Disclaimer: I own nothing. I would be much richer if I did, but I do not.
The tavern was typical of the region. Small, dark and shrouded in a seemingly permanent haze of smoke. Its clientele were normally of a similarly rough type, but on this particular evening the crowd was a little more diverse. Tables had been pushed to the side of the room and chairs were stacked on top of one another, making space for some rather unusual equipment. An atmosphere of tensed anticipation hung in the air, for tonight was not like other nights. It was to be the scene of an event that struck fear into the hearts of all that walked on middle earth.
Karaoke night.
Patrons whiled the time away with small talk, sitting at their individual tables. Each was waiting for the same thing. The first screeching, off-key number would soon begin.
The fellowship, much to Aragorn's disgust, was among the audience. They were seated far from the stage in a remote corner. He had insisted on that.
A hunched, cloaked man with a beard that nearly reached his knees stepped up to the platform. He cleared his throat noisily.
By the gods, Aragon thought frantically; he isn't going to sing, is he?
The ranger's fears were put to rest as the man introduced two clerics. They had decided to perform a "traditional marching ballad" as the announcer phrased it.
Aragorn didn't believe anything that sounded that bad could actually be traditional.
Beside him Merry and Pippin were nearly splitting with laughter. Merry tried to speak but only dissolved into a fit of giggles again.
"Oh, come now." Said Frodo, "They aren't that terrible." He sounded as if even he wasn't completely convinced of his words.
"A strangled cat sounds better." Chuckled Gimli, the caterwauling even offensive to his ears.
"Why do we stay and listen to this?" complained Aragorn for at least the third time that night.
"You agreed on this place." Boromir reminded, earning a glare.
"If I had known this wou – " Aragorn began, but Legolas interrupted him.
"You would have stopped here in spite of it." Said the elf. "It is the only inn for miles."
"And we could all do with a decent meal and a proper bed." Said Sam quietly; no doubt fondly reminiscing about the last time he had those comforts.
"Not to mention the mead!" Pippin cheered, swinging his mug a little over enthusiastically and spilling the said mead on the table.
A new singer had taken his place in the spotlight. He was a cloaked figure of unknown origin, adorned with many weapons. And he was singing a love song.
Aragorn could take no more. He excused himself from the table and fairly ran across the floor to the exit. He pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped out into the night.
He leaned back against the stone wall, his shadow cast out ahead of him by the torches. He lit his pipe and looked out into the surrounding wilderness. It was dark, cold, and above all blessedly silent.
After a few moments Aragorn had mounted enough courage to return. He had faced enemies so dark and loathsome they were yet unnamed. He had been to the most remote corners of all the lands. And nothing he had seen was so horrific as what was occurring in that tavern.
He put the pipe out by tapping against the wall, then gritted his teeth. He would have to face it sooner or later. He chose sooner.
He left the calm behind and crossed the threshold to the inn. The performers were in the midst of changing, and Aragorn deliberately avoided looking at the stage.
He reached the table, noting the absence of two presences that had been there when he left. "Where are Legolas and Gimli?"
The others eyes told him where to look. He followed their gaze to the forefront of the room.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The elf and the dwarf stood side by side, waiting for the melody to begin. Aragorn stared in horror.
Gimli cleared his throat and began in a low rumble. "He's a complicated man…but no one understands him but his woman…"
Beside him Legolas piped up in a high falsetto. "Shaft…John Shaft…"
Aragorn sank down into his chair. He reached for his mug. Suddenly getting very drunk very fast seemed like a very, very good idea.
*******************
Aragorn sat up. He immediately wished he hadn't.
His head was throbbing as though he had been beaten with a thousand rocks. His mouth had the exact feel of dry cotton. It had been a good while since the drink had affected him so.
Of course, he didn't normally indulge in it like he had the previous night. There had been circumstances to excuse that.
After that seventh round things became rather fuzzy. He could remember bright lights, laughter…
Something about music…
Aragorn's eyes widened. He hadn't. He couldn't have.
He turned towards the door. Merry stood in the doorframe, grinning from ear to ear. "So." He said, smile not fading an inch. "Girls just want to have fun, do they?"
Aragorn groaned and slumped back to the sheets. It simply wasn't worth the effort.