"How did you like it?" asked Aragorn while clutching his blanket anxiously.
Arwen stretched and replied languidly, "Mmm…a worthy performance, though I would not rate it as highly as last night's effort…thought I must make concessions, for one's energy is much depleted in the morning."
Aragorn gave a faint sigh of relief. Since Eowyn's departure, Arwen's moods had been more fickle than usual, and she had been apt to explode with sudden anger over any trivial error he committed. Moreover, Aragorn was worried that his performance in bed had suffered due to fear of his wife and pressure from his councilors to produce an heir.
But life had settled into a pattern after a few months. Arwen and Eowyn had been exchanging long distance "presents" that always bordered on international disasters--for example, Arwen retaliated to the publishing of How the Heroic Maiden of Rohan Slew the Hideous Bitch-Queen of Arnor in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields by writing a nigh inappropriate song about Eowyn's close relationship with horses. While the song was fairly popular within Minas Tirith, Aragorn had persuaded his queen that releasing the song in Rohan would not have been beneficial for Gondor's relations with the horse-lords.
After that first sally, Arwen and Eowyn had fortunately restricted their feud to the private realm. Aragorn could now rest easier knowing that the women had reached a consensus (without actually speaking to one another) regarding the avoidance of international crises.
And so, life in the White Tower had descended into what could pass for normalcy. Arwen, being a natural in matters of governance, named herself head of the Business Council, an action for which he was eternally grateful. Aragorn was thereby freed to tinker with the army's structure and to deal with the numerous delegates from other countries who were eager to present gifts and bribes to Gondor in return for alliances and protection. The ranks and the coffers swelled with soldiers and money, making Arwen a very happy woman.
The sex had not been bad either.
Aragorn, ruminating on how well his life was going, decided to risk what might be a rather sensitive request.
"My dear," he began delicately, "do you remember what you said about Elves being somewhat…free-minded about whom they love?
Arwen's response was surprisingly mild. "I seem to remember something of the like. You were rather perturbed about Legolas' watching you while you were bathing."
"Yes, I mentioned that," said Aragorn, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "But what I had in mind was--"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you why he did that!" Arwen jumped in. "My father told him to, you see."
"Your father was involved in this as well?" asked Aragorn in alarm.
"Yes, he asked Legolas to watch over you and keep you from harm…he did not want you to die and leave me bereft, Estel."
"Oh. That sets my mind at rest," said Aragorn, relieved.
"Though Legolas seemed overly eager to guard you, in my mind."
There was a pregnant pause, until Aragorn said, "That does not set my mind at rest." He struggled with that uncomfortable thought for a while, and then said tentatively, "So, anyway, I wanted to ask you about, er, sharing our bed with another woman. You said you would not be averse to it?" (He reminded himself that mentioning Eowyn's name at this point had gotten him thrown out of the bedroom the last time.)
"Oh, so you have been deliberating whether to ask this of me?" laughed Arwen. "I had forgotten that I had said such things to you…it was a jest, you see."
"A jest?" repeated Aragorn incredulously.
"Yes, Elves are not attracted to their own sex. Or most of them, anyway. I told you otherwise so that you would avoid Legolas and ostracize him a little…I had to punish him for spreading rumors about our people."
"And your method of retaliation was to spread more rumors about your people," mused Aragorn.
Arwen gave him a sidelong glance at his faint tone of disapproval, and replied, "You would take issue with my actions, dear husband?"
"Such thoughts never once came to my mind."
He had a moment's view of Arwen's wicked smile before a pillow came flying into his face.
"Bad husband!" she cried playfully, thrashing him again and again with her goose-down pillow. "You vowed to never contradict me, did you not? Bad, bad husband!"
Just as Aragorn was beginning to enjoy the beating, his wife suddenly stopped flailing about so that she could clutch her stomach with one hand and place her other hand over her mouth.
"Arwen?" he inquired. "What is the matter?"
For once in her long life, Arwen held her mouth shut. Then she silently stumbled out of the bed and ran to the lavatory. Aragorn, from his position on the bed, could hear her wretchedly purging the contents of her stomach.
"What is this new sorrow that plagues us?" he said to himself anxiously. "Have I made my love ill…?"
"You have made her pregnant," said Ioreth of the Houses of Healing. "Congratulations, King Elessar!"
Aragorn fainted.
Once Aragorn had been revived, he sort of wished he hadn't been.
"Why am I taken so ill!" she shrieked as soon as he entered their bedroom. "Elves do not sicken save through grief! And I do not grieve! Grieving is for the weak! Estel, you fool, what have you done to me?"
Aragorn almost turned back.
"Ah…Arwen, dearest, Ioreth must have told you that you are with child, yes? And you must know that such symptoms such as those you have are to be expected…"
"Not among the Eldar," she uttered in a dangerous voice. "I have heard nothing of such crass ailments before childbirth."
He wiped his sweating hands on his trousers and said meekly, "It is so among Men, and you now count yourself among our race."
"You told me nothing of this sickness of yours," she said accusingly. Aragorn could practically see the murderous thoughts gathering thickly inside her head. "You deceived me! You…you must procure for me some lembas! Immediately!"
Aragorn blinked several times before replying, "Your pardon?"
"Lembas! The good kind, from Lothlorien, wrapped in mallorn leaves. It is the only way you may regain my favour. I must have it now!"
"Of course," said Aragorn quickly, taking any chance to escape, and hoping to assuage the crazed, hungry glint in his wife's eyes. "I will send for it right away, so if you will now excuse me…"
"And I must have it with fish from the Isen…!" she called to his retreating back.
He fled the room before she could say aught else; he was not called Strider for nothing, after all. Now all he had to do was think of a way to ship a cart full of fresh lembas all the way from Lothlorien before Arwen killed him.
The next nine months passed with agonizing slowness. Between Arwen's furious yet cranky tempers, her increasingly bizarre demands for various exotic foods, and having to run the kingdom with little help from steward or wife, Aragorn had little rest. He often found himself wishing that Arwen were the sort of woman who became warm and glowing when she was with child, rather than cruelly demanding. Aragorn's only consolation during this trying period was that the council had stopped bothering him about producing an heir.
Then the day of doom arrived, as it always must.
"It all goes amiss," Aragorn muttered to himself, pacing outside the special maternity room Arwen had been living in for the past fortnight.
Ioreth popped her head out of the queen's room. "They all say that, Your Highness," she admonished cheerfully, "but you should be rejoicing! You are to have an heir soon."
"Is it already time?" asked Aragorn in alarm.
"No, no, of course not--"
A pained scream that most definitely belonged to Arwen issued from behind the doorway.
"Or perhaps it is," corrected Ioreth before shutting the door in his face.
Despite the flutters of nervous anticipation in his stomach and the fact that he, being a man, was not allowed to participate in the birthing process, Aragorn pressed his ear against the thick wooden door. He strained to understand his wife's cries.
"…wish he was never born! Or that he had been tortured and killed and burned to death and killed by orcs! Estel, you coward! I know you are there…!"
Well. That was enough of that.
Aragorn slunk away and sat in his study to wait for the end, taking out an empty pipe and sucking on it for comfort (Arwen still would not let him smoke). He might have slept, but he could not be sure; the next thing he knew a pageboy burst into his study, completely ignoring protocol, to announce that the queen had given birth. The king, likewise ignoring normal codes of behaviour, scurried in a most undignified fashion toward the maternity room.
At the door, the formidable obstacle of Ioreth barred his way. "I am sorry, Your Highness, but it is not meet for a man enter here," she said firmly.
Aragorn surprised himself by stating proudly, "May not a king go whither he chooses? And may he not choose to be beside his wife when she has undergone a great ordeal?"
At this rare near-command Ioreth moved aside, though he thought he heard her muttering, "Well, where were you when she was screaming murder upon your grave?" Ignoring this, the king strode to his wife, who lay in exhaustion upon her bed, and beheld his child for the first time--a tiny, wrinkled body resting peacefully against Arwen, with eyes closed and soft hands curled tightly.
"He is so beautiful," murmured Aragorn, gazing with wonder upon the miracle that was his child.
"She," said Arwen tiredly.
Horrified realization dawned. "She?"
"She."
"Not an heir? You mean we must do this again?"
"Yes."
Aragorn fainted.
"Ioreth, the herbs again."
"Yes, ma'am."
Author's Notes: I'm done exams! Yay! I'm working full-time, five or six days a week! Boo! Yeargh. Expect updates to be slower than ever.
Anyone who thinks Legolas is gayer than a fruit cocktail raise your hand (ie. Mercuria). Anyone who thinks he's not, also raise your hands. I wrote the first conversation of this chapter so that all of you can think whatever you want about him. Personally, I think he's asexual.
Next chapter will feature…er, more guest stars. I never seem to run out of those.