claudia603 | (no subject)

This snippet of TLTW takes place when Ellohir is three and a half.
Disclaimer: Don’t own it. Don’t make money off it.

Aragorn leaned against the arched doorframe that separated Ellohir’s room from their own, grinning as Frodo scurried to find clothes for Ellohir. He lifted an elaborately carved wooden trunk and pawed through the tiny shirts and vests.

Ellohir’s room was darling, and Aragorn had to admit Frodo had done a wonderful job in designing it. Frodo had commissioned an artist originally from Umbar to paint the walls a shimmering blue, giving the room the appearance of being underwater. Colorful fish of varying shapes and sizes decorated the underwater scene, as well as an octopus and stingray. Now that Ellohir was mostly privy trained, he had what he called a “big boy bed,” a matter of great pride for him. Low to the ground, the bed was built to look like a boat. The base was curved and if pushed, it could rock back and forth. Many a night Frodo had rocked Ellohir to sleep while telling him a story.

“We’re going to market, Ellohir!” Frodo said, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. He gave Aragorn a wry smile. “I know you find my enthusiasm amusing, Aragorn, but you know we’ve not gone anywhere as a family for a long time.”

“True.” Aragorn nodded, almost wishing to pack Ellohir away elsewhere because Frodo’s full lips, slightly parted in amusement, were tempting, and he wished they could indulge in a long kiss.

“What’s market?” Ellohir asked, looking from Aragorn to Frodo. He was dressed in his leggings and naught else, his ungainly feet in socks.

“It’s a marvelous place,” Frodo said, choosing a gray shirt from Ellohir’s trunk. “Fruits and vegetables straight from the earth and freshly picked from trees. Not to mention the baked cinnamon bread, nuts with honey, Elvish candy, toys from Dale, musicians and jesters!”

Aragorn laughed again, wondering who was more thrilled, Frodo or Ellohir.

“We’re going there?” Ellohir’s eyes shone.

Aragorn’s heart clutched with guilt as he saw the excitement this rare outing caused for his small family. Aragorn rarely had the time or inclination to go. He would not allow Frodo to take Ellohir alone. No matter how well guarded the city, there always existed those with evil intentions who might see capturing or harming Frodo and Ellohir as an easy way to target a king they might not like. Most people meant no harm, of course. They only wished a glimpse of the king and especially of the heir, who had come under the strangest of circumstances.

“Ellohir, here is the gray shirt…” Frodo said. “The vest will go just fine with it. You’ll soon need new shoes, won’t you?” Frodo laughed, glancing at Aragorn. “Look – hobbit feet to be sure!”

Aragorn shrugged, unimpressed. “I’ve always maintained he’s more Hobbit than Man, Frodo, and he’ll not need shoes much longer.”

“Oh, please!” Frodo laughed roughly. “Get on your jacket, Ellohir.”

“No jacket.” Ellohir scrunched up his face, and Aragorn cringed. There was bound to be a battle because Frodo would never let Ellohir out without a jacket and Ellohir would not willingly wear one. “No jacket.”

“Yes, jacket.” Frodo stood firmly in front of him, holding out the faded green jacket. Ellohir stepped backwards, his shirt only half buttoned, his face reddening.

“Ellohir,” Frodo said, his brow creasing with irritation. “You will wear a jacket or you will stay home with Alia. Which do you prefer?”

“No jacket.” Ellohir crossed his arms.

Frodo snagged Ellohir’s sleeve with a gasp of triumph and managed to wriggle the jacket on one arm. Ellohir dragged them both to the floor, squirming and letting out such a pitiful squall that surely everyone in the upper level would hear.

“Ellohir, settle down!” Frodo’s fresh excitement from just a few moments ago had faded. “All right then. You will stay home.”

“Ellohir,” Aragorn broke in sternly, holding out two other jackets. “You do not have to wear that jacket.” Ellohir stopped crying immediately. “But you must wear one of these. Which one, darling?”

Ellohir calmly pointed to the maroon jacket. “That.”

Ellohir stuck his arms out compliantly as Aragorn put the jacket on him. Aragorn raised his eyebrows at Frodo, who scowled back at him. All too often Frodo gave the impression that he handled Ellohir’s bad turns so much more effectively than Aragorn, and it was nice for the hobbit to be humbled occasionally.

***

Aragorn chose three guards to accompany them, and soon enough they were on their way out of the city’s upper level.

“Are you well enough to walk, Frodo?” Aragorn asked.

“Certainly,” Frodo said, catching hold of Ellohir’s hand. The boy smiled up at him, his cheeks rosy. “I feel as if I could walk all the way to the Shire.”

Ellohir walked without complaining, and he commented on everything in a breathless voice, barely pausing long enough for Frodo and Aragorn to answer.

“Why do the guards wear black and silver?…that store front is silly looking with the dancing goat on it…who is that fat man carrying all those buckets?…Where does that road go?…Is a baby horse the same as a pony?…Frodo, will there truly be jesters?…Are all those banners there because of you, Aragorn?…will I get to wear a sword when I’m king?…Is there a king in the Shire, Frodo?”

At last they reached the market, and it swarmed with people. The guards walked close to Aragorn and his family, and people parted before them, staring and bowing, placing hands to their chest in wonder. Frodo felt a bit embarrassed, and even Ellohir was quiet for a time, too overwhelmed by the crowds, the booths, the pipe music, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the colorfully dressed jesters.

***

Sitting high and proudly on Aragorn’s shoulders, Ellohir craned his head over the crowd, trying to find the booth that sold babies. Frodo had once said that he had bought Ellohir at the market, and now that he knew what the market was and he was here in the midst, he was all the more curious. He didn’t truly believe Frodo, of course, but he just wanted to make sure there really wasn’t such a booth. If there was, he might ask Frodo if they could buy another. Ellohir would love a nice boy to play with. The guards’ sons were big and rough, and sometimes they made fun of his big feet and called him a “halfling.” Ellohir did not know what a halfling was, and he could not tell from the older boys’ voices whether it was a good thing or not.

Ellohir wanted Frodo to hold him. He felt somewhat insecure and dizzy up at this great height, and he tugged at Aragorn’s ears.

“What is it, Ellohir?”

“I want down!”

”Will you be able to walk?”

“Yes, I can walk!”

Aragorn swung Ellohir to his feet, and Frodo took his hand again. Ellohir squeezed the much loved hand and asked, “Frodo, where are the baby booths? I think we need a little brother for me!”

He was disappointed when Frodo only laughed but did not answer, but there was so much to see and do, that Ellohir soon forgot it.

***

Frodo pulled at Aragorn’s elbow. “I shall be right back. I see something at that vendor across the street that is perfect for Sam! I will leave Ellohir with you.”

Aragorn nodded. “Have a care.” He watched Frodo dodge the crowds of Big People as he crossed the street. Frodo looked so small among them, and it was odd to Aragorn to see that. Frodo filled his world.

“I want to go with Frodo,” Ellohir said, tugging at Aragorn’s elbow.

“No, darling. Frodo will be right back.”

“I want to go with Frodo,” Ellohir said insistently, tugging at Aragorn’s hand. Aragorn saw the familiar crease in Ellohir’s brow.

“Look!” he said, desperate to distract the toddler. “See the jester’s going to sing for us soon! Let’s go see!”

“I want Frodo!” Tears sprang to Ellohir’s eyes. Aragorn wondered if the boy had gotten enough sleep lately. He seemed much crabbier today than usual.

“Frodo will be back. Let’s go watch the jester.”

Several people nearby watched with amused grins, though they turned away when Aragorn looked in their direction.

“Even the king has to deal with…” he heard a woman say with a laugh as she disappeared into the crowd.

“My liege,” one of the guards broke in. “Shall I fetch Frodo?”

“No,” Aragorn said firmly. “Absolutely not. Ellohir will learn that sometimes he must wait.”

Ellohir threw his head back and wailed, tears bubbling from his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.

“Ellohir,” Aragorn said roughly, and even his guards turned to him in surprise. “Settle down!” He was annoyed by how uncomfortable he was becoming by the stares and amused muttering comments. He was king. He could command the market clear out and shut down if he so desired, though that would, of course, only make it worse. “If you do not stop, we’ll not buy you anything.”

“Frodo.”

“No, Frodo will not either. If he does, I shall take it away and you will never see it again.”

Ellohir’s chin quivered and fresh tears formed. Aragorn’s heart clutched with regret. At least Frodo’s scolding didn’t sound cruel. Where was that hobbit, anyway?

“Shall I?” The guard glanced in the direction of where Frodo was shopping.

“No.” Aragorn grasped Ellohir firmly by both shoulders. The boy’s scowl was nearly identical to Frodo’s when he was angry, but Aragorn could not let himself soften. Aragorn shook Ellohir just slightly, and the boy broke into a piercing weeping as he slumped to the ground. Surely all of Minas Tirith could hear. Certainly half of the city was gathered nearby, watching with great interest, yet not daring to step in to help or give advice. A guilty pang filled Aragorn’s stomach. Surely Frodo had heard Ellohir’s cry and would be convinced Aragorn could not handle the boy.

Araogrn looked around for the hobbit, and there he was -- squeezed between a hefty woman carrying a basket on her head and a man holding a mule. Frodo watched with a smug smile, arms crossed. Well, Aragorn refused to call to him for help. Sooner or later, Frodo would be unable to bear Ellohir’s crying anymore and he would intercede.

Ellohir was now lying on his back, crying in hoarse sobs, kicking his big shoe-clad feet on the ground, his face flushed and wet with tears. He was saying something, but Aragorn couldn’t decipher it through the crying. Aragorn met Frodo’s glance and shrugged in defeat.

Frodo ran to them and fell to his knees near Ellohir. Ellohir had not seen him yet and let out a giant kick that caught Frodo in the chest and knocked him backwards.

Aragorn grunted in anger, and letting Ellohir cry, he helped Frodo to his feet. Frodo rubbed at his chest, catching his breath.

“Are you all right?” Aragorn asked as a dull throb of embarrassed fury filled his chest.

Frodo nodded. “I’m all right. Let’s just go back home. Ellohir has had enough.”

“That he has,” Aragorn said, slinging Ellohir, who was still kicking and crying, over his shoulder. The look in his eyes must have been frightening indeed because the crowd scrambled in a near panic to move out of the way.

“Aragorn, do not…please do not overreact.” Frodo trotted after him, but Aragorn did not slow his pace.

“He will never behave like this in public again.”

“Aragorn…” Frodo gasped. “You’ll not strike him…?”

Aragorn twisted his head toward Frodo in fury. How dare he ask such a thing! “Have you ever seen me strike anyone, Frodo? Do you not perceive me as clever enough to think of a more effective way to discipline him?”

“It’s not that…”

“And keep your voice down! We are not in the privacy of our quarters!”

Ellohir cried all the way home. As they approached the steps that led to their quarters, Frodo spread his arms out. “Give him to me!” Frodo begged. “He’ll quiet in my arms.”

“Out of the question,” Aragorn said. “That is exactly what he wants and I’ll not reward him.”

“But he will quiet…”

“I just want him in bed as quickly as possible, Frodo. Once he’s there, he can cry all night if he wishes.”

By the time they reached their quarters, Frodo was desperately out of breath from following Aragorn’s pace, and Aragorn felt the first stirrings of guilt, especially since Ellohir was still sobbing hoarsely.

“Oh, Aragorn,” Frodo said with a sigh, touching Ellohir’s bottom. “He’s wet his breeches.”

Aragorn sighed wearily. “What a mess this outing was, Frodo.”

In the boy’s room, Aragorn set Ellohir down, and the boy stood, head tilted up, his face contorted in misery, still sobbing.

“Ellohir,” Frodo said. “Take down your breeches, they’re wet.”

Aragorn tugged them down without waiting for him to obey. Frodo found fresh undergarments and a nightshirt.

“I don’t want to go to bed!” Ellohir sobbed.

“All that crying has made you tired,” Frodo said as sternly as he could. “And you were very naughty for Aragorn today.”

Ellohir sobbed, clutching at Frodo. “I…I just wanted…I wanted you.”

Aragorn saw Frodo’s eyes soften, and he shot him a warning glance. “Ellohir, put on your nightshirt. You are going to bed early without a story and without supper.”

“No supper?” Frodo questioned in a whisper.

“He ate plenty at market today,” Aragorn whispered back.

Ellohir continued to cry. Aragorn gathered him into his arms, his heart softening at the pitiful sound, and carried him to bed. Ellohir struggled to keep his eyes open as Aragorn placed him gently under the covers, tucking the blankets around him. He kissed the boy on the brow, and led Frodo out of the room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

becsb.livejournal.com

Ah, I know those tantrums well! My brother used to scweem and scweem and then hold his breath until he passed out. Kids eh? who'd have 'em.

Great story and full of lovely little details. Thanks.

From:

Love, laughter, stories, and hugs (and Rangers and hobbits, too!)

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