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Just A Cold  by Aelaer

Had some difficulties with this chapter; I simply ended up scrapping the original premise, which involved some conversation with a teenage boy, and put this in instead. Shortened the story, but I'm much happier with it.

Within the chapter there is a reference to an incident that occurs in the 29th prompt in "Tales of Life", which can be found in my stories, but it is not necessary to read that to understand the chapter.


Chapter Two

It was a cold day, and the threatening clouds above looked ready to burst at any moment. The chilly weather, however, was not something that stopped the townsfolk of Minas Tirith in their everyday business. On the first level of the city, the market was booming. Various vendors called out, children screamed in delight, and both men and women continued doing business. And in this crowd of diverse folk was their king.

King Elessar Telcontar looked at the various booths and all the items they displayed. Many types of food, different types of cloth, and here and there vendors with jewelry and other trinkets showed up. It was the people, however, that especially interested him. Old and young men and women were behind the booths, shouting out at others to come and buy their things. Some vendors even advertised for stores around the first and second levels. Nothing especially interested him, however, and he found himself looking for some peace from the busy market. He hoped a less crowded space would help clear the pounding in his head.

He wandered over to a park, one of the few that the elves had put in the City to give it a bit more greenery. In that spot before the War there was a large assortment of buildings, but they had been so damaged in the fighting that the king simply had the ruins demolished and a park put in its place instead. It was a decision he never regretted. Even in this weather there were a few children playing on the open grass while their watchful parents kept an eye on them from the benches underneath the trees.

Aragorn chose a seat apart from the rest, thoughtfully watching the children romp around on the grass. He smiled as one child started chasing the others in a 'tag' game, running around the grassy area and through the trees. The person who was 'it' tried to tag one of the other children, but was having a difficult time doing so for he laughed as he ran.

Suddenly, Aragorn saw in his mind a dark-haired child running around his private gardens. Chasing her was a boy with the same dark hair. They were laughing as they ran, but before he could see their faces, something collided with his legs.

"Sorry!" the high-pitched apology came from a young boy who had hit him, but he sprang away before Aragorn could say anything. He watched with some amazement the energy these children retained; had he ever that amount of liveliness? He suspected he did, and idly wondered if his own children would have it, as well. Aragorn recalled his vision, and if one or both of the children were his, he believed that they would.

He watched the children for a few more minutes in silent contentment before he realized that his old cloak, as often as it kept him warm, seemed not to doing its job proficiently now. The little nagging voice in his head tried to come back, but the king pushed it away before it could even begin. He was slightly under the weather, but that was it. 'Besides,' he justified to himself as he glanced at other people, coats and cloaks tightly wrapped around their bodies, 'it is truly cold outside.'

He stood up and, careful to avoid the playing children, walked back to the street and mingled once more with the crowd. He wandered for a few minutes, looking for a place that he could possibly get warm in- a tavern of some sort.

Suddenly, as he passed a woman selling flowers, a memory from a year ago came to him. He did not often wander the City in disguise, but he had done so in the past. About a year ago, after a rather unpleasant moment with his wife, he had sought refuge within a tavern and had found himself in the Stone and Sea Inn, a quaint little place on the second level. There he had found good ale and a rather talkative innkeeper that had cheered him up quite a bit.

If there was any place to go, it would certainly be there. With that thought in mind, he immediately started to the inn.

***

By the time he had reached the pub, he was starting to feel worse. His head was pounding harder, his throat felt dry, and, to his great annoyance, he felt as if he were going to sneeze. He simply ignored these symptoms and opened the door to the tavern. A mug of ale would do him well.

He found a place in a corner to sit- the same corner he sat in last time, he noted wryly- and within a minute the barkeeper came over to him.

“Good evening, sir! What’ll you have today?” he asked cheerfully.

“The house brew,” Aragorn said quietly, not wanting to hurt his throat. The barkeeper nodded, disappeared behind the counter and, faster than the king expected, came back with a full mug of ale.

“Anything else for you?” he asked as he set the mug down.

“No, thank-” Aragorn was interrupted by a series of loud coughs, and the other man frowned.

“You don’t sound too well. My wife makes excellent soup. She can whip you up a bowl in no time. And tell you what; I’ll make it on the house. How about it?”

Aragorn was startled by the unexpected generosity. “Thank you, but-”

“Great, I’ll be back in a bit.” With that, the barkeeper scurried off. Aragorn simply smiled to himself and sipped at his mug of ale. The kindness of people, after all the years of war and suffering, surprised and gladdened him.

From his corner he observed the whole room, and remembered why he liked the place the first time he had come there. It was not the largest inn in the City, but it was comfortable and welcoming. There were others scattered around the room who obviously agreed with him. At the counter were a couple of lone men, drinking quietly and deep in thought. Around another table were a couple farmers and merchants who were arguing about the price of goods. In another corner of the room was a group of men who had started early with the merrymaking, though were not completely intoxicated as of yet. It was the group closest to him, however, which especially caught his attention.

Around the table was a small group of older men, exchanging old tales, legends, and obscure information. One of the men, who was rather loud and Aragorn could hear quite clearly, was starting a tale about a legendary captain.

“Well, I don’t remember him all that much; I was a new recruit 'n all, and not that close to him. But I still remember all that was said about him. He was one of Gondor's finest captains. He'd came from Rohan, he did, though afore Rohan no one knows where, 'cause he was definitely not one of the Rohirrim! He was very tall, and had dark hair, and also wore this curious silver star on his cloak. But it was his eyes I remember most: deep and wise, grey and very keen, they were. Though he looked just a few years older than meself at the time, his eyes made him seem ancient. They looked like eagle's eyes, they did… I ‘pose that’s why he was called Thorongil. Eagle of the Star. Now, that Thorongil, he was one with plenty of secrets.”

“Eh, I remember him!” said an older man. “He was that quiet, reserved one, wasn‘t he, Giladan?”

“Aye,” replied Giladan. “He was very quiet and secretive. But secrets or no, he was one fine captain. A stern one, but always fair and just. I still remember idolizing him, 'specially after his success at Umbar. I know the old steward, Ecthelion, really took a liking to 'im.”

“Though his son didn’t,” said the older man with a chuckle.

“Don’t talk no ill about Steward Denethor, Randir,” said the youngest of the old men. “I remember Ecthelion a bit, but Denethor was Steward for most of my life, and he weren‘t so bad of a man.”

“Until he went mad,” Randir muttered.

“Well, afore then!" the younger man insisted. "Besides, I’m sure losing both wife 'n son while running a failing country would drive anyone mad. Would send me to the deep end!”

“Wouldn’t drive the king mad,” Randir put in.

“The king, eh? Well, we don’t know. He hasn’t lost a wife ‘n son yet, now, has he?”

“Even if he did, Corudir, I don’t think he would. He’s a strong man.”

“Hardly a man,” Corudir muttered. “He’s too perfect to be a man.”

“Just because he isn't crazy like Denethor don’t mean he doesn’t have his faults.”

“Name one.”

“Well,” Giladan said thoughtfully as he took a sip of his drink. “He may be a bit too trusting. I’m not sure if I‘m so eager about this treaty with this Haradric tribe. He’s giving in too easily. The Haradrim are nothing but a bunch of lying scum. I bet they would turn their backs on us the first chance they get.”

“That’s for sure,” muttered Randir. “My son didn’t die out there against them savages for nothing.”

“Eh, that‘s not my problem with him,” growled Corudir.

“What d’you mean?”

"Well," Corudir started as he drank from his mug, "he just can't relate to us. He's up there in his big Citadel of his, doing who-knows-what with us. He doesn't know us. He's not even from Gondor! At least Lord Denethor was born here; I don't think he's even been here before he became king."

"He meets with people twice a month to talk about their issues," Randir argued. "If you don't think he relates to you 'n me, why don't you go up and tell him yourself?"

"Have you seen how crowded it is during those days? Everyone and their mother comes to the Citadel those days to talk about whatever's bothering them," he said. "Lords, half the people come just to gawk at him and the Queen!"

"Don't shout!" Giladan said to his companion. "You've drunk too much, old man."

"You're older than I am, you lout," Corudir argued good-naturedly, but lowered his voice. "Besides, King Elessar can't see everything that goes on, even in his own home. The richer folk always end up in the front for a reason, and us poor old soldiers never get a chance to get near him, much less talk with him. I tried twice but ended up moving nowhere. And I missed two days of work for that, too. I'm not trying again unless it changes, which it won't."

Randir simply shrugged and glanced into his cup, but Giladan looked thoughtful. "Well, maybe it'll change. One day." He went to drink from his mug again, but, to his dismay, found it empty. "Bah! Where is that innkeeper, now?" He glanced around the room, and did not see the innkeeper, but did spot one of the lads who worked for him. "Lad! Come here." Once the boy took the cup to refill it, Corudir, weary with the discussion, easily switched topics.

"Where is that barkeep from, anyhow?" he asked his two companions. "I remember this place being abandoned for a long time."

"Anfalas," Giladan responded. "The old barkeep was good, and I miss him. He died a few years before the War, and he had no children- none living, at the least. No one wanted this old place, and it remained empty for a while. But this man from Anfalas, Aearhil, took it last year and cleaned it up. He isn't too bad, either. Ah, thanks lad," he said to the boy who brought him a full mug of ale. He gave him a copper, and once the boy had scuttled off to another customer, took a deep drink from his cup.

“Not too bad at all,” agreed Corudir, taking a swig from his own. “Now that you have more drink, Giladan, continue with your story. Whatever happened to that Thorongil?”

“Thorongil? Oh, yes… well, after Umbar and that successful campaign, the City had a whole celebration planned for him and his soldiers. But according to some of my old comrades who were with him, he just left at Pelargir! Don’t know where he went, but he left, and no one’s seem him since. Wonder what happened to him…”

“Dead, most likely,” Corudir said.

“Well, yes, I s'pose so… it’s been over forty years, hasn’t it?”

“How time flies,” muttered Randir. “I still remember when I was just a boy, looking at the tall soldiers guarding the walls. I actually remember once looking at my father up there and thinking ‘One day, I’ll be like him’…”

And from there the conversation went to a whole other topic. Aragorn frowned to himself as he sat back in his seat and sipped at his ale. That was most certainly very informative, if anything. While he planned no changes with the Haradrim, the news concerning his public meetings was an eye opener to him. He did not know if this Corudir was simply exaggerating or not, but he would certainly look into it himself.

He thought about Thorongil, and stifled a chuckle. Had it truly been forty years already? He still remembered the days that he served Gondor as if it were yesterday. He could not remember this Giladan at the moment, but he most certainly remembered Denethor’s animosity towards him. At first, their relationship had been even what you could call friendly. However, once he was promoted to a captain after only a few years of service, their relationship had grown farther and farther apart. It was truly a pity that they had not been friends; he knew Denethor was a keen and intelligent man, and they had had many common interests. But it just did not work out. He was very glad that he was in good relations with Faramir and, for a short time, Boromir.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clattering of a soup bowl. Startled, he looked up and saw the cheery face of the innkeeper, Aearhil.

“Wife just made it for you. Used her special recipe today; she must be feeling good.” He chuckled. “Women. Always so fickle. Do you have a wife, master… err…?”

“Strider. Just call me Strider,” Aragorn said. The innkeeper obviously did not recall their first and only meeting from a year ago, though he could not blame him; he likely received hundreds of patrons within the last year. “And yes, I do. She is the loveliest of ladies.”

“Yea, my wife’s one pretty woman herself,” Aearhil nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

“I heard that you were not from Minas Tirith, Master Innkeeper,” Aragorn said as he took a sip of the soup. He enjoyed conversing with the jovial man.

“Call me Aearhil,” said the barkeeper, sitting down across from him. “And you heard right; I’m from Anfalas. But after the War was done and everything had calmed down, my wife and I decided to move out here. Took us a long time to get everything prepared, but here we are. I bought this place at a good price, too. All it needed was a little work, and it was good to go. And it was well worth it! Business is good.”

All of a sudden, one of the patrons at the counter called for him. Aearhil rolled his eyes. “Him. He’s never satisfied with the lads, always wants me. D’you need anything else for now, sir?” Aragorn shook his head, and Aearhil smiled and rose. “Well, if you do need anything, feel free to call over me or one of the boys.” With that, the innkeeper turned and hurried over to the patron demanding his attention.

Aragorn smiled to himself and took a spoonful of soup. It was very good and hot, and immediately lessened his headache and soothed his throat. For now, the former Ranger was content to enjoy the small meal and stay in the tavern for a while longer.





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