Author: Arinya
Rating:R
Summary: Sam is forced to retell all the things that happened after the Fellowship had succeeded in destroying the Ring. All the members of the Fellowship have their own problems. Darkness returns, and Love struggles to conquer all. But as the problems mount up to a peak, can they survive? And can Sam bear telling his audience the true story?
Chapter Twenty Nine: Greeting Messages
Aragorn rubbed his forehead for a second, then looked over at Arwen who insisted she was fine. He was worried for her since they had just discovered a month ago that she was with child. He dipped the quill into the ink well and wrote in his best script to Gimli, requesting mithril mail if there was any available, and specific instructions not to mine for it. They had all learned a lesson from the balrog in Moria. He wanted dwarven men to fight if it was possible, and signed the letter, then rolled it up, sealing it with his crest.
A red ribbon was tied around the parchment to keep it rolled up and he proceeded to write to the last person on his list, Eomer. Aragorn asked for a force of at least thirty-thousand able-bodied men, and horses for a quarter of them. He emphasized men, remembering Helm's Deep where so many children and grandfathers fought to no avail.
Aragorn called a servant boy to give the letters to a mounted messenger, then went into the next room.
"Celeborn?"
The silver haired elf turned around and nodded.
"Yes Aragorn"
"It's decided that I ask Galadriel to come to Emyn Muil to negotiate...will she come?"
Celeborn nodded.
"She will come...she wishes to see everything as it happens, she would not miss the chance"
"Good. But tell me Celeborn, do you see another way?"
"No" said Celeborn.
And Aragorn nodded, leaving him. As much as it hurt Celeborn to say this aloud. Long hours of brooding brought him to this one conclusion. There was no salvation for his beloved wife, only demise.
There was a knock at the door of King Thranduil. At first he was so surprised that he dismissed it as a dream. A figment of his imagination. No one ever touched Mirkwood, much less traveled into the heart of it to knock on the dark door of its Lord. But when the second, third, and fourth came, he decided enough was enough. Not only was the sound of the resonating knock shortening his temper, he was dying of curiosity to find out exactly who dared to come to him.
He stood before the door as one of his elven men pulled it open. What he saw almost blinded him. He held up his arm to shield his eyes, then brought it down slowly as the light faded.
"Hello Thranduil" said the person
"Lady Galadriel" said the King, awestruck.
"Come in, come in..." he said and took her hand as she inclined her head slightly.
She was the most beautiful creature he had ever had the honor to lay eyes on.