Fo.A. 19

Aharron shrugged out of the last of his armor and piled it up to be cleaned. Rolling his shoulders to stretch out the stiff muscles, he moved to the wash basin and began scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the long march. One of the lads who worked in the kitchen peeked his head around the corner hesitantly. "Food's almost ready, sir. Cook says I'm to call the men in to eat."

Grabbing for a towel, Aharron wiped his face as he nodded at the boy. "Inform the others. I shall be taking my meal elsewhere."

The boy grinned at him cheekily. "Ay, sir. Cook said as you had a lady friend you visited."

The old soldier glared daggers at the boy. "If I see fit to visit anywhere it will be because I'm assured of being given a better meal there than the slop served here. Tell Cook to keep that gossip to himself."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

The boy darted away and Aharron finished washing up and dressed in the one set of clean clothes he had tucked away. Making his way out of the barracks he paused to bow his head as King Boromir and his entourage passed by.

To his surprise, the sovereign stopped and turned to him. "My good man, please convey our thanks to your wife for the items she sent over for my great nephew. Highest quality, as always."

Aharron looked at him in bewilderment. "My apologies, Sire. I am happy to convey your thanks, but Ardith is not my wife."

"Ah, your intended then. I am sorry. I just assumed after so long…"

"Nor is she my intended. We are merely…friends."

It was the king's turn to look bewildered. "Indeed? Well then. I need not make you my messenger, if you are not going home to see her."

Fighting annoyance and the uncomfortable feeling of being scrutinized, Aharron cleared his throat. "As it happens, I am going to be seeing her this evening. And I will pass on your gratitude."

King Boromir raised his eyebrows slightly and then nodded. "Very well. Thank you."

"Your Majesty," he responded with another bow, and quickly turned to leave and make his way into the old city, grumbling as he did so. Why did people insist on making assumptions about his life? If he happened to share a meal with that woman now and again it was nobody else's concern. She was alone. Someone needed to look in on her once in a while.

The reasonable thing to do would have been for Ardith to marry again. Not him of course. He was a soldier, and there was no room in his life for any romantic entanglements. But she could marry someone else. The niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him that while it may be a reasonable course of action, Ardith was frequently an unreasonable woman. Why else had it taken years for her to do something as simple as remove a head covering? Not to mention the odd things she heard or the visions she had. Aharron huffed irritably as he turned down the small side street where Ardith lived. The likelihood that she'd even listen to such a suggestion was slim, not to mention the trouble of finding someone suitable.

Ardith pulled the fragrant loaf of bread from the oven and set it on her small table. The men were due to return sometime today, so it was likely Aharron would come by tomorrow. He would appreciate the meal. Heaven knew the food they ate while they were out on patrols or raiding orc strongholds.

She tutted softly to herself, as she crushed some dried rosemary to add to the stew simmering away over the fire. That man needed a wife, no matter what he said. She'd been keeping an eye on likely candidates, but most usually came up wanting. Aharron was a difficult man, and no mistake. It would take a particular someone to understand the wounds from his past and not take it personally when he descended into bouts of grim silence.

The fierce pounding on the door startled her, and Ardith brushed her hands on her apron before opening it. The cloaked and hooded figure stood there, practically radiating annoyance.

"That knock was enough to wake the dead," Ardith remarked dryly. "I expected you tomorrow."

Aharron entered the small house, shrugging off his cloak. "I reckoned anything you had to eat would be preferable to that new cook at the barracks."

"Yes, that news has reached the king," she laughed softly. "He mentioned this week that they were looking for someone else, but it is difficult to plan and prepare supplies for so many men. It takes someone with experience."

Aharron grunted in reply and sank into one of the wooden chairs at the table. Ardith looked him over critically, noting the weariness of his movements and the circles under his eyes. "This mission…"

"Eventful," he sighed. "The king's niece inadvertently released some sort of hellhound from a dungeon. We lost a few good men. Then she had her baby right there at Carn Dûm."

Ardith gaped at him, forgetting for the moment she was holding a ladle dripping with broth. "She never did! What happened? What is it?"

His expression softened for a moment. "Strong young lad, err, Elf I suppose. They called him Lendír."

"Well," she breathed, her eyes alight with excitement. "It would seem I finished that layette just in time."

"Ah, yes," Aharron shook his head, not certain if he wanted to laugh or hold on to his irritation. "I passed by the king as I was leaving. He asked me to convey his gratitude for the baby things…to my wife."

Ardith stared at him for a moment before narrowing her eyes. "If you've been giving the impression that someone else is responsible for all that work, I—"

"No, you daft woman!" Laughter won out, and a gruff chuckle escaped his lips. "He thinks you're my wife."

"What?! Why of all the impertinence…I hope you told him exactly what you thought of that!"

"He's the king, Ardith. Most people are disinclined to address him as familiarly as you do."

"Well, it's a ridiculous notion. Not that you couldn't be married. I for one thing you should be. In fact, I was wondering about the sister of the fishmonger. You know, the one that pulls his dilapidated old cart around and sings about the fish."

"You must be joking."

"Why should I be joking? Of course I found out she gets quite ill at the sight of blood. Probably wouldn't be that good at handling things if you were ever wounded."

"Probably not," he said dryly. "But while we're on the subject, what about the stone mason that's been working on the repairing the walls around the king's garden? He's been a widow for a good while now."

"Oh? And which one of you would wear the wedding dress?"

"Now who's being ridiculous? He seems a good steady type. Although his daughter is rather flighty."

"I am not discussing this," Ardith said firmly, plunking a bowl of stew down in front of him and snatching up a large knife. Aharron watched her warily as she waved around the sharp instrument before plunging it into the bread. "I don't need another husband."

"You don't want someone to look after you? Just to have the company now and again?"

"I'm quite capable of looking after myself. And you come around too often to keep me desperate for company."

Aharron murmured an acknowledgement of that as he tucked into the meal. As Ardith watched him, she shook her head in exasperation. "You'd think you hadn't had a regular meal before the way you're shoveling that down. If anyone needs to be married, it's you. Now be honest. Don't you want someone to welcome you home and see you're properly looked after?"

Aharron stopped mid bite and glared at her. "I am not the marrying kind," he said firmly.

"Well neither am I. So let's just leave things as they are. Agreed?"

"Agreed," he said gruffly. After they ate in silence for a few minutes, Aharron finally looked over at Ardith. "I noticed the cloth merchants around the west corner from the tower had a blue weave that looked like what you had mentioned wanting. It's in my pack if you want to take a look."

Ardith beamed at him. "Thank you! I thought it would be nice for Lady Ninel to have a new dress while the baby was still small. Before she has to worry about trying to fit back into her other things."

Aharron nodded and returned to his meal, thinking back over his interaction with the cook's boy and the king. Silly assumptions people made.