Of course, all of this building and remodeling cost money. And money didn't grow on the White Tree of Gondor. So King Aragorn had another brilliant idea of taxing all the people until they couldn't afford socks or those shirts that were sold in Minas Tirith tourist shops.

Even worse than that, he signed a new law stating that any house that stood in way of a possible road leading from Rivendell directly into the spa would be destroyed via Mithrandir's staff.

All of this upset the Gondorians. They couldn't believe that an elected official would treat them so unjustly.

"Why?" sobbed the villager.

"Maybe it's because we only voted him in for that sword he carried about, Namsil," replied villager #2, gazing at the wrecked remains of his neighbor's home. In the distance, a team of dwarves delved into the ground with power drills.

The villager sniffed. "But it was such a pretty sword."

"Yeah, I know," the disgruntled second villager kicked a rock into the debris. "But now that I think about it, we should have voted the Dark Lord in. Bad as he was, I don't think he would have destroyed a couple of homes just so some damned lazy elves won't have to walk ten more feet."

"I don't think he cared much for elves," said the villager, who wasn't too much swinging near the brighter side of the lamp.

"No, I don't think so either," said the second villager, who wasn't much better off.

On the other side of Gondor, on the seventh level of the City of Kings, stood an exasperated Steward.

Faramir was tired of listening to his King babble on and on about how sad and dreary most elves were because they were cursed with fair skin. Just because he was raised in Rivendell, what made him think he knew a thing about the Eldar?

In fact, Faramir had drawn up a theory that Aragorn was just jealous of his elven brethren, and was using the spa as an excuse to lure them all into one place at one time and wipe them off the face of Middle-Earth.

However, that was giving Aragorn way too much credit.

Therefore the Steward was at a loss. The conundrum at hand was giving him a splitting headache. What to do?

Being the Steward of Gondor was hard. No wonder why Denethor went mad. Always having to put up with courtiers and officials, and the prospect of a returning King that came from a line of silly people.

It took a lot of effort on Faramir's part to calm down. He did some yoga and lit a stick of incense before sitting cross-legged on his balcony and staring off into the distance.

The spa would open tomorrow, and vaguely the Steward wondered what the turnout would be like.