Disclaimer: I don't own LotR, the characters, etc, just the idea. Oh, and this is non-canon, so no nasty reviews about that. Thanks!

Aragorn sat in one of the public rooms of Minas Tirith, listening to some of the Gondorians issue a complaint about loose paving stones on the second level of the city. Listening to complaints was a tedious task, but came along with the job of being king. He discreetly gazed around the room, trying to find something to occupy his attention without appearing rude to his subjects. His diversion came in the form of a young messenger boy motioning to him.

"My lords, you will have to excuse me. I have pressing business I must attend to," Aragorn said, rising from his chair.

"Of course, my lord," one of the men said as they excused themselves from the room. Aragorn went to the messenger boy.

"Yes? You were motioning to me?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes, my lord. A parcel was delivered a short while ago," the boy answered, twisting his brown cap in his hands.

"A parcel? This is turning to be a bright day indeed! Who has sent it? When and where from which did it arrive?" Aragorn asked, a smile brightening his face.

"There was no messenger, sire. Just a large box outside the gates to the seventh level of the city," the boy explained.

"Curious.....probably a gift from Pippin.....it would be like him to do something of this sort," Aragorn murmured.

"Shall I bring it into the room here, sire?" he asked.

"No, follow me and bring it to my private chambers," Aragorn answered. The boy left quickly, returned with a large container covered with a green velvet cloth. Inside the king of Gondor's private rooms, which he shared with the queen, the boy set the box on the floor in the place indicated by Aragorn.

"There you are, sire," the boy said, looking around at the grand stone floor, the fireplaces, and the furniture.

"Thank you....what is your name, lad?" Aragorn asked, realizing he had been extremely rude in not asking for the boy's name sooner.

"I am Denemir, son of Denegor, my lord," the boy answered.

"If you go down to the kitchens through the servant stairs, you'll find food and drink for you, Denemir And tell the guards to allow no one in for present," Aragorn instructed.

"Not even Queen Arwen?" Denemir asked.

"For Eru's sake, especially not her! A moment's peace would never be had!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"As you wish, my lord," Denemir agreed, backing out of the room.

"Hannon le," Aragorn thanked him distractedly. Denemir nodded his understanding. The country of Gondor had grown used to the king speaking in elvish, especially since his wive was an elf.

Now alone, Aragorn studied the large box after pulling the velvet away from it. It appeared to be roughly six feet in height and constructed of a thick, sturdy parchment which was brown in color. A label was somehow attached to the box, although Aragorn could not understand how, as there appeared to be no evidence of any sort of sealing wax. The label read:

Elessar

Minas Tirith

Gondor

Aragorn searched the box's surface, and finding no way to open it, retrieved his dagger

from the nearby desk and proceeded to slash the box to pieces. Tossing the shreds aside, he stood in awe at was before him.

"What sort of devilry is this?" he asked aloud.

In front of him stood a replica of the city of Minas Tirith, although it appeared that someone had cut the White City in half. Looking at it from all sides, Aragorn found the structure to be just a shell of the city, divided into levels and what appeared to be individual chambers. The replica was constructed of a material that Aragorn could not identify. It was not wood, metal, glass, or paper, but the material seemed sturdy and surprisingly lightweight.

Another box was tucked into one of the lower chambers. Aragorn removed it and proceeded to slash it to pieces as well. He uncovered small replicas of furniture that was in the palace, as well as two figures, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be modeled after Arwen and himself.

What was the purpose of such things? Aragorn examined the tiny furniture and saw that one piece looked like the desk on which his dagger had been resting. Smiling, Aragorn placed the tiny desk into the tiny room that looked eerily like the one in which he currently sat. He began to place the rest of the furniture into the other rooms.

"Aragorn, what is this I have heard of a package being delivered?" Arwen asked, scaring the king out of his wits as she spoke and touched his shoulder.

"For Eru's sake, Arwen! How did you enter here?" Aragorn asked, trying to slow his racing heart.

"Never mind that, what was the package?" Arwen asked.

"It appears to be a miniature of Minas Tirith," he answered, cautiously showing her the model.

"Oh, it is darling!" Arwen exclaimed, moving to touch it.

"No! I do not yet know what sort of mystical properties this.....this......thing possesses," Aragorn said, diving in front of her.

"Oh, look, tiny pieces of furniture!" Arwen cried, trying to get past him.

"Out! Before you unleash some horrible sort of plague, mortal woman!" Aragorn shouted, knowing he would strike a nerve.

"I am an heir of Luthien! I am the Evenstar of my people! I am the most beautiful creature in Middle Earth! You dare compare me to a mortal? We will just see how a night of sleeping on stone makes you feel!" Arwen screamed, her face taking on a slightly greenish tinge. She must have inherited that from Galadriel, her grandmother.

"I am a Ranger! In case you can't remember, woman, I have slept in much worse conditions," Aragorn exclaimed.

"I don't know why I married you! It's always "Eowyn did this" or "Legolas did that"! You know, I believe there is something between the two of you!" Arwen fumed, storming out of the room.

"Damn arrogant she-elf," Aragorn muttered, turning back to the tiny Minas Tirith after posting an extra set of guards at all the doors in case Arwen should happen to come back for a second round.

Hmm, these little tables and chairs were highly amusing. He smiled as he set the little figure of himself on his bed and placed the figure of Arwen in the dark, underground room where the privies were emptied.