Disclaimer: AUURRHHGG!! THE VOICES!! THE VOICES!! STOP SCREAMING AT ME---OH! THE VOICES!! THEY MADE ME DO IT!! …..Hmm…..Nope, I still don't own Tolkien's work, even after all that.

Poke. Aragorn felt a ticklish pain in his side. He ignored it. It was probably Arwen anyway. Poke. Ouch! That hurt! He rolled over. Poke. He opened his eyes. He was right. It was Arwen. But something was wrong. He looked at her wrists, her legs, and her neck. She had chains on her!

            "Look Aragorn, I'm a pow!"

            "Ughh…don't you mean a P-O-W?"

            "Uhh…. what's that mean?"

            "Prisoner Of War."

            "Oh."

            "What happened anyway?"

            Eowyn stepped up. "I'll tell you what happened. Your wife fed all of your soldiers sleeping tonics and poisons. After that, it was easy for Rohan to capture Gondor."

            "Arwen! You didn't!"

            "I thought it was pretty…"

            "You told me it was lemonade!"

            "Well, it smelled like lemon, an' it looked like lemonade, so I thought it musta been lemonade!"

            "Great. Just great. How many of our men died?"

            "None yet," said Eowyn, batting her eyes at Aragorn.

            Aragorn rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

***

            Eowyn smiled evilly at Arwen. Now was the time.

            "Soo, Arwen, how's life?"

            "Purty good."

            "Uh-huh. And how do you like Rohan being in change of Gondor?"

            "It's fun."

            "Do you think it would be fun if I changed the name of Gondor to 'New Rohan'? And everyone would buy T-Shirts saying 'I {heart} NR'?"

            "Tha'd be good."

            "Well….what if Aragorn was MY husband, instead of yours?"

            Arwen thought about this. "Who'd be my husband?"

            "No one! Absolutely no one!"

            "You can't do that."

            "Oh? Why not?"

            "What about your uncle? Isn't he the king?"

            "Not anymore."

            "Oh. Why not?"

            "HE DIED!"

            "How?"

            "Umm…let's just say it was a tragic accident. After that, with no heirs to the throne, except for me, I became Queen! MWAHAHAHA!!"

            "He didn't have any hair?"

            "HEIR, YOU IDIOT! HEIR!"

            "Oh. What's that mean?"

            "Heir?"

            "No. 'Mwahahaha.'"

            "It's an evil laugh, okay?"

            "Oh. Okay."

            "Arwen?"

            "What?"

            "Are you really a moron, or are you just pretending?"

            "Search me."

***

            "Aragorn….." A sweet voice called. It didn't even give Aragorn a headache—like Arwen's usually did.

            "Mmm?" He asked.

            "Shhh…I just wanted to make sure you were awake…."

            "Why?"

            "Silly. Open your eyes." He did. And what he saw amazed him. It was Eowyn, clad in a beautiful dress, her hair brained like that of an empress, with gold ribbons weaved in and out.

            "What happened to you?"

            "Gee, thanks. That was the exact reaction I was hoping for."

            "Well," said the King, "what do you WANT me to say? I mean, you're NEVER dressed like that! You're…. well…. you're a tomboy!"  

            "Oh, NICE, what a great compliment! I REALLY wanted you to tell me that."

            "Answer me! What was I supposed to do?"

            "You…" began the angry Eowyn, "Were supposed to pull me into your arms and kiss me, kiss me like I've never been kissed in all my life!"

            "Well…. I can't I'm married! But that is probably true…. most likely the only person who's ever kissed you was your uncle, and that was probably on the cheek or hand."

            "URRGHH! Men are so stupid!" The mortal stormed out of the bedchamber, slamming the door behind her. Aragorn smiled; women were so fun to annoy.

***

            Sulk, sob, cry. Sulk, sob, cry. Sulk, sob, cry. The pattern of the Elf Queen never changed. That stupid Eowyn! She was the reason for everything… Wait. The reason for WHAT? Oh, yeah…that's right… The reason Arwen couldn't see her husband, or eat, or drink, or see daylight!

            The dungeon wasn't a happy place, as you probably could have guessed. Arwen had gotten over the rats, and passed the time naming them. (She went trough about 49 names a day.) The only time they annoyed her was when they bit, which was often. She had found a piece of wood on the ground, and, during the time of her imprisonment, it was her best friend. His name was Weed.

            One day, as cheesy stories sometimes like to say, she noticed something. (Well, actually, she found it THAT day, not ONE day, but that doesn't matter!) The floor was dirt! "Eew." Was her first reaction. The next one, which was really a lot more intelligent, was "I'm hungry." Finally, she actually had a thought that made sense, concerning the dirt floor. "Dig." It was very short, but that was all she needed. Grabbing Weed, she dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug (Gasps for breath) and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug and dug. After a while, she thought, "Okay, so why am I digging?" She didn't know, and the next second she had forgotten about it, so she continued digging. And digging. And digging. And digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and digging, and, well, you get the picture.

            Finally, she had a hole big enough to do a couple of cartwheels in, and she started digging in the side, towards the wall. She didn't know why, but she dug anyway.