frankly after their journey abroad during the quest, Frodo could honestly say that he had his fill of Sam’s cooking and was more than grateful for a change.

"She will Sam," Frodo answered his best friend and surprised himself by his own sincerity, "its new for all of us. I mean I thought I would be living alone again when we got home, like I was when Bilbo left, but things have changed and now you and Rosie are here with me. Its taking me some getting used to.’

"You don’t regret it then?" Sam looked at him, his eyes meeting Frodo’s.

"No," Frodo shook his head. "I don’t."

Frodo did not think he could hide his true feelings so well from his friend. Did he regret asking Sam and Rosie to stay? No, not really. However, he did miss his privacy and the fact that he no longer felt like master in his own house. As he watched Sam and Rosie, deliriously happy together, with delight in every moment they shared in each other’s life, Frodo felt like the intruder and it was a disconcerting feeling indeed to feel like the guest in one’s own house.

***********

The uneasiness stayed with him and finally drove him out of the house.

Carrying a small satchel with loose sheets of paper and his quill set, Frodo left Bag End behind him and walked down into the field where the party tree had been. Instead of trees he had known all his life, he saw instead the mallorn tree that was growing from the seeds that Sam had brought from Lothlorien and the beauty of it was enough to touch even a soul as jaded as his. A sense of sadness often lingered with him whenever he saw the field, not because Saruman had torn down the party tree but because it was the last place he ever felt truly comfortable in the Shire. The night after the party had changed his world forever even if he did not know it.

He found himself a comfortable place before the dark thoughts in his head started to drain the color from this beautiful day. One of the other trees that had been planted was a still sapling, but was blessed with more leaves then the others and though the shade was minimal, it was enough to suit his purposes. Frodo sank into the soft grass, taking a deep breath of the sweet smell the golden flowers of the mallorn seemed to produce. He felt the heat against his skin and decided that whatever troubles he was experiencing at the moment at home, was not so formidable when faced with such beauty before him.

Reaching into his satchel, he made a mental catalogue of the notes he needed to jot down for his book when suddenly his fingers recoiled at the sensation of moisture at the bottom of the leather pouch. Investigating further, Frodo let out a groan when he saw the lid to the small bottle of ink he carried inside the satchel had somehow come undone and the dark fluid had leaked through the rest of its contents. The sheets of paper were a soggy dark mess and completely unusable. The sight of them made Frodo utter a string of foul curses that was an unfortunate remnant of his time in the Black Tower. Even the birds perched in the tree overhead decided to take flight in disapproval.

When Frodo retrieved his hand from the satchel his fingers were black as if he had stuck them in the coal bin. Of course the first thing he did, without thinking was to wipe the offending stain on his hands across his trousers before realizing too late that he had succeeded in smearing the ink all the fabric. The words that came out of his mouth then put the former curses to shame. Unfortunately, this time it appeared that his audience was not birds but rather a handful of children who were staring at him with an older female companion, with eyes wide like saucers.

"Mr. Baggins!" The woman whom Frodo recognised to be Violet Proudfoot exclaimed with clear mortification and Frodo was almost driven to swear again when he remembered what had earned her ire in the first place and restrained himself.

"Miss Proudfoot!" He started to stammer. "I didn’t see you there."

"Obviously," she snorted, "I would not imagine you would use such language in front of children if you did!"

"I’m sorry," Frodo struggled to explain himself as the children gawked at him, wondering if it was another language he had spoken. Frodo was glad that much of what he had uttered was not decipherable to their sensitive ears, though the same could not be said for Violet Proudfoot who was one of Proudfoot’s granddaughters and the school mistress of the Hobbiton School. " I had a bit of an accident," he responded meekly.

"I would say you had a big accident," she snorted and then glanced at the stains on his clothes. "And I do not mean with the ink."

Frodo gave her a look and noted that she had not left, bracing himself to hear more stinging barbs from her over his lapse in front of the children. He did not know Violet Proudfoot very well because she had lived for a time with some of Proudfoot’s relations in Bywater and that was before he had left the Shire to undertake the destruction of the One Ring. She was a pretty thing with dark hair and comely features, though she could never be considered a great beauty. She wore the look of someone who had seen the best and worst of life and was changed forever by it. It was a state of being Frodo could understand most intimately.

"If you’ll excuse me," Frodo replied, deciding that the best place for him was home right now because he did not like the way Violet was looking at him and feared that she might be another one of those women who thought he was a man ripe for the picking.

The bane of his existence since returning home from abroad, was discovering what an eligible bachelor he had become in the wake of his travels and the Battle of Bywater. Before the Quest of the Ring, he had never had to worry about such things because he was considered a peculiar hobbit in much the way Bilbo was regarded. Unfortunately, his position as Deputy Mayor and his part in reclaiming the Shire from Saruman had suddenly made him very attractive as a potential husband. Frodo had thought being maimed by Gollum would spare him the indignity of this but it appeared that it was not to be.

"I think that would be best," she remarked neutrally, her expression showing no interest in him whatsoever but that meant little, Frodo had come to learn that these women knew how to hide their intentions until it was too late.

"Good day Violet, children," he said politely and started to walk away, bound for home to clean himself up and to escape her while he still could.

"Lemon juice," she spoke before he could draw to far away from her and her charges.

"Excuse me?" Frodo turned around and faced her.

"Lemon juice," Violet replied. "Its good for ink stains."

"It is?" He stared at her.

"Yes," she nodded. "I speak from experience."

He supposed as a schoolmistress accustomed to dealing with books and the written word, she probably did have a considerable experience in such matters. He took her words as just friendly advice without suspicions of any clandestine intentions on her part.

"Thank you," he managed to say.

"I would not leave it too long though," she added, giving him the nudge he needed to leave without any further awkward attempts at conversation.

Frodo nodded and continued on his way, looking over his shoulder long enough to see that she was also on her way across the field with the children outdistancing her quickly as they ran through the saplings. He thought about her for a moment, feeling somewhat unsettled by the encounter and not quite knowing why. Nevertheless, he forced thoughts about her out of his mind because if there was anything in this world that he did not need right now, it was female company. As it was, trying to get accustomed to Rosie and her curtains was trial enough.

And he had thought going to Mordor had been hard.

**************

After returning home for a change of clothing and to soak the ones soiled by ink, Frodo decided he would try again for his day under the sun. To his surprise, he found that the application of lemon juice to the stains did go a long way to removing the ink from his clothes. Reminding himself to thank Violet the next time he saw her, Frodo prepared to leave Bag End for the second time. Unfortunately his efforts were hampered by a lack of ink, since the mishap earlier had drained what supplies he had left. Certain that the Fates were conspiring against him, Frodo was muttering in annoyance when he left Bag End bound for the local goods store in order to purchase fresh supplies.

It took an hour of his time to finally acquire new ink for his notes before he returned to the field again, staring furtive glances about as he moved through the trees, determined that he would not get pinned by either children or Violet Proudfoot again. Frodo supposed the simpler solution might simply be to find another place for his sojourn but having been driven out of his house because of Rosie’s presence, Frodo was determined to give concession to no other woman invading his personal space. He trudged through the grass telling himself this with great conviction while at the same time, keeping a vigil almost as sharp as when he had been pursued by the Nazgul. However, had Sauron’s minions caught him, the worst that could happen to him was his death.

If Violet and others like her snared him in their web, the worst they would do was marry him.

Frodo shuddered at the thought, images of a sacrificial lamb being brought to the some barbarian altar, trussed up helplessly as a gaggle of women, all armed with a bouquet on one hand and rings far more dangerous and binding that the One Ring, in the other. It was enough to give a gentleman hobbit terrible nightmares. Not that he was adverse to the whole idea of marriage of course; it was just that he had come to the conclusion that it was not for him. Having a dark lord run rife over one’s brain had the tendency to drive away the need to share one’s thoughts with another being. Frodo had just about enough of sharing himself then he could stomach and had no desire endure it again, no matter how pleasant it might be.

Seeing no signs of Violet or any other female, Frodo let out a sigh and eased back under the same tree he had been sitting under when his day had started to go askew, feeling the midday sun warming his face. In the distance he could see the top of Bag End peering over the crest of the great hill. He looked at the blank page before him and jotted down the notes for his next chapter, having to do with the journey the Fellowship had taken. Despite the peril of their quest, Frodo could not deny that the one good thing about the entire endeavor were the friends he had made and knowing that together, they had truly shaped the future of Middle earth.

He thought of Aragorn Elessar who would always be Strider to him, who had more names than Frodo had waist coasts in his cupboard, wondering whether the kingship would see to it that the man would bathe more frequently. Unlike Legolas who could fall headfirst into the mud and still step out of it looking cleaner than all of them put together. He wondered if there was some elven enchantment that prevented dirt from sticking to the skins of the Eldar. It was probably the same magic that ensured all that long hair did not end up in unruly tangles. The elf and Gimli the dwarf made such a curious pair, Frodo thought to himself with a little smile and hoped the two still traveled together in the world outside the Shire.

He thought of how they had argued during the quest, with such intensity that taxed even Gandalf’s impatience. It was during this time that Frodo was actually concerned that Gandalf had developing an addiction to Southfarthing leaf since Legolas and Gimli’s arguments coincided with Gandalf suddenly needing to ‘go off somewhere for a smoke’ as the wizard often put it. The person, who coined the warning to never meddle in the affairs of wizards because they were quick to anger, obviously had never seen one whose supply of weed was about to be exhausted. Frodo wondered how Gandalf was faring out there in Isengard and wished to see the wizard again. Hopefully the next time he did Gandalf again, he would not find himself embarking upon some perilous quest.

Gandalf seemed to have that effect upon all the masters of Bag End.

Perhaps he ought to warn Sam, Frodo thought.

With the memories of the Fellowship fresh in his thoughts, Frodo began to jot down the notes for that particular segment of his book, finding his writings gaining momentum the further he traveled down the page. Before long he had outlined a good deal of the chapter and was rather pleased with himself when suddenly, he heard someone calling out his name.

"Mr. Baggins!"

Frodo stopped writing and looked up to see one of the Bolgers ambling towards him. The former Ringbearer let out a little curse under his breath once again that he did not have the One Ring with him. At times like these, the invisibility of Sauron’s Master Ring had decided advantages, particularly when he did not wish to deal with yet another father with an unmarried daughter, cousin, sister, etc.

Jobbin was fat and did not walk but waddled. He was rounder then was normally expected of hobbits and Frodo remembered Bilbo once saying that he could have competed with Bombur the Dwarf of Erebor for size. Considering how much trouble Bombur’s weight had been during Bilbo’s journey to the Lonely Mountains, Frodo decided that this comparison did not bode well for Jobbin. What was worse, it appeared that Jobbin was not the only one in his family who suffered from this malaise because his children and indeed his wife were just as round, though to a lesser degree.

"Jobbin," Frodo responded when the hobbit finally reached him. "What can I do for you?" He asked wearily.

"Well," Jobbin smiled, his grin plastered across his face for the occasion. "My cousin Della is coming to dinner next week form Frogmorton and she would dearly love to see you. It’s been so long since the party."

In truth, Frodo doubted he had ever met Della Bolger at Bilbo’s party but remained silent nonetheless since it would be rude to point that out and catch Jobbin in an obvious falsehood.

"Yes it has," he lied for the benefit of Jobbin’s dignity. "I don’t think I can make it though. I’m due to visit the Thain next week and I’ll be gone for most of it. I’m sorry."

It was at this particular moment that he heard another voice calling out to him giving rise to the question whether everyone in Hobbiton knew what he had planned to do today. As luck would have it, approaching them was none other than Pippin and Frodo began to wonder if he was truly cursed with misfortune today for it appeared that the one person who could unravel the hastily crafted lie he had told to Jobbin was suddenly approaching them.

"Hello Frodo," Pippin greeted him cheerfully and added a similarly enthused greeting at Jobbin. "Hello there Jobbin."

"Why Master Took," Jobbin exclaimed, "we were just speaking about the Thain."

"You were?" Pippin raised a brow at that. "What about?"

Frodo was sending him furious eye signals to remain silent but as always, Pippin was not the quickest when it came to interpreting such hidden messages and appeared oblivious to Frodo’s desperate efforts to warn him.

"About Mr Baggins going to visit the Thain next week."

Pippin opened his mouth to respond when suddenly an arm struck him across the throat silencing anything he was going to say when Frodo chose that moment to stretch out his arms in a yawn.

"Oh Pippin!" Frodo apologised as Pippin doubled over and started to cough loudly. Frodo patted him on the back, attempting to help him overcome the injury while Pippin struggled to speak but could not quite manage it in his fit of coughing.

"I am terribly sorry, I didn’t meant to hit you!" Frodo declared, feigning false shock at what he had done.

Pippin’s response was another bout of coughing that made Jobbin take a step back as if Pippin had acquired something he might catch.

"Well that’s too bad," Jobbins said hastily as he tried to speak through Frodo’s efforts to aid Pippin who was doubled over. "Maybe next time."

"For certain," Frodo said distracted, feeling terribly guilty he was forced to resort to violence in order to spare himself the indignity of being forced to endure the company of Jobbin and his family for an evening.

The round hobbit was soon on his way and Frodo turned back to Pippin who had stopped but appeared very red in the face from the ordeal.

"What was that for!" Pippin exclaimed in a hoarse demand before Frodo could speak.

"I’m sorry but I had to keep you quiet," Frodo replied apologetically as Pippin shoved him in annoyance, not understanding at all and quite irate. "He wanted me to go meet his cousin Della next week and I couldn't think of anything other than to tell him I was visiting down your way."

"And for that you almost collapsed my windpipe?" Pippin snorted, giving him a look as he rubbed his throat tenderly.

"I’ve never even seen his cousin Della!" Frodo exclaimed, desperate to be forgiven for actions.

"Yes, I have actually," Pippin had to confess though his ire had been elbowed in the throat had yet to fade, much like the pain of it.

"What is she like?" Frodo was almost afraid to ask.

"Well," Pippin hesitated in his answer because it was not in a hobbit's nature to be intentionally unkind. However, neither was it in their nature to lie either, to their friends anyway. "Picture Jobbin in dress."

"You see why I was driven to such lengths," Frodo grumbled, grateful that he had managed his narrow escape but not that he had elbowed Pippin to do it, well not entirely. "I've had these invitations ever since I became Deputy Mayor. Its most disturbing."

"I don't know why you're fighting it Frodo," Pippin stared at his friend and cousin. "After all, its not like you could not use a little female company after everything you’ve been through."

"Oh not you too," Frodo groaned. "I've been hearing enough of that from Sam!"

Pippin was firmly of the belief that Frodo should indulge himself a little after the quest of the One Ring and the burden he had endured to see that terrible task accomplished. Pippin himself had also been inundated with the attentions of many of the Shire girls since returning home and he could not say that he was avoiding their efforts because he was enjoying it too much. However, his eyes was fixed firmly one Diamond of Long Cleeves and that had simplified things for him considerably.

"Its true though," Pippin pointed out. "I mean you do like girls don't you?" The hobbit looked at Frodo suspiciously.

The question earned him another jab from Frodo, this time across the back of the head.

"It was just a question!" Pippin declared rubbing his head. "After all, you've been alone for a long time and you've never been known to keep company with many women!"

"Because I was discreet!" Frodo snapped, mortified that his masculinity was being called into question. "A gentlemen does not discuss his affairs with anyone. Anyway, I have no wish to go courting!"

"Fine, fine," Pippin threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I'll say no more about it but I thought with Sam and Rosie in the house, newlyweds and all, you'd probably wouldn't mind a little bit of…."

"Finish that sentence and you will regret it," Frodo glared at him. "Trust me, that is one thing I do not need. I've been listening to it enough all night since they were married! What I need more than a woman, is a good night's sleep and some time alone!"

"All night?" Pippin's expression became sly. "Do tell!"

"You're a lost cause," Frodo retorted shaking his head in resignation.

"I'm a lost cause?" Pippin gave him a look. "You should talk. You really are turning peculiar like Bilbo and not in a good way either."

"Was there some reason you sought me out Pippin?" Frodo glared at him, "or did you just suddenly develop this urge to irritate me for no reason?"

"Well that was that and the fact that Merry and I were going to take a ride out to Bree, thought you might want to come along." Pippin replied, suddenly remembering why he had sought Frodo out in the first place.

"To Bree?" Frodo's eyes widened. He had not been that way since they returned to the Shire. "What's there?"

"Nothing," Pippin shrugged. "Just thought we'd go for a little tip out of the Shire. It seems like forever since we left town for any reason."

"I might join you," Frodo replied, deciding that he would not mind a short trip away. "When we you planning on going?"

"In a few days," the young Took responded. "You think Sam will come with us?"

"I doubt it," he answered sincerely, "Sam's too interested in staying close to Rosie at the moment."

Pippin did not say anything for an instant and looked at Frodo thoughtfully, "you're not a little jealous are you?"

"Jealous?" Frodo stared at him. "What do you mean, jealous?"

"Well Sam does seem terribly happy," Pippin remarked, sounding a good deal wiser then he normally appeared. "And if anyone in the Shire deserves that kind of happiness, it’s you. Perhaps you feel just a little resentful that he's got what you should have."

Frodo did not answer because he was too concerned trying to discern whether or not Pippin's words had some kernel of truth in them, despite his desire to deny it outright. He could not refute that he did feel a little envious when he saw how happy Sam and Rosie were together and when he had been out there in the hellish land of Mordor, he had dreamt of the life that Sam was now experiencing. Yet even then, there was this inescapable feeling in him that knew such a life was beyond him and had been ever since the ring was passed into his possession.

"Maybe," Frodo answered softly, having no wish to admit to Pippin even if they both knew that some part of the Took's words were probably too. "But I am happy for Sam Pippin, really. Its just that I need peace and quiet and lately I don't seem to be getting any of it."

"Well that’s entirely your fault," Pippin replied, a devious smile crossing his face.

"How exactly is this my fault?" Frodo asked, aware that he was probably not going to like Pippin’s answer.

"Who knew you were going to be so irresistible to the ladies?" His friend grinned.

Frodo hit him again.

*********

It was becoming enormously clear to Frodo that unless he acquired the One Ring again and turned invisible, a very unlikely possibility since he had gone to all the trouble of disposing of the troublesome thing, he was not going to go unnoticed by the rest of Hobbiton. After ushering Pippin away with promises of joining Merry and him for a trip to Bree sometime soon, Frodo decided to find another quiet place to continue working on his notes. So far his day had been one interruption after another and Frodo wondered if there was some great conspiracy afoot to ensure that he acquired no peace and quiet today.

With Pippin gone, Frodo forced himself to relax as he sat down under another sapling and began once again, the business of jotting down notes for the writing of his book. The silence of solitude allowed his mind to slip back into his previous train of thought and the words flowed easily once that was accomplished. He was feeling quite satisfied with himself and his progress, having structured the chapter he was working to some depth when suddenly, his happy mood was once again shattered by a female voice.

"Mr. Baggins."

Frodo let out a groan as he dropped his pen upon the paper and wondered who was it now that was intruding upon his privacy. He started to think that perhaps leaving his house had been the worse decision he had since deciding that the road to Moria was the best way to cross the Misty Mountains. Raising his eyes, he found himself facing Violet Proudfoot once again, although this time she was not accompanied by her students but was alone. If anything convinced Frodo that she was like all the other women who had turned their attention to him since his return to Hobbiton, it was that fact alone. No doubt she did not wish a youthful audience while she attempted to debase herself by trapping him into playing the part of her suitor.

"What is it now?" He asked, not all together politely but his temper was fraying at the edges and he really did not care to be polite any more.

The woman arched her brow tautly before answering; "I wanted to speak to you on a matter of some importance."

"And naturally, it could not be said with the children present?" He stared at her knowingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I do not see why they should be present," Violet responded, still appearing confused by his ambivalence.

"Of course not," he stood up abruptly, dropping his papers and pen onto the soft grass as his eyes bore into hers mercilessly. "Why should they be present? All they would do is get in the way of your speech which I am certain you have rehearsed well."

"Rehearsed?" Her eyes widened.

"Yes, your kind often do," Frodo returned sharply. He was so incensed by this whole situation that his anger was sweeping him further and further away form rational thought. "You sit and plan what and how you are going to approach me. Some of you send agents to make the opening gestures, come in for a cup of tea Mr. Baggins or perhaps dinner, Mr. Baggins. Would you like to meet my cousin Mr. Baggins, she’s just moved up from Crickhollow. I know your intention dear lady and while I do not blame you for your actions, after all you are only behaving in the manner that is expected of your gender, I must tell you that I am utterly and completely uninterested in forming any kind of courtship with you!"

"Courtship?" She managed to say, her lips quivering a little while her hands at her sides had balled into fists.

"Courtship," Frodo hissed, missing all the signs of impending danger and this was saying something of a hobbit that had once faced evil on a scale beyond description and had survived. "I have no desire for a wife. I never have. I know that all you women seem to think that I am something of a prize but I have no desire to marry and I doubt I ever will. I am sorry to be so blunt with you Miss Proudfoot, but I will spare you the indignity of groveling at my feet for attention."

"Groveling at your feet for attention," she mused, nodding slowly as he finished his tirade.

"Now I apologize for being so forward but I have endured as much of this as I can tolerate. I am certain in time, you will find someone else to pursue but it will not be me," Frodo concluded. He was starting to question how she could be a schoolmistress when she said so little to his statement and seemed to be in the habit of repeating his words back to him. She did not appear terribly bright at all. Frodo feared for the education of the Shire children if someone like Violet was teaching him.

Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, Frodo found himself at the receiving end of a solid punch that sent him sprawling and landing rather unceremoniously on his behind. The flaring pain at his jaw dissipated just in time for him to see Violet rumbling even more violently that Mount Doom when he had stood at its perilous maw. She was glaring at him with wide eyes and Frodo was certain that he could see smoke rising out of her ears because she appeared that furious.

"How dare you make the assumption that I wanted to court you!" she shouted. "I had no intention of any kind when I sought you out! However, since you did bring up the subject, may I clarify my position since you were so good enough to make yours known, even though I had no designs of any kind upon you?"

"You didn’t?" Frodo stammered and tried to utter something that might have been an apology but the words came out in gibberish. It mattered little anyway since Frodo doubted she would have heard him.

"First of all," she stood over him, hands on her hips. "You are strange! You walk around town with a cloud over your head and look as if you’ve just come from a funeral! I swear that if it were possible, it would rain just around you! You are peculiar and sullen even when you are attempting to be cheerful and while others might think you the catch of the day because you are the master of Bag End, I could not care less. I would like my suitors with something more than depression in their eyes! Secondly, after hearing your display this morning, I would not have anything to do with you even if you were the very last hobbit in the whole of Middle earth! No decent gentlemen would ever say the terrible words you did and in front of children no less!"

"It was an accident!" Frodo stammered, his face turning red with embarrassment at the realization that he had made a mistake of monumental proportions. Unfortunately, there was no escaping the catastrophe whose path he had mistakenly placed himself as he saw Violet standing over him, wearing that stormy expression of fury. "I thought…"

"I know what you thought!" She snapped not allowing him to finish his sentence. "You are not so terribly irresistible that every woman who sees you will fall immediately to your charms Mr. Baggins! How dare you make such an assumption with me? I have never been so thoroughly disgusted by any hobbit as I am with you! You are no prize despite what some others of my half witted gender might think!"

"But you came to find me," Frodo finally managed to get a word in after that rather lengthy tirade. He was rather horrified by this whole incident and wondered if his humiliation could get any worse.

"I came to find you because I wanted to see if you would give a talk to the children!" She retorted sharply.

"A talk?" Frodo swallowed visibly and decided that his humiliation could get worse, a good deal worse.

"Yes," she straightened up, staring at him like he was the lowliest thing she had ever seen and was still contemplating whether or not she was going to step on it. "I had heard Rosie Gamgee telling me of some of the far away places that you have been to in your travels. How you had seen the elves and were present at the inauguration of the Gondorian king, I thought you might come to the school and give a talk about it! I’ve had Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck to the school and the children enjoyed their talks immensely! Mr. Brandybuck said that you have been further east then all of them and so I rather foolishly thought that you might be inclined to tell the children about your travels since you’ve been working on your book!"

"Oh," Frodo responded mutely, not knowing what else he could say.

"Well I certainly should have known better after hearing your foul speech this morning!" She snorted, turning on her heels, her skirt doing a slight flounce as she departed. "Good day Mr. Baggins and do not worry, I shall trouble you no more on this matter or any other!"

Frodo did not react until she was out of earshot before he let out a loud groan of dismay.

"Oh very well done Frodo!" He grimaced, feeling thoroughly humiliated but also ashamed at himself and at some of the words she had lashed at him, though for once he could not say that he did not deserve them.

"A fine mess you’ve made of things," he scolded himself at how he could make such an enormous misjudgment. Not only had he embarrassed himself and humiliated poor Violet, he felt terrible of what he had said to her and had no doubt that it would be across the Shire in a matter of hours. Honestly, he did not wish to be pelted stones each time he passed any unmarried woman in town which was exactly what would happen if Violet told the story of their disagreement to the rest of Hobbiton.

His face was still aching and he touched the tender skin where she had struck him, somewhat deservedly, he was forced to admit and knew that there would be swelling later on but for the moment, he had more pressing concerns. Above him, the sky rumbled a little and he knew that the sunny day had evaporated around him. It was probably chased away by Violet’s foul mood he told himself. Collecting his things, he saw some flowers growing on the bushes and helped himself to a handful as he hurried after the woman was rapidly storming her way across the field with more speed than the weather overhead.

It did not take Frodo long to find her. She was not quite at the edge of the field and Frodo was grateful that he did not have to face her in view of town because he had quite enough embarrassment for one day. He had no desire for an audience being privy to the apology he was going to have to make to sooth the lady’s anger.

"Violet!" He called out.

She paused in her steps and turned around, her face still twisted in that angry scowl.

"That’s Miss Proudfoot to you, Mr. Baggins," she declared hotly when he reached her.

"Look I’m terribly sorry," Frodo started to apologize, "Miss Proudfoot. I really did not mean to be so rude. I just wanted to say that I would be willing to give that talk now."

Her eyes’ widened. "How very good of you but I do not think that is necessary.’

Frodo felt scalded at his efforts being slapped back in his face. "You are a hard woman Violet Proudfoot," he found himself saying. "I was trying to apologize!"

"Nonsense!" she snorted. "You are merely attempting to assuage your own guilt at your terrible behavior!"

"I am not!" Frodo retorted, wondering how a schoolmistress could be so unforgiving. "I should not have made those comments and you are right, I was presumptuous about your intentions but you have no idea what I have endured these past weeks!"

At that, she seemed to soften a little and her carriage, straight and ready for battle slackened a little, "perhaps I am too hasty in condemning you," she sighed, the anger bleeding out of her face as she met his eyes. "I accept your apology."

"I’m glad," Frodo smiled a little and was pleasured when he was rewarded with one from her. "I brought these for you," he said producing the handful of mallorn he had been concealing behind his back.

"Oh," she accepted the flowers; clearly uncertain at how she should view this gesture. Something akin to confusion and distress crossed her features for the briefest time. "I feel terrible for striking you now," she replied after a moment.

"It was not your fault," Frodo replied. "I did behave rather badly."

"But it appears you have reason," she replied.

"I did," he was not about to deny that. "So I take it you will keep this encounter between us only? I do not wish for all of Hobbiton to know of this disagreement."

Even as he said it, he knew that he had made another grievous mistake.

"Ooh!" She hissed in fury and suddenly he found himself flat on his back once again, his other eye stinging with pain as he felt the flutter of scattered flowers falling across his face.

"You scoundrel!" Frodo heard her shout. "That’s your whole reason for apologizing isn’t it? So that I would not ruin your precious reputation by telling anyone how badly you behaved! I had never any intention of speaking of this encounter to anyone! I am no gossipmonger! You Mr. Baggins, can take your talk, your apologies and your flowers and go to the trolls with you!"

Frodo shook his head and let it drop into grass, staring at the sky above, thinking that life was so much simpler when all he had to worry about was the One Ring and the quest to Mordor.

Predictably, as the thought crossed his mind, it started to rain.

**********

"Poor Mister Frodo," Rosie cooed gently as she slipped a blanket over him lap and ran her fingers over his hair like he was a small child in need of solace. "I had no idea that I was going to cause you so much mischief."

"It was not your fault Rosie," Frodo sighed as he eased back into his chair, enjoying her ministrations as she fawned around him. Outside the rain was battering down relentlessly, its teeming sounds forming a soothing noise in the background. "I offended the lady and she behaved rightly so."

"Violet’s always had a bit of a temper, even as a child she was always prone to using her fists to express her anger. The only people who doesn’t make her mad that way are the children, thankfully," Rosie remarked handing him a hot cup of tea as he sat in front of the fire that Sam had stoked into being.

"Yes," he frowned in agreement, feeling the stinging pain around his eyes and wondered if he would look like a raccoon the next morning. "She certainly throws a good punch."

"Now don’t you worry about a thing," Rosie said as she brought him the book he was presently reading which he had left on his bedside table. "I’ll talk to Violet and have this whole thing straightened out. She’s not one to gossip as I could have probably told you that but she doesn’t know you like I do Mr. Frodo and there will be none of this getting across town, not while I can help it."

Frodo looked up at Rosie, seeing the imperious look across her face and noted that she wore an expression that reminded him of Aragorn just before the king of Gondor was about to go slaughter Nazgul. For a brief instant, he was almost in awe of her and felt somewhat privileged that she would defend him so stoutly. At that moment, he understood all too well why Sam cherished her so. All this time, he had complained about what an intrusion Rosie had been in his life with her marriage to Sam. After all, not only had she taken up place in his home but also space in the heart of his best friend that perhaps he felt belonged to him exclusively. Now Frodo understood how terribly wrong he had been. He was not losing anything with Rosie’s presence and gaining more than he ever imagined he would when she had come to stay.

With a sudden start, he realized why Bag End felt so differently since her arrival. Instead of the smell of musty old books, the house smelled of home cooked meals and warmth that had been absent since Bilbo left. He looked around his parlor and saw a vase of flowers sitting on the mantle piece with splashes of color in the curtains that he had first abhorred but now felt like a slice of life he had been denying himself because of the travails of his past. For the first time in so many years, Bag End did not just feel like a house to him but rather a home. It surprised him how much difference lay between those two words.

"Rosie," Frodo spoke, halting her departure to the kitchen where she was in the process of preparing dinner while taking short interludes to see tend to him.

"Yes Mister. Frodo?" she asked quizzically.

"I am really glad that you and Sam have come to stay," he said with a little smile.

Rosie’s smile was even more brilliant than the flames in the fire place, her eyes glistened with emotion probably because it was the first time she had ever heard him say those words and meant it so sincerely.

"Thank you for letting us move in with you, if you hadn’t we probably wouldn’t be married," Rosie replied.

"I doubt that," Frodo reached for her hand and held it in his, "Sam loves you terribly, I doubted anything would have stood in his way with you were being what he wanted."

Rosie swallowed hard at the words, finding it difficult to speak. Fortunately, she did not need to.

"Am I interrupting something?" Sam announced himself as he entered the parlor where his wife and friend were having what appeared to be a deeply emotional conversation.

"Just in time," Frodo grinned at Sam. "I was finished telling Rosie how much you both mean to me but now that I’ve gotten that sentimental business aside, how about joining me for a cup of tea Sam and I’ll tell you what nightmare my day has been."

"And I’ll make you a nice cup of tea as well," Rosie remarked with a special smile for her husband as she started towards the kitchen past him. Rosie planted as small kiss on his lips before she was on her way again.

As Frodo watched Sam pull up a chair, he eased into his own comfortably, thinking to himself that Bag End was and always be his home but he was rather glad to know that it would always be Sam and Rosie’s as well.

Even if he did hate those curtains.

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