a Middle Earth therapy session

Jam Tarts and Metal

So maybe Alcop's temper was rising, he knew it was by the way his heartbeat quickened and his face reddened. But Aragorn's story was seemingly boring the three of them to literal death. The horse and saddle had honestly been the most decent part, yet.

There on the floor lay a swift building pile of armour of all sorts. Arrows, a heavy weighted axe - which Alcop reckoned could slice open Morgoth's neck (if he indeed had one) -, rings and rings of chain mail, dozens of hand carved and delicately crafted daggers, two long white knives - also looking dangerously sharp -, and a shoe. The shoe may or may not have been from when Gimli let his rage get the best of him only moments ago. 

Why there was a pile of stuff was no immediate concern to Alcop (he would just have the niece clear it out), but the slowly mounting anger of the dwarf was beginning to unsettle him. Gimli's death grip on his satin couch was pinpricking slight alarm in him. And though the dwarf had shed off most his mental clothing and armour and weapons, the sheer strength he held within his very arms and legs was also a reoccurring concern for the therapist.

In this moment they were actually taking a short - believe it or not - break. Yes, they were. He had had the niece bring them chilling water skins and a sweet platter of jam tarts. Aragorn's mouth was currently occupied with said tarts; which the other three were relieved to see. Legolas had taken a quick swing of his water skin, then fell into some sort of elven slumber, which was odd for an elf, but Alcop took it as a good sign of healing. The poor things probably hadn't had much sleep, the Mary-Sue plaguing their every thought. 

"These are simply spectacular," Aragron sighed in bliss, once more taking in a mouthful of tart, the jammy texture oozing down his chin. Alcop bit back a grimace; sticking to nodding and smiling politely, he pushed forward a box of supreme tissues, slightly hiding it from Legolas' slumbering form. Gimli noticed his carefulness and burst out a chuckle. 

"What is it, my friend?" Argorn asked through his tenth mouthful. This man was starved, for sure. Had the palace's cooks fed him naught but cabbage soup in the last ten years?

Unfortunately for him, Alcop had announced this last though out aloud. 

He now, quite embarrassed, stared now at his sock-clad feet. "Sorry," he mumbled. 

Surprisingly Aragorn also let out a boom of laughter. "Actually," the King started, quite amused. "I have not been in Gondor for three months and counting. The story was read in Rivendell."

"Oh," Alcop deadpanned. 

Suddenly Legolas blinked, Alcop almost jumped outta his wits, his breathing erratic. 

"Let us finish?" the elf said with ease. 

Gimli growled like a Warg in hunting, and Aragorn looked - if possible - more than delighted as he licked off the remaining jam on his fingers. 

Alcop hid another groan.