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In the Court of the High King
In the small room that he had prepared as an office, Aragorn removed his crown and mantle of state, and sat back in the comfortable chair behind the battered table he used as a desk. As usual, he had a stack of documents to read, many of which would need to be signed and sealed by him.
Court had been uneventful this day. Some of the lords from outlying lands had arrived, with gifts to present. And the Weaver’s guild had complaints about the fees of the Merchant’s guild over woolens. As soon as he had dealt with the various scrolls demanding his attention, he could go to his private apartments, where he and Arwen could share their customary day-meal in peace and privacy.
There was a rap upon the door. Sighing, he called out “Enter!”
It was Faramir. He wore a wide smile. “My lord King?”
Aragorn nodded, and Faramir came in and shut the door.
“News?” asked the King.
“They have passed the Rammas Echor,” he said. They should be here before sunset.”
Aragorn laughed aloud. “Very well. It will be too late today—they will be tired and hungry. Send word to have everything ready for their arrival.”
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