Sword and Arrow

Chapter 70

In the end, Aragorn did not give the oakleaf to Beruthiel at his coronation. By the time that the high council had approved the event, and the budget had been set aside for it, and everything had been organized (from guards to decorations and food), it had been a month, and Aragorn had thought of a much better plan.

But that plan would come into play later. For now, Aragorn and Beruthiel stood alone in the largest bedroom of the King's House, following a pattern that was quite natural to them - Aragorn handing her pieces of armor and her pinning or buckling them on, though this armor was decorated, ceremonial, and ancient rather than Aragorn's usual used, dented, and ancient armor.

Beruthiel finished buckling the pauldrons around Aragorn's shoulders - she knelt on the bed while he sat in a chair - with quite a few exclamations of hold still and get into the buckle, goddamnit! and why are you like this. "It's a lesson to be learned," she told Aragorn as she tightened the final strap. "This is why we don't wear armor that's thousands of years old."

"Actually," said Aragorn, "it's only about nine hundred years old."

"Close enough," Beruthiel rolled her eyes. "It's still old." She gestured to the bedside table that had a long length of cloth draped over it. "Hand me your cape."

Careful not to dislodge Beruthiel's grip on the pin underneath his pauldron, Aragorn twisted and gave her the silky cape (a new addition that they had more recently purchased - Beruthiel had had a hunch that the old moth-eaten cloth in the royal armory would not be a fitting garment for a coronation).

Compared to the rest of the elaborate armor, the cape was relatively easy to pin under the pauldrons. After making sure that it wouldn't fall off or unravel in any way, Beruthiel hopped down from the bed and faced Aragorn. "You look wonderful," she said with a nod. "Let me do your hair, though."

"Do my hair?" Aragorn rose with a self-conscious hand on his head. "What are you going to do to me, my love?"

"Oh, hush," Beruthiel said, returning from her bag with a wooden comb. "I'm going to brush it out and put braids in it. To make you look better."

"Braids? Really?" It was a feeble protest, but Aragorn had no idea why she would need to put braids in your hair.

"You're Isildur's Heir, Aragorn," Beruthiel explained dully, turning the chair so it faced the bed. "You've been raised by elves. You need to look the part." She sat him down in the chair and got to work on his hair.

Despite the few weeks that Aragorn had been living in more civilized areas of the world, his hair was still a mess. Beruthiel struggled through many a tangle and quite a few fits of rage and cursing, ending with "I don't know how someone's hair can be like this, but you manage."

It seemed that every time she had untangled every pesky bit of his hair, something new would crop up when she ran the comb through his hair. However, finally, it was free of tangles (for the most part) and the bedside table displayed the three burrs, a part of a leaf, and a very small twig that Beruthiel had pulled out of his hair.

Putting the comb down, Beruthiel swept his long hair aside to braid a small section behind his hair. In this fashion she braided many peek-away strands of hair that would be revealed when he turned or shook his head. A few she grouped together to make a circlet that went around his head - symbolizing a crown before he would ever receive one.

Finally, she stepped back and surveyed him from the front. "Perfect," Beruthiel said with a very wide grin. "You do look rather beautiful." She brushed a final strand of hair away from his eyes and held out a hand to help him stand up.

"Thank you," said Aragorn. He turned back to Beruthiel, stumbling over his words for a moment. "Ruth? I'm nervous."

"You're going to be fine," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "And I'll be with you."