The oppressive July heat had finally let up over the white city, a drenching rain the night before had awakened the wilting flowers and the dawn came verdant and new through the bright mist off the Anduin. The streets and markets of Minas Tirith were hung with garlands and with flags of many colors and the whole city was abuzz with preparation. The king’s son, Eldarion, was nearly four! This was, apparently, reason enough to call for celebration. Everywhere games and parties were planned. A week of merrymaking had been declared throughout the whole realm of Gondor.

Trumpets blared at the rising of the sun from the tower of the guard and from the city gates which creaked ponderously open to let through a caravan of merchants and traders from the far north.

The dwarf wagons from Erabor were laden with precious jewels and delicate contraptions and bangles and all matter of wonderful and pricey curiosities. They used no horses but had great clever engines which belched steam and sparks as they trundled merrily through the streets. Out of dale came wagons bearing exotic spices and fine textiles.

As the foreigners passed through the streets, shutters and doorways opened to meet them. People flocked to the streets to follow the traders up towards the market, everyone eager to find some treasure before they were all plundered.

In the third level of the city there was a large open plaza with a broad view of the Pelenor and trees with spreading bows. It was here they stopped, as directed by the captain of the tower guard and arrayed themselves evenly around the open space. Panels clacked down from the sides of the wagons. Stairs unfolded, awnings unrolled, merchandise was unboxed and soon the whole square was alive with loud voices and music and colors and the smell of foreign delicacies. Lanterns shone in the tree branches, silks fluttered in the breeze and wonderful contraptions of gold and silver sparkled in the sun.

The royal family were among the first awake and the king had rushed his wife and small son down to the square with boyish enthusiasm. They took no guards with them; Elessar would not hear of it.

They wandered the market stalls, the queen eating candied pecans from a paper bag. Aragorn carried the boy on his shoulders so that he could see above the crowd. Eldarion kept his arms secured about his father’s head, knocking askew the delicate circlet he wore upon his brow.

“May we please see the toymaker Ada?” he forced himself to speak politely even as he bounced up and down in excitement.

“I thought you were too old for toys?” Aragorn asked his son, holding his knees to keep him in place, “all the big boys get books for their birthdays,” he teased, “and you’re nearly old enough learn to read.” The child moaned in disappointment laying his cheek in his father’s dark hair.

“Well alright,” Aragorn capitulated with an exaggerated sigh and deftly flipped the boy over, letting him hang for a moment before he set him on his feet, “Maybe you can learn to read next year.” The boy ran towards the cart, stopped, and with a look of fear, ran back to his parents.

“Ada,” Eldarion clung tight to the rich fabric of Aragorn’s trouser.

“What is it?” the king knelt, looking his son in the eye, “Don’t you want to see the toys?”

“Why is that man so short?” he asked tearfully. Arwen snorted in embarrassment covering her smile with one white hand. The shopkeeper gave her a good-natured grin from between two dancing porcelain dolls and beckoned them to come inside.

“That man is a dwarf.” Aragorn set one hand on his son’s stomach, “and he looks very friendly. Would you like to say hello?”

Eldarion nodded, and with perhaps a bit more reticence, allowed his father to pull him back into the little shop.

“GOOD MORNIN, your highnesses,” the Dwarf bowed respectfully, and removed a strangely fashioned hat, “Bofur, at your service.” He grinned, his long, graying mustache adding to the effect.

Aragorn picked up his son and held him at one hip, “Introduce yourself,” he whispered. Eldarion stared at the smiling merchant blankly, “Don’t be scared.”

“Eldarion, son of Elessar prince of Gondor.” The child said exactly as he had been trained to, sticking out one chubby hand stiffly. “At your service.” Bofur graciously took the prince’s small hand, dipping his head. “I’m almost four.” He held up two fingers.

“four.” Arwen mouthed, pointing to her four raised fingers.

“Wow!” Bofur replaced his hat, “Congratulations my young lord!”

“How old are you?”

“I’m nearly two hundred!”

The child looked incredulous, “that’s almost as old as mommy!” Bofur laughed. Arwen raised one eyebrow.

Aragorn held the boy at his hip so he could see up to the top shelf. They explored slowly, chatting away to each other about what they each liked best.

Arwen set the bag of sweets on the counter top, looking through rows of clockwork animals and smiling at her son appreciatively.

“Excuse me, m’lady!” the merchant said with a smile, Arwen startled and nearly dropped the delicate gold enamel dragon she was holding.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled, placing the wonderful creation back on the peak of the papier-mâché mountain which served as a display stand for the toymaker’s wares.

“Oh no worries your highness!” His silvering hair was bunched in two swooping braids beside his ears. “They’re made to be played with. Here,” He took the dragon down, turning a small black feathered arrow in his chest three times made his wings move and a little shower of sparks erupt from its toothy maw. With a gentle toss the dwarf set the dragon alight, it soared low over the heads of the crowd.

Arwen gasped in wonder, “That’s amazing.” She clapped in delight as it soared out over the city. And then covered her face as it zipped back inside the stall and back to the hand of its maker. “Is it magic? How does it work?” she took the dragon back, weighing it carefully in her hands. “Well, surely it’s too heavy to fly, it must be magic!”She moved the perfect little hinge on its wing, marveling at its craftsmanship, the skin which stretched between the tiny beast’s digits was fine red silk and its eyes were brilliant yellow topaz, every scale had been colored with enamel, they shifted hypnotically when its body was moved.

“No more magic than in a bird the same size.” Bofur opened the dragon’s belly to show the queen the little wind up motor which powered it.

“Estel,” she beckoned for her husband, when he did not immediately respond she looked around. He had discovered a wonderful contraption with two clockwork knights, barely a cubit in height; they held shining axes and if one pressed a button on the base of the stand he would swing his blade downward in a stiff attack upon the other, causing his head to pop up with a ‘boing!’

Father and son were in fits of laughter as over and over again they caused the gold plated night to pop his head up. The boy screamed and clapped in appreciation.

“How does that work?” Aragorn asked. “Is it just a spring.” He peered underneath the platform the knights were standing on.

“Aye, if I told you that, anyone could make one!” Bofur winked at the queen.

“Would you like this for your birthday?” Aragorn pushed the knight’s helmet down. “Press it!”

“Shouldn’t we get him something less…?” Arwen cringed as the silver knight’s head popped up and her son squealed in delight, “Violent?”

“How much?” the king asked, ignoring his wife’s misgivings.

“For you, it’s a gift.”

“Oh no.”Aragorn stood shaking his head, “we pay like everyone else.”

“Not for your rank sir, not for any king would I give away my wares,” Bofur smiled kindly, “but for a friend of Bilbo. Aye, for a friend of Bilbo Baggins, there is no gift too great.”