Throne of Stone -II- Book Three of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series

Chapter Eight

Fo.A 2, June 21, Mid-Year Celebration

The city of Minas Tirith was abuzz with excitement and expectations of the night's festivities. Merchants in the lower circles were peddling their wares, citizens buying last minute items for their parties.

There was something in the air that everyone could feel, and they knew it would be a night to remember.

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Aragorn was in his study going over the last few details, mumbling to himself as he went line by line down the list for the third time.

He was so engrossed in his work that he failed to notice the servant standing beside him, hands trembling. Nor did he see what he was holding.

"M'lord?"

Aragorn jumped and looked at the servant, a boy not yet in his eighteenth year. "What is it?" he asked, a little more gruffly than he'd meant too.

The young man held out a hand, an envelope between his fingers. "It's for you, M'lord," replied the young man nervously. "It arrived three days ago but had gott'n missed and wasn't delivered."

Aragorn relaxed and took the envelope from the boy, scrutinizing it before thanking him and excusing him to his other duties. Aragorn turned it over in his hands, recognizing the handwriting. It can't be, he thought to himself.

Leaning back in his chair, Aragorn opened the envelope with a small knife and unfolded the letter.

My dearest friend,

It has been too long since we've last seen each other, and it is my hope that this letter finds you well. I found a reason to stay in the Shire, and that is the purpose of this letter, in fact.

In two month's time, I will make Arabella Bracegirdle my wife and I would be forever grateful if you were able to attend.

I have sent out letters to Legolas and Gimli in the hopes that they shall be able to attend, too. I know that everyone is very busy and I imagine it is not so easy to leave for another adventure as it once was.

I miss our conversations, and I hope to have a good smoke with you if you are able to come while we talk.

I eagerly look forward to your reply.

Your friend,

Frodo Baggins.

Aragorn reread the letter, and again. It was Frodo's handwriting, he knew it was, but he could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had suspected that Frodo had planned to leave with Gandalf to sail West when the time was right.

Aragorn smiled, his heart full; Frodo had found someone and was getting married.

Leaning forward, Aragorn wrote down a quick reply, placed it into a new envelope, and sealed it. He left the study and gave it to a passing servant, then headed off to find Arwen and share with her the good news.

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Údar sat cross-legged on a large boulder, staring at the White City gleaming in the afternoon light. Tonight, at sunset, he and Boromir would reveal themselves, but what came after that only Eru knew. He'd led them this far, he would not abandon them now.

Údar looked over to where Boromir stood, forearm leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on the city. His city.

"I never thought I would see this city again," Boromir said presently. He turned his head, his grey-blue eyes filled with a somber sadness. "It is both the way I remember it and yet so foreign at the same time. I do not understand it."