Post by Admin on Jan 6, 2021 18:48:04 GMT
Author: Wynja2007
2764 words, vertificate U or K, suitable for elflings of all ages and even those of nervous dispositions.
Summary: Arwen bakes creatively, decorates energetically, family glad, husband incredibly joyful (king, locquacious), many new oral poems regaling sweetly, twins unleashed…… verses, wonders, xenia*, youthful zeal…
Arwen was in the kitchens, baking a birthday cake.
‘Birthday cake, indeed!’ Cook muttered under her breath, whisking her favourite utensils out of the way before they could be purloined by her dear ladyship. ‘Cake, do I not keep a good enough table myself that she needs to make a cake?’
‘Don’t be upset, Cookie, dearest.’ Elrohir laid his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. ‘For you know, and I know, Arwen cannot bake to save her life and she will come to you a scant hour before the party and ask that you save the day with one of your own creations.’
Grinning, he helped himself to a cooling hasty pie from the rack.
‘Hannon le, Cookie dear. I’ll be thinking of you when you’re wading through Arwen’s washing up.’
‘Just you wait, stealing my pies! Keep out of my kitchen, mister mischief, I’ll tell your brother-in-law about this, so help me, I will!’
Laughter echoed down the corridor as Elrohir made his escape.
*
Marriage suited Aragorn, he decided. Never even daring to hope, through all those long years of chasing up and down Middle Earth and battling one enemy after another, still he had come through it all and the kingship of men and the love of Arwen had been his eventual reward.
On this day he was feeling especially blessed; a few brief weeks away from the cares of state, Faramir his Steward in charge of Gondor while he rode north to his old home to celebrate his first birthday as a married man, and as a king, with his adopted family and childhood friends.
‘Perhaps we could go riding tomorrow up the valley?’ Elrond suggested, eyeing his son-in-law and adopted child with a fond eye. ‘Question is, whether your wife will let you go or not?’
‘Riding is something she loves so much… but currently… in her condition… she doesn’t like being told not to go faster than a walk…’
‘Something you said, Aragorn,’ Elrond pounced on the words, frowning. ‘That is… in her condition…?’
‘Um…’ Aragorn managed, looking acutely embarrassed and guilty.
‘Valar be praised!’ Elrond gasped. ‘With child, my daughter is with child?’
*
‘Xanthum gum, I need some xanthum gum, Cookie!’
‘You do, do you?’
‘Zest of two lemons,’ Arwen continued… ‘Almond essence. Baking powder…’
Cook braced herself.
‘Dear Lady Arwen, I am very sorry, but I do not even know what xanthum gum is, never mind what to do with it, may I see your recipe…? Eggs, that is right, and sugar and butter, you know, I think that the xanthum thing is not needed, indeed I cannot see why you should…’
‘Flour, because of the flour; it can cause bloating in sensitive persons…’
‘Goodness! Have we sensitive persons here? In Imladris?’
‘Just me… a little, at present. King Elessar likes this recipe…’
‘Let me help, my lady… May I…? Now, if you’ll just let me get on, I’ll have this in the oven for you in just a few minutes and you can go and have nice sit down – you’re looking every so peaky - and I’ll have them call you when it’s all cooled and ready to ice, how does that sound?’
‘Oh, Cookie, would you? Perhaps I do need to a little air, the heat in here is making me feel rather light-headed…’
Queen or no queen, Arwen had a way of awakening fond memories in Cookie’s heart and besides, she was more than willing to do anything to protect her beloved kitchen from Arwen’s well-meaning onslaught, so she kept shooing her dear lady towards the doorway.
‘Rest yourself in the gardens, my lady, why don’t you? Such a beautiful day as it is, I am sure it would do you good to get some sunshine, as pale as you are looking…’
Smiling, Arwen removed her apron and draped it over the back of a chair, not noticing the fall of flour from it onto Cookie’s formerly-clean floor.
‘Thank you, Cookie,’ she said as she headed for the outer doors.
Usually at this time of day, the gardens were busy with people strolling and taking the air, and today was no exception, with many of those who were able to take the air taking advantage of the fine weather. Visitors and residents of the valley alike came to greet Arwen and pass the time of day, and she soon cheered up after an hour or so of fresh air and gossip.
Wandering around was tiring, and so she sat for a time, too, enjoying the air of gentle welcome which always suffused Imladris. Xenia, one ancient tongue would come to call it. Young or old, human, hobbit, elf or dwarf, her father’s home had always extended generous hospitality to travellers and those far from home.
Zealous Lindir found her some time later, disturbing her from a light doze.
‘Arwen, my lady, it is time for lunch, and the cook says when you are free, your morning project is ready for you hand.’
‘Bless you, Lindir! Could you help me up?’
Dipping his head in a smile, Lindir extended his arm to Arwen and led the way back to the house.
Elrond lifted his head when he saw his daughter enter the hall, and hastened to retrieve her from the care of his minstrel.
‘Five minutes and we will go in to lunch, my dear daughter.’ Going to the study, he opened the door and ushered her in, closing it tight after him. ‘However, first I would like to speak to you, privately…’
‘I would be glad to, Adar,’ Arwen said, taking a seat and wondering what her father could possibly wish to say that would make him prepared to delay his noon meal. ‘Just what was it you wished to say?’
‘Knowing you so well, I would have hoped to hear the news from your own lips, not glean it from an accidental remark made by your husband, my dear – no, that is not a criticism. Loving you as I do, how could it be? Motherhood will suit you, I am sure,’ he smiled. ‘Now, what about all the little details – when are you due, how are you feeling, have you had any sickness?’
‘Oh, Adar,’ Arwen said, embracing him. ‘Please believe me, I was but waiting for the right moment, it is Aragorn’s birthday and I did not wish to take away any of the attention from my beloved…! Quite well, I am quite well, but some sickness and I do not know how it will be, will I have as long a pregnancy as is usual for us or will it be shorter, as it is with human females?’
‘Remember, my dear, there have not been many offspring between our races, and so there are some uncertainties, of course. Still, I would expect your child will take longer than a human baby to grow. Tell me, my dear child, do you need any advice? Unborn babies, whether elflings or human or that wonderful mixture of both which you now expect, can take a lot out of you and I would like to help.’
‘Very well, Adar, I promise that if I need anything, I will come to you - although I now wonder if you will let me go home again before the birth…’
‘What a wonderful idea, Arwen, yes, why do you not stay here until after your confinement, it is not long, after all, six or seven or eight months at most…’
XX chromosomes are responsible, in humans at least, for female infants while XY creates the male… the natural inference, then, is that males have a bit missing… which might explain why Elrond didn’t realise that suggesting Arwen stay, rather than go home with her husband at the end of her month’s visit, might not go down well…
‘You surely must see that I cannot stay here, father, not through all my pregnancy, I must go home with Aragorn, there are matters of state, there are… there are parties planned…’
Zigzagging his fingers through his hair, Elrond sighed, but managed to smile.
‘Arwen, forgive me, my dear, I only want what is best for you; sometimes it is difficult to remember that I have given you into Aragorn’s care. Believe me, it is only out of love for you… and for my grandchild that will be.’
‘Come, Adar, I am famished and they have been holding back the meal for us! Do let us eat, I have something very important to do this afternoon.’
‘Exactly what might that be, my dear child?’
‘Father, I have to decorate the cake I’ve made for Aragorn’s party tonight. Granted, there will be lots of food there, but it is a tradition, so I understand, and I thought it would be a nice thing to do. How much nicer to celebrate the birth of a child than its conception,’ Arwen went on, allowing her father to lead her in to lunch where his sons, actual and adoptive/in-law, were waiting. ‘In my opinion, at least! Just think, all those begetting day celebrations we attend and all one can think of is that, we know what your parents were doing two thousand six hundred and fourteen years ago, or however many… Knowing that really does rather take the focus away from the son or daughter and put it firmly back on the parents…’
‘Let us not delay our meal any longer,’ Elrond said hastily, trying to escape the topic as quickly as possible. ‘May I suggest you try the salad…? Nutritious and fresh, straight from our own gardens…’
*
Order restored in her kitchen, the infamous birthday cake cooled and waiting for Arwen’s decorative onslaught, Cook found a moment to take the weight off her feet, sitting at the expanse of white-scrubbed wood that comprised her kitchen table and mentally ticking off a list of accomplished tasks as she made circles under her skirts with her feet, improving the blood flow to her ankles.
Pastry and pies, all done. Queen of Puddings, yes, chilling nicely. Raspberry buns… hidden in the scullery so that Elladan and Elrohir wouldn’t find them early, honestly, those two! Those twins, always underfoot, always pretending to still be elflings around her… Understandable, perhaps, when they had to go away and fight in wars, that coming home to one who had known them from childhood, they would play the child, knowing they could get away with all sorts where there dear Cookie was concerned… Wild Mushroom Tartlets ready for the oven – not quite. X to be cut in the lid of each one first, to let the steam out and make it obvious which sort of tartlets they were.
‘Yoo-hoo, Cookie darling?’
‘Zounds, Cookie thought, in an oddly Mediaeval mood suddenly, it was Arwen, back again…
‘Afternoon, my lady. Bring you the icing sugar and decorations, should I?’
‘Could you, Cookie? Do you have any food colouring and rose essence?’
‘Essence of rose, yes, but whatever for? Food colourings… there is cochineal, which is red, but made from squashed beetles and Lord Elrond does not like me to use it…’
‘Gruesome, indeed! Have you no blue?’
‘Indeed I do not…’
‘Just have to make do with plain white icing, then,’ Arwen sighed.
Kitchen staff fled as Arwen tipped the icing sugar into a large bowl. Lost in the cloud of sweet, white dust that flew up, Arwen floundered for the rose essence, tipping it into the icing to add a delicate floral flavour. Mixing manically, she beat at the icing sugar until it submitted to the added liquid and made a glossy white paste which she tipped over the cake, spreading it out.
Now the cake resembled a giant snowfield as the glacier of icing advanced to avalanche over the sides and dribble enticingly down the sides.
‘Only the candles to add,’ Arwen announced. ‘Perhaps I’d better wait until the icing is a little more set first, though.’
‘Quite right, too!’ Cookie said, emerging from the last clouds of the icing-storm to make herself smile at Arwen, who now resembled a snow-maiden, with white dusting her clothes and frosting her midnight hair and sitting like snowflakes on her eyelashes. ‘Reminds me of when you were but a maid, and you wanted to bake for your Adar’s begetting day! So proud he was… and so embarrassed when you asked what ‘begetting day’ meant, and your honoured grandnaneth there all the way up from Lothlorien for the occasion, and your grandada Celeborn offering to tell you…’
‘To be honest, the last thing I expected when I asked was a lecture on the insects and the avians!’ Arwen exclaimed.
‘Upstairs with you now, my lady, and wash the icing sugar out of your hair, if I may make so bold! Very nice you would look, indeed, at your husband’s party with icing sugar all over you!’
‘Well…. I do not know…’Arwen mused, heading for the doorway, ‘since he has a sweet tooth, he might wish to lick me clean…’
X-shaped was the frown between Cookies eyes as she looked around her kitchen once Arwen had gone again, x-shaped and ferocious as she called for the maid and handed her the mop with a sigh.
*
‘You have all spoiled me and delivered the most perfect day,’ Aragorn said, beginning his post-birthday-supper speech with a smile around the table. ‘Zealous as you have all been for my comfort today, most of all I would thank my lovely wife, my Arwen.’
Arwen, now devoid of icing sugar dust, got to her feet and smiled and simpered.
‘Birthday parties are wonderful things!’ she said. ‘Could we do this every year? Do you think?’
Everyone laughed and clapped, although Arwen was not sure quite why, and allowed her husband to pull her down to her seat at his side.
‘For you should not be too much on your feet, my love.’
‘Gladly I will sit, my husband, but I would rather it were on your lap…’
‘Happy to oblige,’ he said, and pulled her onto his legs at the table, hoping the chair – a delicate, elegant thing – would support their weight. ‘I think it is time to retire to the Hall of Fire now, though. Just to hear the songs. Knowing our friends, Lindir will have been composing in honour of the occasion.’
Lindir had, indeed, been busy, and an hour passed by in songs of celebration, old songs and new poems. Music and mirth flowed freely around the Hall of Fire.
‘Now can we tell everyone?’ Aragorn whispered into Arwen’s ear. ‘Oh, I know you wanted this to be my day… but now, the birthday present I want most is to share the news.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ Arwen said, nodding agreement and smiling.
‘Quiet, everyone, please, for a moment,’ Aragorn asked.
Rising to his feet, he led Arwen with him by the hand to stand near the great fire, looking proudly down at her. Smiling, he made his announcement.
‘The days are blessed since the downfall of our old enemy, since I took my throne. Undoubtedly, though, the greatest of all blessings is the love of the one who married me and who has now made me happier than ever I have been. Verily, I may now say, that we expect the birth of our first child in half a year or a little more, and my joy is complete.’
‘We know what you’ve been doing, little sister!’ Elladan crowed into the silence that followed, before the congratulations could pour in.
‘Yes, and it isn’t crochet, either!’ Elrohir added, and the two ran away, laughing, leaving Arwen blushing and Aragorn laughing.
*Ze End*
Def: Xenia: Guest-friendshiip – from the ancient Greek – hospitality, generosity and friendship shown to those who are far from home. Always been lots of that in Rivendell
2764 words, vertificate U or K, suitable for elflings of all ages and even those of nervous dispositions.
Summary: Arwen bakes creatively, decorates energetically, family glad, husband incredibly joyful (king, locquacious), many new oral poems regaling sweetly, twins unleashed…… verses, wonders, xenia*, youthful zeal…
Arwen was in the kitchens, baking a birthday cake.
‘Birthday cake, indeed!’ Cook muttered under her breath, whisking her favourite utensils out of the way before they could be purloined by her dear ladyship. ‘Cake, do I not keep a good enough table myself that she needs to make a cake?’
‘Don’t be upset, Cookie, dearest.’ Elrohir laid his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. ‘For you know, and I know, Arwen cannot bake to save her life and she will come to you a scant hour before the party and ask that you save the day with one of your own creations.’
Grinning, he helped himself to a cooling hasty pie from the rack.
‘Hannon le, Cookie dear. I’ll be thinking of you when you’re wading through Arwen’s washing up.’
‘Just you wait, stealing my pies! Keep out of my kitchen, mister mischief, I’ll tell your brother-in-law about this, so help me, I will!’
Laughter echoed down the corridor as Elrohir made his escape.
*
Marriage suited Aragorn, he decided. Never even daring to hope, through all those long years of chasing up and down Middle Earth and battling one enemy after another, still he had come through it all and the kingship of men and the love of Arwen had been his eventual reward.
On this day he was feeling especially blessed; a few brief weeks away from the cares of state, Faramir his Steward in charge of Gondor while he rode north to his old home to celebrate his first birthday as a married man, and as a king, with his adopted family and childhood friends.
‘Perhaps we could go riding tomorrow up the valley?’ Elrond suggested, eyeing his son-in-law and adopted child with a fond eye. ‘Question is, whether your wife will let you go or not?’
‘Riding is something she loves so much… but currently… in her condition… she doesn’t like being told not to go faster than a walk…’
‘Something you said, Aragorn,’ Elrond pounced on the words, frowning. ‘That is… in her condition…?’
‘Um…’ Aragorn managed, looking acutely embarrassed and guilty.
‘Valar be praised!’ Elrond gasped. ‘With child, my daughter is with child?’
*
‘Xanthum gum, I need some xanthum gum, Cookie!’
‘You do, do you?’
‘Zest of two lemons,’ Arwen continued… ‘Almond essence. Baking powder…’
Cook braced herself.
‘Dear Lady Arwen, I am very sorry, but I do not even know what xanthum gum is, never mind what to do with it, may I see your recipe…? Eggs, that is right, and sugar and butter, you know, I think that the xanthum thing is not needed, indeed I cannot see why you should…’
‘Flour, because of the flour; it can cause bloating in sensitive persons…’
‘Goodness! Have we sensitive persons here? In Imladris?’
‘Just me… a little, at present. King Elessar likes this recipe…’
‘Let me help, my lady… May I…? Now, if you’ll just let me get on, I’ll have this in the oven for you in just a few minutes and you can go and have nice sit down – you’re looking every so peaky - and I’ll have them call you when it’s all cooled and ready to ice, how does that sound?’
‘Oh, Cookie, would you? Perhaps I do need to a little air, the heat in here is making me feel rather light-headed…’
Queen or no queen, Arwen had a way of awakening fond memories in Cookie’s heart and besides, she was more than willing to do anything to protect her beloved kitchen from Arwen’s well-meaning onslaught, so she kept shooing her dear lady towards the doorway.
‘Rest yourself in the gardens, my lady, why don’t you? Such a beautiful day as it is, I am sure it would do you good to get some sunshine, as pale as you are looking…’
Smiling, Arwen removed her apron and draped it over the back of a chair, not noticing the fall of flour from it onto Cookie’s formerly-clean floor.
‘Thank you, Cookie,’ she said as she headed for the outer doors.
Usually at this time of day, the gardens were busy with people strolling and taking the air, and today was no exception, with many of those who were able to take the air taking advantage of the fine weather. Visitors and residents of the valley alike came to greet Arwen and pass the time of day, and she soon cheered up after an hour or so of fresh air and gossip.
Wandering around was tiring, and so she sat for a time, too, enjoying the air of gentle welcome which always suffused Imladris. Xenia, one ancient tongue would come to call it. Young or old, human, hobbit, elf or dwarf, her father’s home had always extended generous hospitality to travellers and those far from home.
Zealous Lindir found her some time later, disturbing her from a light doze.
‘Arwen, my lady, it is time for lunch, and the cook says when you are free, your morning project is ready for you hand.’
‘Bless you, Lindir! Could you help me up?’
Dipping his head in a smile, Lindir extended his arm to Arwen and led the way back to the house.
Elrond lifted his head when he saw his daughter enter the hall, and hastened to retrieve her from the care of his minstrel.
‘Five minutes and we will go in to lunch, my dear daughter.’ Going to the study, he opened the door and ushered her in, closing it tight after him. ‘However, first I would like to speak to you, privately…’
‘I would be glad to, Adar,’ Arwen said, taking a seat and wondering what her father could possibly wish to say that would make him prepared to delay his noon meal. ‘Just what was it you wished to say?’
‘Knowing you so well, I would have hoped to hear the news from your own lips, not glean it from an accidental remark made by your husband, my dear – no, that is not a criticism. Loving you as I do, how could it be? Motherhood will suit you, I am sure,’ he smiled. ‘Now, what about all the little details – when are you due, how are you feeling, have you had any sickness?’
‘Oh, Adar,’ Arwen said, embracing him. ‘Please believe me, I was but waiting for the right moment, it is Aragorn’s birthday and I did not wish to take away any of the attention from my beloved…! Quite well, I am quite well, but some sickness and I do not know how it will be, will I have as long a pregnancy as is usual for us or will it be shorter, as it is with human females?’
‘Remember, my dear, there have not been many offspring between our races, and so there are some uncertainties, of course. Still, I would expect your child will take longer than a human baby to grow. Tell me, my dear child, do you need any advice? Unborn babies, whether elflings or human or that wonderful mixture of both which you now expect, can take a lot out of you and I would like to help.’
‘Very well, Adar, I promise that if I need anything, I will come to you - although I now wonder if you will let me go home again before the birth…’
‘What a wonderful idea, Arwen, yes, why do you not stay here until after your confinement, it is not long, after all, six or seven or eight months at most…’
XX chromosomes are responsible, in humans at least, for female infants while XY creates the male… the natural inference, then, is that males have a bit missing… which might explain why Elrond didn’t realise that suggesting Arwen stay, rather than go home with her husband at the end of her month’s visit, might not go down well…
‘You surely must see that I cannot stay here, father, not through all my pregnancy, I must go home with Aragorn, there are matters of state, there are… there are parties planned…’
Zigzagging his fingers through his hair, Elrond sighed, but managed to smile.
‘Arwen, forgive me, my dear, I only want what is best for you; sometimes it is difficult to remember that I have given you into Aragorn’s care. Believe me, it is only out of love for you… and for my grandchild that will be.’
‘Come, Adar, I am famished and they have been holding back the meal for us! Do let us eat, I have something very important to do this afternoon.’
‘Exactly what might that be, my dear child?’
‘Father, I have to decorate the cake I’ve made for Aragorn’s party tonight. Granted, there will be lots of food there, but it is a tradition, so I understand, and I thought it would be a nice thing to do. How much nicer to celebrate the birth of a child than its conception,’ Arwen went on, allowing her father to lead her in to lunch where his sons, actual and adoptive/in-law, were waiting. ‘In my opinion, at least! Just think, all those begetting day celebrations we attend and all one can think of is that, we know what your parents were doing two thousand six hundred and fourteen years ago, or however many… Knowing that really does rather take the focus away from the son or daughter and put it firmly back on the parents…’
‘Let us not delay our meal any longer,’ Elrond said hastily, trying to escape the topic as quickly as possible. ‘May I suggest you try the salad…? Nutritious and fresh, straight from our own gardens…’
*
Order restored in her kitchen, the infamous birthday cake cooled and waiting for Arwen’s decorative onslaught, Cook found a moment to take the weight off her feet, sitting at the expanse of white-scrubbed wood that comprised her kitchen table and mentally ticking off a list of accomplished tasks as she made circles under her skirts with her feet, improving the blood flow to her ankles.
Pastry and pies, all done. Queen of Puddings, yes, chilling nicely. Raspberry buns… hidden in the scullery so that Elladan and Elrohir wouldn’t find them early, honestly, those two! Those twins, always underfoot, always pretending to still be elflings around her… Understandable, perhaps, when they had to go away and fight in wars, that coming home to one who had known them from childhood, they would play the child, knowing they could get away with all sorts where there dear Cookie was concerned… Wild Mushroom Tartlets ready for the oven – not quite. X to be cut in the lid of each one first, to let the steam out and make it obvious which sort of tartlets they were.
‘Yoo-hoo, Cookie darling?’
‘Zounds, Cookie thought, in an oddly Mediaeval mood suddenly, it was Arwen, back again…
‘Afternoon, my lady. Bring you the icing sugar and decorations, should I?’
‘Could you, Cookie? Do you have any food colouring and rose essence?’
‘Essence of rose, yes, but whatever for? Food colourings… there is cochineal, which is red, but made from squashed beetles and Lord Elrond does not like me to use it…’
‘Gruesome, indeed! Have you no blue?’
‘Indeed I do not…’
‘Just have to make do with plain white icing, then,’ Arwen sighed.
Kitchen staff fled as Arwen tipped the icing sugar into a large bowl. Lost in the cloud of sweet, white dust that flew up, Arwen floundered for the rose essence, tipping it into the icing to add a delicate floral flavour. Mixing manically, she beat at the icing sugar until it submitted to the added liquid and made a glossy white paste which she tipped over the cake, spreading it out.
Now the cake resembled a giant snowfield as the glacier of icing advanced to avalanche over the sides and dribble enticingly down the sides.
‘Only the candles to add,’ Arwen announced. ‘Perhaps I’d better wait until the icing is a little more set first, though.’
‘Quite right, too!’ Cookie said, emerging from the last clouds of the icing-storm to make herself smile at Arwen, who now resembled a snow-maiden, with white dusting her clothes and frosting her midnight hair and sitting like snowflakes on her eyelashes. ‘Reminds me of when you were but a maid, and you wanted to bake for your Adar’s begetting day! So proud he was… and so embarrassed when you asked what ‘begetting day’ meant, and your honoured grandnaneth there all the way up from Lothlorien for the occasion, and your grandada Celeborn offering to tell you…’
‘To be honest, the last thing I expected when I asked was a lecture on the insects and the avians!’ Arwen exclaimed.
‘Upstairs with you now, my lady, and wash the icing sugar out of your hair, if I may make so bold! Very nice you would look, indeed, at your husband’s party with icing sugar all over you!’
‘Well…. I do not know…’Arwen mused, heading for the doorway, ‘since he has a sweet tooth, he might wish to lick me clean…’
X-shaped was the frown between Cookies eyes as she looked around her kitchen once Arwen had gone again, x-shaped and ferocious as she called for the maid and handed her the mop with a sigh.
*
‘You have all spoiled me and delivered the most perfect day,’ Aragorn said, beginning his post-birthday-supper speech with a smile around the table. ‘Zealous as you have all been for my comfort today, most of all I would thank my lovely wife, my Arwen.’
Arwen, now devoid of icing sugar dust, got to her feet and smiled and simpered.
‘Birthday parties are wonderful things!’ she said. ‘Could we do this every year? Do you think?’
Everyone laughed and clapped, although Arwen was not sure quite why, and allowed her husband to pull her down to her seat at his side.
‘For you should not be too much on your feet, my love.’
‘Gladly I will sit, my husband, but I would rather it were on your lap…’
‘Happy to oblige,’ he said, and pulled her onto his legs at the table, hoping the chair – a delicate, elegant thing – would support their weight. ‘I think it is time to retire to the Hall of Fire now, though. Just to hear the songs. Knowing our friends, Lindir will have been composing in honour of the occasion.’
Lindir had, indeed, been busy, and an hour passed by in songs of celebration, old songs and new poems. Music and mirth flowed freely around the Hall of Fire.
‘Now can we tell everyone?’ Aragorn whispered into Arwen’s ear. ‘Oh, I know you wanted this to be my day… but now, the birthday present I want most is to share the news.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ Arwen said, nodding agreement and smiling.
‘Quiet, everyone, please, for a moment,’ Aragorn asked.
Rising to his feet, he led Arwen with him by the hand to stand near the great fire, looking proudly down at her. Smiling, he made his announcement.
‘The days are blessed since the downfall of our old enemy, since I took my throne. Undoubtedly, though, the greatest of all blessings is the love of the one who married me and who has now made me happier than ever I have been. Verily, I may now say, that we expect the birth of our first child in half a year or a little more, and my joy is complete.’
‘We know what you’ve been doing, little sister!’ Elladan crowed into the silence that followed, before the congratulations could pour in.
‘Yes, and it isn’t crochet, either!’ Elrohir added, and the two ran away, laughing, leaving Arwen blushing and Aragorn laughing.
*Ze End*
Def: Xenia: Guest-friendshiip – from the ancient Greek – hospitality, generosity and friendship shown to those who are far from home. Always been lots of that in Rivendell