Author's Note: Wow! Thanks to all of you who've reviewed this story so far
:) My usual disclaimer: I own none of these characters, they all belong to
Tolkien and I am just borrowing them for my own amusement. So here we go,
back to Arwen's POV.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"1, 2, 3, 4 and 1, 2, 3, 4. . . good! You're quite graceful, Eowyn, but the dance would look more natural if you'd unclench your jaw and relax your forehead. You're doing fine!" The late afternoon sun beamed down on a strange sight: the Queen of Gondor dancing, without music, with Eowyn of Rohan. Behind the high, ivied walls of Arwen's private garden (very Elvish- looking), the two had been practicing since lunch. Eowyn was showing great aptitude for the physicality of the movements, but not for the mentality of the ancient Gondorian Dance of Love.
Arwen led Eowyn to a stone bench under a sprawling oak tree. How could she explain to the shieldmaiden the importance of attitude when dancing?
"The Dance of Love is a tradition for Gondorian couples dating back. . . oh, goodness. . . at least a thousand years. The steps are designed to convey the depth of devotion between the participants. Elessar and I performed it at our wedding, but most couples do it at their engagement feast. If you merely go through the motions, Eowyn, it will be evident to the bystanders that you do not truly love Faramir."
Eowyn started to protest. Arwen cut her off.
"Regardless of the fact that you do love him, that is what they will think. Learning the steps is not nearly so important as putting your heart and soul into every movement. Now, let's look at your dress."
Eowyn glanced skeptically at Arwen, but if she had any doubts about the Queen's sincerity she kept them to herself. Arwen helped her open the large, flat box she had brought with her to the garden. As Eowyn pulled her gown from its wrappings, Arwen gasped in delight.
"Oh! How beautiful! It's almost Elvish-looking" she said wistfully, "Did it come from Dol Amroth?" Arwen fingered the delicate embroidery as Eowyn answered.
"Yes—how did you know? It was a gift from one of Faramir's cousins there. Lothiriel, I think is her name. Her letter said she'd found it in storage. It belonged to Faramir's mother, apparently, and she thought I might like to have it."
Arwen studied the gown. White silk with embroidered white floweres formed a flowing under-skirt and bodice with a draped neckline. At the shoulders fastened a gold over-robe that belted to form something between a cloak and a train.
"How miraculous. It suits your coloring perfectly. You said it was a little too short?"
Eowyn blushed. "And too large in the bust. Can you help me alter it?"
"Of course! Let's take it back to my sitting room and start right away! We can't have you anything less than resplendent for the banquet." Arwen stood to go back inside. She was stopped by Eowyn's hand on her arm.
"Wait—I haven't held up my end of the bargain yet!" A decidedly wicked gleam came into her eyes. "Leave the dress here for a minute and come with me." Eowyn walked to the far corner of the garden. As she approached, Arwen saw that a small pile of wood was sitting there.
Eowyn knelt on the stone walkway. She took two stones from the small pouch at her waist. "Now, to start a fire, you need some sort of material that will catch fire very easily. Charred cloth works well, but if you don't have any you can use dried grass or tree bark." She made a small pile of some of the blackened material heaped next to the wood. "Strike the flint" Eowyn held a small stone in her left hand "with the steel," she held up another rock-like lump "and try to aim some of the sparks at the tinder." A shower of sparks shot towards the cloth. "Here, you try!"
Arwen knelt next to Eowyn and took the flint and steel from her. Awkwardly, she knocked the two stones together. A few sparks halfheartedly jumped from the strikers. Arwen glared at the lumps in her hands and hit the flint harder with the steel. Sparks flew, and she dropped the firestarters in surprise. "Oh, my!" She looked up to find Eowyn convulsed with laughter.
Arwen glared. She was trying, darn it, and being laughed at! How dare she! Picking up the flint and steel, she struck them determinedly and managed to land a few sparks on the charred cloth. Arwen watched triumphantly as the tinder began to glow with heat.
"There! You see? I got it!! Now what?"
Still giggling, Eowyn stammered "Add a few twigs or pine needles, anything that will burn a little hotter." Arwen dropped some dried grass onto the tinder. "Careful! Not too much at first, or you'll smother it!"
Arwen kept adding more bits of matter and the tiny flame began to grow. Soon she was placing sticks on it, and finally a small log. Delighted, she sat back Glancing at Eowyn, she saw that the Shieldmaiden was still filled with barely-concealed mirth.
"I'm sorry," Eowyn apologized with a laugh "It's just that you looked so intent, like the task was completely foreign to you. Which I guess it was. . . "she looked at the sky "It took you a good hour to manage it!"
Arwen eased the kinks out of her shoulders and raised herself from her awkward position. "Goodness—I had no idea it had been that long!" Regrettfully, she added "I'm sorry, Eowyn, but I won't have time to work on your dress tonight. Aragorn and I have some sort of state function to attend. But if you could bring it to my rooms tomorrow . . .?" She waited expectantly for Eowyn's answer. What if she didn't want to come? What if she hadn't felt today was worthwhile? What if she didn't like her?
"I quite understand, Arwen. Of course I'll bring the dress tomorrow, I only hope I'm not putting you to any trouble." Eowyn knit her brow. "I'm not, am I?"
"Not at all!" She was quickly reassured. "I quite enjoyed our lessons today. I can hardly wait to get cracking tomorrow! Tell me—do you sew?" Eowyn avoided Arwen's eyes.
"Well... no, not really. I mean, I can stitch leather armor, but my dresses are all much more delicate than anything I've ever handled before." Arwen's smile widened into a full grin.
"Don't be late, then! We have our work cut out for us—again!" She turned and walked towards the palace. A thought occurred to her. "Wait, what about the fire? We can't just leave it burning!"
Eowyn produced a bucket of water. "I'll take care of it. You'd better go get ready!"
*~*~*~*~*~*
"1, 2, 3, 4 and 1, 2, 3, 4. . . good! You're quite graceful, Eowyn, but the dance would look more natural if you'd unclench your jaw and relax your forehead. You're doing fine!" The late afternoon sun beamed down on a strange sight: the Queen of Gondor dancing, without music, with Eowyn of Rohan. Behind the high, ivied walls of Arwen's private garden (very Elvish- looking), the two had been practicing since lunch. Eowyn was showing great aptitude for the physicality of the movements, but not for the mentality of the ancient Gondorian Dance of Love.
Arwen led Eowyn to a stone bench under a sprawling oak tree. How could she explain to the shieldmaiden the importance of attitude when dancing?
"The Dance of Love is a tradition for Gondorian couples dating back. . . oh, goodness. . . at least a thousand years. The steps are designed to convey the depth of devotion between the participants. Elessar and I performed it at our wedding, but most couples do it at their engagement feast. If you merely go through the motions, Eowyn, it will be evident to the bystanders that you do not truly love Faramir."
Eowyn started to protest. Arwen cut her off.
"Regardless of the fact that you do love him, that is what they will think. Learning the steps is not nearly so important as putting your heart and soul into every movement. Now, let's look at your dress."
Eowyn glanced skeptically at Arwen, but if she had any doubts about the Queen's sincerity she kept them to herself. Arwen helped her open the large, flat box she had brought with her to the garden. As Eowyn pulled her gown from its wrappings, Arwen gasped in delight.
"Oh! How beautiful! It's almost Elvish-looking" she said wistfully, "Did it come from Dol Amroth?" Arwen fingered the delicate embroidery as Eowyn answered.
"Yes—how did you know? It was a gift from one of Faramir's cousins there. Lothiriel, I think is her name. Her letter said she'd found it in storage. It belonged to Faramir's mother, apparently, and she thought I might like to have it."
Arwen studied the gown. White silk with embroidered white floweres formed a flowing under-skirt and bodice with a draped neckline. At the shoulders fastened a gold over-robe that belted to form something between a cloak and a train.
"How miraculous. It suits your coloring perfectly. You said it was a little too short?"
Eowyn blushed. "And too large in the bust. Can you help me alter it?"
"Of course! Let's take it back to my sitting room and start right away! We can't have you anything less than resplendent for the banquet." Arwen stood to go back inside. She was stopped by Eowyn's hand on her arm.
"Wait—I haven't held up my end of the bargain yet!" A decidedly wicked gleam came into her eyes. "Leave the dress here for a minute and come with me." Eowyn walked to the far corner of the garden. As she approached, Arwen saw that a small pile of wood was sitting there.
Eowyn knelt on the stone walkway. She took two stones from the small pouch at her waist. "Now, to start a fire, you need some sort of material that will catch fire very easily. Charred cloth works well, but if you don't have any you can use dried grass or tree bark." She made a small pile of some of the blackened material heaped next to the wood. "Strike the flint" Eowyn held a small stone in her left hand "with the steel," she held up another rock-like lump "and try to aim some of the sparks at the tinder." A shower of sparks shot towards the cloth. "Here, you try!"
Arwen knelt next to Eowyn and took the flint and steel from her. Awkwardly, she knocked the two stones together. A few sparks halfheartedly jumped from the strikers. Arwen glared at the lumps in her hands and hit the flint harder with the steel. Sparks flew, and she dropped the firestarters in surprise. "Oh, my!" She looked up to find Eowyn convulsed with laughter.
Arwen glared. She was trying, darn it, and being laughed at! How dare she! Picking up the flint and steel, she struck them determinedly and managed to land a few sparks on the charred cloth. Arwen watched triumphantly as the tinder began to glow with heat.
"There! You see? I got it!! Now what?"
Still giggling, Eowyn stammered "Add a few twigs or pine needles, anything that will burn a little hotter." Arwen dropped some dried grass onto the tinder. "Careful! Not too much at first, or you'll smother it!"
Arwen kept adding more bits of matter and the tiny flame began to grow. Soon she was placing sticks on it, and finally a small log. Delighted, she sat back Glancing at Eowyn, she saw that the Shieldmaiden was still filled with barely-concealed mirth.
"I'm sorry," Eowyn apologized with a laugh "It's just that you looked so intent, like the task was completely foreign to you. Which I guess it was. . . "she looked at the sky "It took you a good hour to manage it!"
Arwen eased the kinks out of her shoulders and raised herself from her awkward position. "Goodness—I had no idea it had been that long!" Regrettfully, she added "I'm sorry, Eowyn, but I won't have time to work on your dress tonight. Aragorn and I have some sort of state function to attend. But if you could bring it to my rooms tomorrow . . .?" She waited expectantly for Eowyn's answer. What if she didn't want to come? What if she hadn't felt today was worthwhile? What if she didn't like her?
"I quite understand, Arwen. Of course I'll bring the dress tomorrow, I only hope I'm not putting you to any trouble." Eowyn knit her brow. "I'm not, am I?"
"Not at all!" She was quickly reassured. "I quite enjoyed our lessons today. I can hardly wait to get cracking tomorrow! Tell me—do you sew?" Eowyn avoided Arwen's eyes.
"Well... no, not really. I mean, I can stitch leather armor, but my dresses are all much more delicate than anything I've ever handled before." Arwen's smile widened into a full grin.
"Don't be late, then! We have our work cut out for us—again!" She turned and walked towards the palace. A thought occurred to her. "Wait, what about the fire? We can't just leave it burning!"
Eowyn produced a bucket of water. "I'll take care of it. You'd better go get ready!"