The Song of Love
Disclaimer: I own LOTR! Go me! *Is suddenly surrounded by lawyers* Erm…I mean….
Ariwen was having a great time. Her father had declared a feast for the arrival of the Rohirrim, and a great feast it was. There was only a week left until her sister’s wedding and all were rejoicing. She was conversing with the Lady Lothíriel, her second cousin by marriage while Elboron, Elessar, Elfwine, Eldarion, Faramir and Éomer had engaged in an idiotic drinking contest with Legolas and Gimli, who were also present for the festives. Currently, Legolas looked ready to swoon while Gimli, Aragorn, Faramir and Éomer were holding there own better then their sons only through long practice of the sport. Celewen, Thorwen, Éowyn and Arwen joined Ariwen and Lothíriel with looks of disapproval upon their faces. “They always do this whenever they gather, and now they’ve dragged our sons into it!” Arwen fumed. “When will those Men ever learn?!”
“I fear perhaps never, my friend.” Lothíriel answered soberly. “Now, My Ladies, I believe it is high time that we start educating our dear Celewen here in ways to torture and discipline arrogant, noble husbands that insist on engaging in drinking contests with a certain Elf and Dwarf every time they are within a ten mile radius of each other.” She broke into a grin.
Celewen gulped. “Is this anything like being fit for a wedding?” She asked suspiciously.
Éowyn laughed. “Indeed no! Being fit for the wedding is the worst part, while this is the most enjoyable. I will go fetch Faramir to practice of and put him under an oath to never tell your betrothed of our vile treachery.”
Giggling, Celewen consented. “This sounds does most enjoyable!”
“Indeed it is, my young sister, indeed it is.” Ariwen’s eyes sparkled with ill concealed mirth.
By the time Éowyn reached the men to steal her husband, Legolas had forfeited, for Elves had no stomach for ale, Eldarion, Elfwine and Elboron were just barely holding up, for they were far from veterans in this, unlike their fathers, Aragorn and Faramir were doing pretty good, but showing signs of weakness while Éomer and Gimli were in the lead. “Faramir!” The Princess of Ithilien called. “Come here, I need you!” As her husband started to protest, she gave him a glare that would make a Balrog cry. “Faramir son of Denethor, come here immediately or face the wrath of Éowyn Wraith-slayer daughter of Éomund and Théodwyn of the Mark!” Faramir gulped and took leave of his King and friends. That threat was not one taken lightly, especially if it was applied to a certain Lord of Emyn Arnen.
“You call me, I come, My Lady. What does the wife command?” Faramir gave her a mock bow and almost lost his balance from all of the Elven wine he had consumed.
“Repeat after me,” Éowyn commanded. “I hereby give my most solemn oath in the name of Manwë and Varda and the holy mountain of Taniquetil that I shall never say aught to The Lord Elfwine, Prince and heir of Rohan of what I am about to use you for.”
His mind somewhat confused from being so drunk, the Steward complied to his wife’s wishes. “I hereby give my most solemn oath in the name of Manwë and Varda and the holy mountain of Taniquetil that I shall never say aught the Lord Elfwine, Prince and heir of Rohan of what you are about to use me for.”
Éowyn smirked. This was one of the many upsides to having a drunk husband. She then spirited the poor man away for the `education’ of the soon-to-be Princess of Rohan.
“Now,” Thorwen said, “What do you do when your husband has just gotten back to you from engaging in a drinking contest or spending time with old friends and taking to the pipe and weed?” Celewen’s education of the matter of dealing with husbands was now over and the female veterans of the matter were testing her.
The Princess promptly answered, “You tease him about his behavior and make a vain threat to make him sleep in the family room.”
“Very good!” Arwen grinned. “It seems that you will do very well in this subject when the time comes for you to use your knowledge! Now, for the last question.”
“What do you do when your husband returns from a war injured?” Éowyn asked.
Scouring her memory, Celewen finally said, “You cry and sit by his bedside while he is still injured and then when he is almost recovered, you yell at him for being careless, ignore his excuses and make a serious threat to force him to sleep in the family room.”
“Excellent!” Lothíriel chirped. “You’ve passed with flying colors, and since I will be in Rohan as well, I am the one that gets to mark your progress!” At Celewen’s ill concealed look of horror, she chuckled and quickly sobered. “Worry not, I am not a strict teacher.”
Celewen then sighed in relief. Ariwen then proposed to go back to the dining hall and see who had one the drinking contest, which all had promptly agreed upon, most eagerly their poor victim, Faramir.
As it turned out, a tie had been made between Gimli and Éomer. The three younger men had forfeited soon after Faramir was dragged out and Aragorn had lasted the longest, but finally gave in and accepted the Rohirrim and Dwarves both had iron stomachs that were far more endurant than Númenórean ones.
After the contest, the dancing was declared and the ladies had a most spectacular time, switching off partners every now and then. Arwen kept either Aragorn or Faramir as a partner until the most complicated dance started, for which she took Imrahil, who had come from Dol Amroth. Both former dance partners looked on in envy, after which they decided to get Dol Amroth’s Prince to give them a few lessons. Aragorn’s dance master, of course, had been shocked when he found that his King could not do that dance and from there on started planning more lessons for Elessar that Eldarion promptly found out about and ordered a cease to it before his father could find out. The King and Queen were some of the last to retire, while Ariwen and Elboron were the first to go and engage in nightly activities.
“Elboron,” Ariwen breathed. “Oh, Elboron. Give me a child.”
“That I will do love, that I will do.”
It seemed that in nine months, Faramir would become a grandfather.