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Just A Cold  by Aelaer

Chapter Three

He was working in his office when there was a knock on his door. The guard at the entrance opened the door, stuck his head in, and said, “My Lord Steward, Her Majesty the Queen is here and would speak with you, if you are available.”

Faramir stood up, nodding. “Of course, please let her in!”

The queen entered his study with the flawless grace and dignity that she always possessed. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Greetings, my lady,” he said with a small bow. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No, but thank you,” she said as the guard closed the door. Once the door was shut, she sent an amused look at the steward. “I am more used to the formality of Minas Tirith, but your door warden is particularly cordial.”

“That he is,” Faramir said with a chuckle. “I’ve known him for years, and he has yet to say my name.”

He offered her a seat by the fire, which she took with a nod of thanks. Once they were both seated, Arwen spoke. “Faramir, have you seen my husband? I have not seen him since early morning, and I heard that the meeting with the Haradrim ended early. He is not in his office, nor in our rooms, and I cannot find anyone who has seen him for at least an hour, if not longer. Do you know where he is?”

The steward knew that this would happen, but he was hoping that it would have been longer until Arwen noticed Aragorn’s disappearance. The king hadn’t yet been out for two hours. It was time to put his diplomatic skills into play; he hoped the queen was in a good mood.

“The king... went out.” He mentally winced to himself. That sounded rather pathetic.

“Out? Out where?” Arwen frowned.

“Into the City.”

“Yes, I would assume so, Faramir. Where?”

Curse you for putting me into this position, Aragorn!’ “I... I am not quite sure, my lady.”

Arwen blinked once, and then stared at Faramir intensely. “You do not mean that he went on one of his little... strolls. Alone.”

Faramir was very hard pressed not to wince. “I believe that is what he did, my lady.”

The queen did not sigh, but she looked very much like she wanted to. Or, if not that, find her husband and hit him on the head. “I surely am not the only one who remembers what happened last time he went alone, yes?”

“No, no, my lady, I remember,” Faramir reassured her. He remembered very well- it had been a rather nasty political crisis which could have ended up much worse. “But he was rather adamant and would not be deterred.”

“No, he wouldn’t, would he,” Arwen muttered to herself, frowning at the wall behind Faramir. She suddenly turned her gaze to the man. “But he is ill; he will catch his death in that weather!”

How in the world did she know?’ Faramir wondered to himself, but did not try to answer; a wife knew everything there was to know about her husband. And she, of all wives, would likely know very well what her husband tried to hide from her. “He told me he was well,” he tried to support the king.

“If he were dying he would tell you he was well, just to get his way,” Arwen snapped, and then closed her eyes. “My apologies, Faramir; I should not take my frustrations out on you. But I swear, my husband is a stubborn mule, and still as reckless as he was seventy years ago.”

Faramir silently did the math, and then came to the conclusion that the queen was exaggerating. He remembered his younger years, and he was sure that he was not nearly as reckless now as he was then. He had to give his king the same benefit of the doubt. After all, wives were quite prone to exaggerate when worried.

“I am sure he will be fine, my lady,” Faramir said after a moment of silence. “I asked him to be here by the time the bells ring ten times.”

Arwen nodded silently, but said nothing. Ignoring her earlier refusal, the steward brought out two goblets and poured out some wine. Silently he handed the cup to her. She glanced at it, looked at Faramir’s passive expression, and suddenly laughed.

Taking the goblet, she said, “Thank you, Faramir. You are always remarkably cool-headed and patient; you are such a very good friend to Aragorn and I. Thank you.”

“But of course, my lady,” Faramir said, slightly surprised.

She took a sip from the goblet, cleared her throat, and said, “Well, I thank you for listening to my tirade, though you certainly did not deserve it. I am sure my husband used all of his cunning to win you over in this scheme of his.” ‘If only he would be kind enough to let me know!’ she thought exasperatedly. ‘This will certainly have to change.’ Arwen took a long drink from the cup, and then set the goblet down. “Thank you for the wine and the information, Faramir. I shall see you later.”

They both rose and went to the door. He opened it for her, and with a quiet farewell, let her out of the room. Once she was gone, he went back to his desk to continue his work.

Well, it could have been much worse,’ he thought. ‘If anything, I’m sure the queen will have some choice words for the king when he comes back.

***

Aragorn was nearly finished with his soup when Aearhil came back. He took one look at the empty mug, and went to pick it up. “Will you be having a refill, sir?”

He thought about it for a moment, and nodded. He still had a bit more time left, and he was not very anxious to go back outside just yet; it was rather miserable out there. “I would, please.” Aearhil nodded and left to go refill his mug. The king finished his soup and could honestly say that he felt a bit better. A small headache was still lingering on his temple, and his sinuses were still congested, but his throat felt much better.

The innkeeper was soon back, a nearly overflowing mug on his tray. He set the drink on the table, and once more took a seat across from Strider. “Less crowded, now. Weather’s getting worse. Don’t imagine I’ll have many patrons tonight.”

Aragorn glanced around the room. Indeed, the filled common room had emptied a bit. All that were left now were the three old men at the nearby table, a young man at the counter, and a rowdy group of men on the other side of the room.

“Business is usually well?” Aragorn asked, remembering the empty common room he came upon over a year ago.

“Oh, yes. I’ve established myself here and the Stone and Sea Inn is often bustling nowadays. A bit slower during the winter, mind, but I’m still eating, and people still want a good mug o’ ale and, now and then, a place to sleep. I say, setting up in Minas Tirith was the best decision I made.”

Aragorn smiled. “And what do you think of the city?”

“I love it. So many people, though, it was a bit hard getting used to it! But my wife and I, we adapt easily. She misses the sea sometimes, but manages. What about you, err, Strider, was it?" At Aragorn's nod, he continued. "Strider- interesting name. Well, Master Strider, are you from here? You have an accent.”

“I am originally from the north, but moved here after the War,” Aragorn said vaguely.

“Ah, from the north! Say, isn’t our king from the north, from the Northern Kingdom? I cannot remember its name, it’s on the tip of my tongue...” the man frowned in concentration.

“You mean Arnor?” Aragorn asked, smiling.

“Yes, that’s the name! He’s from there, right? Do you know?”

“I do believe the king is from Arnor, yes.”

The innkeeper nodded to himself. “Right, right. You seem to know some about him.”

He chuckled. “No more than any other man does.”

“Ah, well, more than me,” Aearhil chuckled as well, hiding his disappointment. He glanced around the inn to see if any new patrons had showed up, and seeing that none had and that the boys who worked there could handle any orders from the current patrons, turned back to Aragorn. “May I ask you something, Strider?”

“Of course.” Whether he was to answer it fully was a whole other issue. This man, while kind, was one of the most inquisitive people he had ever met- and that was putting it kindly.

“Why do you have your hood up?”

That was a rather unexpected question. But then again, Aragorn figured that nothing should be unexpected with this man- he was as blunt as he was curious. It seemed natural of him to ask such a question.

Naturally he could not answer with the truth, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “It’s a habit of mine.”

Yes, it was a rather poor excuse, but it was nevertheless an excuse.

Whether Aearhil had a response to this answer or not was to be left unknown, for at that moment, a rather boisterous voice broke through the room.

“Drink! I am out of drink!”

Normally Aearhil would let one of the lads- both who were not doing anything- answer the call for more ale. However, the man who had called for it was extremely intoxicated, as were a few of his companions. The ones who were not swaying from side to side did not look as if they were to keep their friends from doing anything stupid; by the rowdy laughter coming from the table, they were rather enjoying the spectacle.

“Excuse me,” Aearhil said quietly, rising from his seat and quickly making his way to the table. He motioned for the elder lad, who was cautiously approaching the drunkards, back behind the counter.

“What will you be needing, sir?” he asked politely.

The man barked the name of a vintage ale, and Aearhil kept his face passive as he replied, “I am sorry, sir, we do not serve that type here.”

“What? Impossible! I just had some, you liar!” The man stood up, and he was easily a head taller and twice wider than the older, thinner barkeep. The moment he was up Aragorn rose, and quietly made his way past the table of old men, who had turned from their conversation to watch the unfolding scene. The young man at the counter looked caught in between intervening and ignoring the situation, while the lads were on the other side of the counter, watching with trepidation.

Aragorn had made his way to the counter without attracting any attention. He casually leaned against it, now very close to the lads. He was bidding his time, only prepared to intervene if this encounter elevated another notch and the innkeeper found himself in a position in which he was unable to handle himself.

The innkeeper held his ground against the larger man, a calm expression still on his face. "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not have that kind of ale here," he repeated. The intoxicated man did not seem happy with that answer, and from his side he pulled out a knife.

The encounter had just elevated another level.

As the innkeeper took a couple steps back, his hands raised at his sides, Aragorn turned to the lads, whose eyes went wide with the sight of the knife. "You," he said to the smaller of the boys, "get back into the kitchen, and stay there until this is over." The boy, sensing the air of authority over the stranger, immediately complied. "And you, lad," he started to the other, "go to the guard station at the second gate. Tell them of the situation and bring the guards here. Go quickly, now!" The older lad complied, not even bothering to grab a coat as he stole into the chilly winter weather.

Once that was taken care of, Aragorn turned his attention back to Aearhil, who was impressively keeping his calm as he slowly backed away. "Please, sir, there is no need for that," he said. "I am sorry we cannot meet your needs, but the Stone and Sea Inn will happily give you another mug of ale of any kind, free of charge."

Impressive diplomacy. Aragorn idly wondered if he had taken lessons from Faramir, but did not let such thoughts linger as the drunkard took the offer as an insult.

"Why would I want something else? I don't want anything else! You're just hiding it from me, aren't you?" It was then that he lunged at the innkeeper.

Time to intervene.

Aragorn was not sure why the part of playing "the hero" seemed to land on him so often; perhaps it was his heritage and legacy, or it may have simply been an innate response to the troubles of the innocent. Whatever the reason, he could not ignore the suffering of others if there was anything he could do to help. And, seeing as he had grown rather fond of the loquacious Anfalas man, there was simply no way he could ignore this now.

Aearhil managed to avoid the drunk easily enough, and the large man fell to the floor. His colleagues laughed at him, but did not look as if they would intervene with the situation at the moment. Before the barkeeper could do much else, Aragorn was by his side.

"Do you know how to use a knife?" Aragorn asked casually.

"For other than chopping up vegetables? Lords, no! I am no soldier."

As he had thought. "Then stay back; even in such a state, an armed man is dangerous."

As Aragorn stepped in front of him, Aearhil frowned. He did not like that his customer- one that he liked quite a bit- was risking his life for him. "Are you armed?"

"I am," Aragorn said simply. "Stay back."

Aearhil thought of protesting, but sense came to him, and he complied. His patron sounded as if he knew what he was doing, and he, well, he had other customers to look after and make sure they were not hurt.

By now the drunken man had picked himself off of the floor. He noticed that a tall, cloaked stranger had replaced the shorter innkeeper. He turned to look for the barkeep, but the tall man spoke before he could focus.

"You have had too much to drink. You should go home, before you hurt someone."

Aragorn realized that the chances of the intoxicated man actually complying were slim to none, but he thought it was worth a shot.

"What?" he slurred. "Go home? Who're you t' order me 'round?"

Aragorn could not help but note the irony.

"Go home," he repeated. "You have had too much to drink."

"How dare you!" the other screamed, and thrust his knife forward. Aragorn easily sidestepped the lunge, drew his knife, and hit the other man on the head with the hilt as he fell forward. The drunk was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Aragorn was hoping that his companions had more sense than he, and that the situation would have ended there and then. Of course, Aragorn was not nearly lucky enough to have that scenario play out.

"He's dead!"

"No, he's-"

"You killed him!"

"I-"

"Get him!"

Aragorn sighed to himself as the four other men at the table came rushing at him. This was not helping his headache in any way.





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