Disclaimer: All recognizable events, places, and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkein and possibly New Line Cinema. I am not profiting from this fanfiction, it is written purely for my own enjoyment and that of any who read it.
A/N: This is the second and likely second-to-last chapter of "Leaves of Hope". I had a very unwelcome revelation while writing this chapter; I can't use Eldarion's full name. I was planning to have Aragorn rebuke the child, and begin the lecture with "Eldarion Elessarion!" but, you know...it didn't sound right, and more importantly, I can't say it, and I like to be able to say the names of the characters I'm writing about. Estel is easy, because Elrondion flows with the first name, but really now, Eldarion Elessarion? What a mouthful. I can't have my characters choking on their dialogue. So, unfortunately, that particular line had to be abandoned. It's a shame, because I liked the idea very much.
Thank you to Sarahbarr17 and SuddenSummerStorm for reviewing the first chapter! :) Your reviews were encouraging, and responses should have already reached your inboxes. Also, thanks are in order for Juliette Black and avidreader-new for adding this story to their alert lists, and to Sarahbarr17 again for favoriting it.
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A harried-looking hobbit opened the door of the inn, pressing himself flat against the wall in a vain attempt to avoid being whacked in the head by the sheathed swords that dangled from the belts of many of the new arrivals. Despite his caution, he found himself watching each potential customer as he passed, because Big People were a rare sight in Hobbiton now that - as rumor had it - a King had come to the long-empty throne in the West. This group of Big People were an even scarcer treat, because they were decked out from head to toe in finery rarely seen in those parts. A grin spread across his face as he imagined just what his brothers would say when he broke the news to them that, on the one day that Father had let them shirk their duties, a large group of armed and wealthy Men decided to camp at The Green Dragon, and had passed just inches from his nose!
"What are you smirking at, young halfling?" a rough and decidedly irate voice interrupted his pleasant thoughts, and he focused his eyes on the shining sword, emblazened with a white tree, that dangled manacingly in front of his face. "I - uh - that is, sir - I was just thinking about my dinner, sir! Please don't kill me!" The hobbit cringed even as the words slipped out, for he hardly recognized his own voice, so squeaky and undignified as it was. The man laughed, and a large hand descended upon his head. The tiny figure sunk even lower than his usual stature, as though trying to disappear into the floor.
Suddenly, a melodious female voice stayed the man's hand, and the soldier froze immediately. "Dautin, leave the poor halfling be. If you frighten the staff, we may have to seek another inn for our stay." The man straightened and bowed deeply to a figure several paces behind him. "As you wish, my lady. But I was only going to muss his hair, I would not hurt him." The woman strode forward and offered a slender hand to the cowering hobbit, pulling him to his feet. As she did so, the candlelight illuminated the side of her face just as the movement pushed her hood slightly back. The hobbit gasped. The woman was not simply a woman at all, but an Elf! Never before had he even imagined an Elf, let alone truly glimpsed one, or been offered aid by one! His brothers would swoon from jealousy!
"You may wish to close your mouth, young master, lest the midges make your mouth their home." Another man's voice, deeper than Dautin's and much kinder, emerged from the darkness beyond the Elf lady's shoulder. The hobbit clamped his mouth shut with an audible pop. Any further attempts at conversation, however, were thwarted when a loud voice called from across the pub. "Lettice! Stop hampering our guests and go make ready their rooms, for Valar's sake! It is late, and these people are weary."
As Lettice made his way up the stairs to the inn's many rooms, arms laden with a heavy load of clean sheets, he heard a small, childish voice float up the stairs behind him.
"Ada? Was that a halfling? Why was he thinking about dinner? Was he hungry? Ada, I'm hungry. When is our dinner?"
The Elf lady's voice interrupted the child before he could insult their hosts further.
"Eldarion, please. Hush. I am certain that the cook is preparing something to eat even now."
"Yes, Nana."
Lettice smiled to himself at the child's sullen tone. With the boy staying here, the next few days would be entertaining indeed.
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The door shut with a soft click behind Aragorn. He slipped down the stairs on softened footsteps, although taking care not to silence them completely and alarm any who might see him. He cast his gaze about the dining room, searching for the bartender, or perhaps a serving girl. Deciding that it was too early in the morning for any of the staff to be awake, he made his way toward the front door. Easing it open, he strode quickly through the dew-dampened grass and into the stables.
He inspected each stall and soon found his own horse. His brow furrowed as he examined the grooming. It was done well enough around the legs, but the quality suffered with height. He chuckled, and grabbed a brush from the shelf on the wall.
"Easy, old man. We're both familiar with the grooming work of hobbits, aren't we?"
The horse snorted, and stamped at the straw dangerously close to the Man's bare foot. "I apologize, you are not old. In fact, you are in the very prime of youth, am I correct?" he murmured, stroking the stallion's neck. The horse was silent, but he did not threaten to cause permanent damage to his feet, either, which Aragorn took to be a good sign.
A minute shuffling noise outside the stables alerted him to the approach of another - a hobbit, by the sound of the footsteps. Relaxing his shoulders, he tried to appear as though he were merely touching up the grooming, and not redoing it entirely.
A head of blonde curls appeared in the doorway, surprise evident on the hobbit's face.
"Oh! Oh, sir, I'm terribly sorry, did I not groom your horse well enough? You see, he kept moving, and I'm not quite tall enough to groom his back, and he wouldn't let me put a stool down, and I tried, sir, I really did, but I didn't want to be trampled, and he's a very big horse, it's awfully intimidating, and..."
His voice trailed off as Aragorn raised a hand to stem the constant flow of words.
"Peace, young sir. Your name is Lettice, is it not?"
He paused until the hobbit nodded, with rather more enthusiasm than the situation called for.
"Well, Lettice, my horse has been known to give even the groomers and stable hands among my own people trouble. Have no fear, this is a custumary occurence, and one I believe he has come to expect every time he is taken to a stable."
Lettice seemed to digest this new information for a moment.
"Well, I guess it's alright, then. May I ask what your horse's name is, sir?" the hobbit asked politely, craning his neck and standing on his toes in order to touch the stallion's shoulder.
"This is Beganca. His name means 'mighty jaws', and he is named so because when my brother bought him, this devil of a horse bit his finger, and broke the bone in two places." He paused to give the story time to sink in, and then continued. "Of course, it seems he only has a problem with Elladan, because he has yet to show me why he was named thus." he smiled, rubbing the stallion's cheek with the heel of his hand.
The hobbit backed hastily away from Beganca, but stopped abruptly, as though just remembering something important.
"That's right! Sir, I was supposed to tell you that breakfast will be served shortly."
Aragorn smiled. "Thank you, Lettice. I will leave you to your duty, then."
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As Aragorn climbed the stairs leading to his room, his sharp ears picked up thuds sounding from Eldarion's room. Swearing softly in Sindarin, he drew his sword and burst through the door, freezing in bemusement while he surveyed the scene before him.
Feathers coated every surface in the room, and two figures sat on the small bed, both of which had turned to look as he made his grand entrance. The smallest figure clutched an empty pillowcase, and had several white feathers protruding from his brown hair, one of which he was currently attempting to detangle. The larger figure had long, dark hair - wait. Long hair?
"Arwen?" He asked incredulously, crossing the floor in three strides and plucking a stray feather from her hair. "What on Arda are you doing? I never thought I would see the day when you had a pillow fight with your son." he teased, sitting next to her and continuing to clean her tangled tresses.
"Do you now deny your part in conceiving our son, simply because he has ruined a room in an inn?" she asked innocently, her eyes sparkling.
"I have not yet denied it. I wonder, though, why he has managed to ruin it while under your supervision. Surely, were he my son, he would have given you the slip and gone to defile your room, and later lay the blame upon you."
Arwen laughed, joining her husband in his efforts to rid her hair of the tiny feathers.
"You seem to have thought this plan out well. Was it, perhaps, something you tried as a child?"
"Let's not set any unsavory examples for Eldarion, Arwen. We do not want him to be any more of a handful." Aragorn cautioned, drawing the last feather out of her locks and turning his attention to the bed. A choking noise caught everyone's attention, and all three looked up simultaneously to see a wide-eyed hobbit staring in dismay at the disaster.
"Oh, no! I'll be fired!" Lettice groaned, amidst delighted laughter from the feathery boy on the bed.
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Beganca - a combination of beleg and anca, which mean "mighty" and "jaws", respectively.
A/N: *snort* Don't you just love the little hobbit? I couldn't resist naming him Lettice; after all, what better name for one of the food-loving race than a food-related name? I wouldn't stoop so low as to name my own child that, but for a character created purely for comic relief, it works out fine. ;)
The third chapter will hopefully be finished and up in no more than a week.
Thank you for reading!