Chapter Six: To Minas Tirith!

By the time the fellowship (+ some) all got somewhat settled in the main throne room of Aragorn‘s palace, the king (of Gondor) finally remembered that he was expecting guests of the elven bridal party variety. Mentally smacking himself on the head numerous times, he ushered the Middle-Earthians out of the room and away from the others, at the last minute commanding some guards to keep said others in there while he and the Fellowship took care of some important business.

‘What are we going to do?!?’ Aragorn looked about ready to collapse as he slammed the door of the closet behind him. Most of the others stared at him in bewilderment, not having a single bit of inspiration as to the situation.

‘About what?’ Gimli half-shouted, getting straight to the point. Aragorn shot him one of those shady, ranger-like stares.

‘About the fact that we have a wedding taking place here in less than two weeks and nothing is ready, the fact that the palace is in shambles, AND that we have a horde of unearthly strangers in the throne room and Lord ELROND Half-Elven to please when he gets here!Â’ Instantly, everyone felt the weight of the situation. ElrondÂ’s coming? Now weÂ’re scared! It seemed that everyone who had ever been to Rivendell (with the possible exception of Gandalf), especially the hobbits, and in particular Merry and Pippin – well, mostly Pippin – had felt the immense power of his wrath. So if Elrond wasnÂ’t at the very least pleased with what he saw in GondorÂ… Well, it would be best for Strider to steal Arwen and simply elope to the farthest reaches of the Misty Mountains.

Gimli grunted. ‘So? What are we waiting for? LetÂ’s get started!Â’ And the dwarf was the one to lead everybody out of the cramped closet and to their first task – whatever that may beÂ…

‘I don’t see why we still have to put up with watches,’ one young guard said to his partner, ‘for one would think that with the destruction of Sauron, all evil would be swept away with him.’

‘Which shows how much you know.’ the elder said right back. ‘There are still horse thieves to worry about, orc raiding parties, wolves, wild men; the list goes on and on.’

‘But we still don’t need to worry about any organized armies suddenly attacking Osgiliath out of nowhere, right?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

The older guard appeared not to have heard him, staring off into the night.

‘Well, I suppose you’re right, anyway,’ the first guard said, ‘but I’d still like to be safe at home, reading my little daughter a bedtime story than be stuck here, waiting for something bad to fall right out of the sky!’ He turned to the east, facing the mountains surrounding what used to be Mordor, just as a volley of arrows shot out of the shadows!

‘I don’t see why we still have to put up with dusting,’ Gimli said as he tried to use his feathery thing to clean the table that stood in the middle of the room.

‘I do.’ Legolas put a finger on the table and ran it through the layer of grime, leaving a more-than-obvious trail where you could actually SEE the table surface. ‘Look.’ He held his now-filthy finger in front of the dwarf to prove his point.

‘Exactly! There’s nothing in the least wrong with it!’

Legolas didnÂ’t even bother to refute the statement. When youÂ’re dealing with a dwarf, donÂ’t even try to raise their standard of ‘cleanÂ’, because, after all, their standard of ‘politeÂ’ – yeah, donÂ’t even go into it!

Fortunately, Aragorn was having better luck with trying to get the aliens to help. The Star Wars people seemed to be very handy with chandeliers. At least, they were good at climbing things, so he assigned them to banner-hanging and chandelier-dusting. The Narnia kids could all write pretty well, but unfortunately, they couldn‘t write in Middle-Earthian, so he had to put them on food preparation duty. As for the rest of them, well, floor-scrubbing (or in Jack’s case, swabbing,) is something anyone can do.

Arya, however, was a problem.

The two Osgiliath guards were saved from the arrows by some quick dodging and the rock wall that they were able to hide behind.

Arrows, flaming and deadly, flew all around them, soon setting fire to anything that was remotely flammable. Battle cries and horn-blasts sounded off in the distance, signaling the approach of none other than– orcs.

‘Cirion!Â’ the older guard called to his junior. ‘You have to get– a message to– the king;Â’ he struggled to get the words out as he gasped for breath, ‘tell him– to send help. The orcs are attack–Â’ He was stopped in mid-sentence by an enormous rock that crushed the wall to which they were so close as it hurtled from the catapult of the creatures below, who, as Cirion found as he glanced over the shattered side, looked nothing like orcs.

‘What about you? I can’t leave you here alone!’

‘Give me your horn!’ The young guard complied.

The elder blasted that horn so loud that the ears of the orcs and whatever-they-areÂ’s would be ringing for weeks (if they survived the night).

‘The men of Osgiliath will come to my aid soon enough! Now go!’ Surely, as he said the words, lights came on in the city and men started rushing out of their houses half in their pajamas, half armed for battle. Cirion, though he would never admit it, had tears in his eyes as he fled from the scene, leaped on his horse, and rode madly towards Minas Tirith.

Once he was a good distance away and Osgiliath was toy-sized behind him, he finally took a moment to look back, hoping and praying that the humans would win the night, and that his partner would survive. He knew the man well, and they had been on the watch together for years; he was a dear friend.

Shaking the thought for the moment, he spurred his horse forward, and they dashed for the city.

There was only one person left to assign a job to: I dare not even say the name, for you know of whom I speak – well, even if you donÂ’t, youÂ’ll find outÂ… Now!

When Aragorn pushed the door to the throne room ajar, he could see Arya sitting on the stewardÂ’s throne, delicately examining her flawless fingernails and the silky-smooth hands on which they grew. As soon as the door swung all the way open with a clunk, Arya sat straight up, like one would when one hears a small sound in the distance.

‘Who goes there?’ she shouted while getting off the throne, even though she could see it was Aragorn.

‘What are you doing in here?’ Aragorn said as he strode towards her.

‘WellÂ… what do you think IÂ’m doing? IÂ’m waiting for you to come back, andÂ… uh,Â’ she could not find any more words – well, she couldnÂ’t even figure out what she was doing in the first place!

‘Well, anyway, all the other– uh–Â’ What is the polite thing to call crazy-looking strangers who drop out of the sky to their face? Aliens? Oh, never mind, Aragorn can work around that. ‘IÂ’ve put everyone else to work. What are you good at?Â’

Besides looking pretty *cough *Yeah right* cough* and getting in the way? Nothing!

‘Well,’ Arya began, honeying her voice till it sounded like sweet rain, ‘I can do pretty much anything, anything you want me to.’

‘Can you write in Tengwar?’

*Blink Blink*

‘All right, never mind. Can you set tables?’

*crickets chirp*

‘What CAN you do?’

*long pause* … ‘I can ride horses!’

Only Aragorn couldÂ’ve withstood the maddening frustration that boiled within him as this useless elf listed her few and useless uses. IÂ’m surprised he lasted as long as he did! When she reached ‘And I can spot a fashion mistake from a mile away – for instance, that vest doesnÂ’t match those boots at all–Â’ he lost his cool.

‘Stop– talking.Â’ He grabbed her shoulders. ‘Just be quiet for one minute!Â’

Arya smiled coyly. ‘No, no, my king,Â’ finally using a proper title, she grasped his wrists, ‘you put your hands on the upper arms, or preferably–Â’ with astonishing strength, she moved his hands to where she wanted them, ‘the waist.Â’ Her hands still keeping him in a hard wristlock, she moved closer to him until she was practically breathing on his neck.

And it was this exact moment that the door opened and who else but ARWEN decides to walk in, saying ‘Surprise, Estel!Â’ She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her future husband wrapped up by some stranger in a kiss– yes, a KISS!

Finally, when Aragorn seemed to find the strength to pry the fangirl off of him, he noticed the other angry elf he had to deal with. However, before he had a chance to even begin to explain, Arwen said everything necessary.

‘Who… Are… You?’ Arya, correctly assuming that she was the one to whom Arwen had spoken, stepped away from her prey and towards the intruder,

‘I am *Arya*… WHAT are you?’

‘I am Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of the Elven People, Daughter of the Lord Elrond Half-Elven and Granddaughter of the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. And THIS–Â’ she grabbed AragornÂ’s arm, ‘is my future husband.Â’

‘Not anymore, girly!’ Arya grabbed Aragorn’s other arm and yanked him towards her. ‘Finder’s keepers!’

*tire screech*

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Arwen shouted. Arya paused.

‘I donÂ’t know, but it sounds good!Â’ She practically pulled StriderÂ’s arm out as she ascended the high-up throne reserved only for the king. ArwenÂ’s boiling red face looked about ready to blow, and who knows what would have happened next but for the door opening again to reveal– ELROND.

‘What is going on here?Â’ ElrondÂ’s scary eyebrows (well, the eyes beneath them) examined the frozen figures of all three of them. ‘Is this of your making, Aragorn?Â’ He glared at the king, who was dangling from his own throne by a freaky-looking elf – at least, we thought she was an elf, despite the fact that the only elf-like trait about her was the presence of pointed ears. Strider shook his head meekly, not daring to provoke the fangirl in any way, shape, or form.

‘You.’ Elrond glared now at Arya, who nearly melted under the stare. She made a squeaky sound and pointed at herself with her free hand. ‘Yes, you. Come down here.’ She began to descend, dragging Aragorn behind her. When they were on solid ground again, Arwen dashed over to help Aragorn to his feet, moving him AWAY from Arya. ‘What were you doing up there?’ Elrond said.

Arya glanced up at him with pitiful puppy eyes. ‘I don’t know, just havin’ fun, I guess.’

IÂ’ll spare you the rest of the pitiful details by simply saying that Elrond continued lecturing Arya for several hours on politeness, courtesy, and the evils of fangirlism.

Soon, everybody else reported back to the throne room for more jobs, and it was the instant that everyone was settled there that the door burst open and in tumbled a travel-worn creature, shouting, ‘WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!’