"…and so, I propose that we contract the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain to redesign and rebuild the House of Stewards after my late father's, er, unfortunate actions taken there. Gimli the Dwarf has agreed to be our emissary, and has told me that Dain Ironfoot will most probably welcome the chance to work here--" Faramir was trying to say among the angry muttering.
"Of course they will!" exploded the master of the Builder's Guild. "Bloody Dwarves have wanted an inroad into our economy for decades now! Them with their bloody low wages and state-sponsored labour market! We can't bloody well compete with those bloody communists when they cheat like that! Bloody hell!"
Faramir made some vague, soothing motions with his hands. "I assure you, Master Builder, that the builders of Minas Tirith shall have ample work to do, indeed more than they can handle by themselves. The Rammas, for example, must be repaired as soon as possible."
"Oh yes, give us all the hard, manual labour while the bloody Dwarves get all the lucrative, namby-pamby, artsy projects!"
"Speaking of 'artsy' projects," a representative from the Artisan's Guild cut in smoothly, "I also must object to your giving the gate project to the Dwarves, who are, no doubt, excellent smiths but with a completely different paradigm from our own."
"Those bloody paradigms…!"
Aragorn could feel his eyelids beginning to sink down slowly, the sweet spell of slumber beginning to cast its cloak over him. Why on Middle Earth was he even heading this council? Faramir was obviously capable of handling all of these petty matters by himself, and Aragorn's skills could be better used elsewhere. The king began to wistfully dream of those fine days of the war, when he had donned mighty battle armour and wielded Anduril like a glittering star for all to behold. Those were the days!
Tuning out the droning voices around him, he decided that, after the council, he would give to Faramir as many administrative duties as humanly possible. Arwen had always stressed the importance of delegating, had she not? And though she had assured him he was forgiven for dallying with Eowyn, 'twould be prudent to follow his wife's dictates until their relationship was fully restored…
"…and in this figure, you will see that our agricultural economy slowed by 16% last quarter, taking wartime rationing into account…and so in this time of great need we must respectfully request a subsidy from his most generous Highness."
His Highness became suddenly aware of a host of admittedly unfamiliar faces peering expectantly at him.
"Say what?" said Aragorn smartly.
"Money. We want money."
"And you shall have it," declared Faramir, coming to his king's rescue, "for the welfare of the people is always at the forefront of the minds of the royal houses of Minas Tirith, and we hold the Farmer's Guild in the highest regard…
Aragorn ignored this and fell back into his musings.
The council disbanded after what seemed an eternity, and the king sighed in relief. After all of the councilors had filed out of the room (glaring shiftily at each other), he approached Faramir a bit nervously. Relations between the two of them had been rather…uncomfortable since that night in the West Tower.
The steward spoke before Aragorn could open his mouth.
"I am transferring to Ithilien," said Faramir shortly, "by request of the queen. By tomorrow." And he swept out of the room, leaving his king in a dejected stupor.
Arwen held up an envelope enticingly and said, "A free ticket to Aman, and all you must give me in return is your promise to leave with the rest of your friends. By tomorrow."
Frodo gazed suspiciously at the envelope in her hands. Arwen was not surprised at his hesitation; no doubt stories were already circulating around the castle regarding certain mysterious messages and all that screaming the other night.
"It's a rather lopsided deal, don't you think?" he said finally.
"Certainly, but I feel the need to be generous to the ringbearer."
"No, I mean it's weighted in your favour."
Arwen only barely controlled her temper. Insolent little beast! Did he not know how difficult it was to procure one of these tickets?
"This is a rare opportunity, Master Hobbit, I assure you," she forced out.
"Yes, but so is staying at Minas Tirith with all my friends," the infuriating creature responded placidly. "I think I shall need a greater incentive to leave this most excellent city. You've provided such wonderful hospitality, after all."
Arwen's eyes flashed in a way that would have made Aragorn quiver like a worm. Frodo, however, stared back at her defiantly. He had had to deal with Gandalf for the longest time, after all, not to mention the occasional undead rider and flaming eyeball of doom.
"I would have you give me…three more tickets. For my friends," said Frodo.
"I refuse to allow your cousins access to the Undying Lands," she stated adamantly, thinking about the time she had caught Merry and Pippin using the palantiri as bowling balls.
"Then just one ticket, for Sam."
"Fine," she snapped in frustration, realizing that she had met a will to match her own, "but it will take many of your years before I can give it to you. There is much in the way of red tape that will impede me in procuring it."
The hobbit waved a hand negligently in an almost Elvish gesture. "Perfectly all right. Now, another ticket almost settles the score--"
"Almost!"
"Yes, almost," said Frodo calmly. "I want that pretty necklace you're wearing as well."
The queen would have done something terrible had she not been so startled. "Why do you wish for a necklace?" she asked in puzzlement.
"None of your business."
She agreed that it was not.
"It is a deal."
After Arwen had procured Frodo's repeated assurances that the Fellowship would leave on the morrow, she stalked back to her room and threw open its doors. And found her opened wardrobe staring back at her, its contents cut into very small pieces.
She drew near to it and noticed that the pieces were shaped into the likenesses of horses mounted by slim riders.
"The horse wench," she muttered darkly. Revenge would have to wait, however; it was more important that the snake be banished to Ithilien so that Aragorn could be freed of her poison. While the thought of letting this new offense go unpunished was vexing, Arwen brightened considerably once she realized she now had an excuse to purchase all those new fashions she had been eyeing.
The next day…
"That is a most fetching dress, milady," remarked Faramir appreciatively.
"Thank you," Eowyn answered modestly, "I just acquired it yesterday, and am quite pleased with it myself.
"Strange, it looks rather familiar," piped Pippin, but everyone ignored him in favour of watching Gandalf cheat at the pipeweed blowing contest he was having with the hobbits.
"So let me get this straight," Merry said to the wizard. "Maiar are sort of like minor gods, and five of you were sent here to battle Sauron, who is also a Maia?"
"Yes. Olorin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten--"
"If it was five to one why didn't you just kill Sauron until he was dead? You could have saved Mr. Frodo a lot of trouble!" said Sam.
Gandalf gave the gardener a bushy-eyed glare and replied testily, "I will tell you why, Mr. Gamgee. The blue wizards got lost, Radagast got lazy, Saruman got evil, and all the work was left to me. Which is why I am now going on a vacation." He exhaled loudly, producing twelve concentric smoke rings.
Legolas and Gimli were somewhat apart from the others, since Legolas could abide neither pipeweed nor blatant cheating, and Gimli was trying to avoid both Eowyn and Faramir in case they happened to remember the embarrassing events of a few nights previous.
"Do you find it strange that Frodo was so insistent that we journey with him?" Legolas asked. "Though I for one mind not, for both Aragorn and Arwen have been acting in a most disconcerting manner of late. Do you know why Aragorn keeps asking me why I stayed awake on the plains of Rohan while you two slumbered?"
"I know not, but I am also ready to leave Minas Tirith," answered Gimli, glancing guiltily at the steward and his wife. "Though I shall return in due time, provided I win those contracts for stone and ironwork," he added.
"And I have spoken with Faramir about a contract for landscaping in Ithilien, but he says he must convince the Business Council first…they seem to think I intend to overrun Ithilien with Elves!" laughed Legolas lightly.*
"That is as likely as I crowning myself Lord of the Glittering Caves!" chortled Gimli.
At that moment, the king and queen entered, Arwen resplendent in a new-looking gown that was very much a la mode. She gave Eowyn a hard look but said nothing.
Aragorn went into full speech mode. "Friends! It saddens my heart to see you leave this city, yet I look forward to our many fine days on the road together--"
"Excuse me?" Arwen broke in. "You cannot leave, husband, for who would maintain rule over the city with both you and Faramir gone?"
"Then perhaps Faramir should stay and I should accompany the hobbits home? The Wild is still the Wild, after all," said Aragorn hopefully.
Arwen laughed, dismissing him. "I think not, husband." Then she turned from him and finished up his farewell speech, giving all the appropriate kudos and avoiding all the grievous blunders he no doubt would have made. All the guests nodded and smiled in approval; no one dared do otherwise.
There followed a round of farewells, a lot of people wishing Aragorn "good luck, you shall have need of it," a lot of hobbits underfoot asking about the three-day feast they had been promised, and before anyone knew what was happening Arwen was shooing them out the door and onto the road with remarkable efficiency.
"Goodbye, Strider, Queen Arwen!" the hobbits were yelling. "We shall miss you!"
"And you shall miss us, Your Highnesses," murmured Eowyn from under her lashes. Faramir gave her an odd look.
Legolas and Gimli, with sympathetic looks for Aragorn and ignoring the queen's pointed glares, promised to return soon.
Amid the confused hullabaloo, Gandalf drew close to Aragorn and said, "Look for me in one year's time. I shall be with others you wish to see." The wizard nodded mysteriously and would say no more.
"Farewell, and journey safely," Aragorn called out finally, mustering his most forlorn look and turning it on Arwen, who still said "No" very firmly.
As the retreating backs of his friends disappeared over a knoll, Aragorn waved his hand limply. They were gone.
Arwen took his arm and steered him through the city streets on their way back to the White Tower, saying something about how nice and peaceful it seemed now. Aragorn, lost in his thoughts, gave only the barest responses until she stopped suddenly, her body stiffening in a most alarming fashion.
The queen was staring at a small boy who sat alone by the road, a not unfamiliar sight in the days following the war. But what was odd about this child was that he was holding a thin, brightly illustrated book.
Arwen stalked over, plucked the item out of his hand, and read its cover. The child nearly protested until he realized who she was.
"Do you know what this says?" she asked, her voice soft and dreadful.
"N-no," stuttered the boy. "I cannot read, ma'am. It was given to me by a beautiful lady, dressed in white and smelling of hay…and all my friends, they got one too…"
Leaning over his wife's shoulder, Aragorn read the title: How the Heroic Maiden of Rohan Slew the Hideous Bitch-Queen of Arnor in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Underneath it was a picture of a lovely, flaxen-haired maiden standing triumphantly over a misshapen, yet entirely recognizable feminine figure clothed in black and wearing a truly unfashionable iron crown. A sword protruded out of its midsection.
"She will pay," Arwen hissed. "She will pay, she will pay, she will pay…"
Aragorn dropped her arm and ran all the way home.
* "…they seem to think I intend to overrun Ithilien with Elves!"
…and, of course, Legolas eventually does bring a whole flock of Elves who entrench themselves in Ithilien. Likewise, Gimli and his folk manage to worm their way into the Glittering Caves. Says so in the appendix of LotR.
Author's Notes:
"Red dwarves will give us red beer and red beef" (Did they have Communism in Moria?)
-quoted from theonering.net, who got it off the imladris.net discussion board
That is but a sample of the hilarity of bad translating you can find at http://fan.theonering.net/~henneth-annun/stories/aksman355.htm--go there now! And yes, it's from a Russian translation. Seems I'm not the only one who thinks the dwarves might have had leftist leanings. But I'm afraid I wasn't thinking in so much detail that I analyzed the stonework of Moria, Altariel...though that subject would make an excellent essay topic for someone who knows the art of BS and hasn't actually read Tolkien. Truth be told, I know diddly squat about communism. Up here in Canada, we just talk about Louis Riel until something called "World Events" pies us in the face in university.
Everyone gets the Witch-Queen of Angmar--I mean, Bitch-Queen of Arnor--joke, right? Should there be a dead, black, winged serpent on Eowyn's book cover?
I've pretty much dropped the pseudo-Tolkien writing style. Basically, it was too hard to keep up, and the plot doesn't really match it anymore. No one minds, I hope?
Next chapter might deal with Arwen's pregnancy, but then it might not. I'm pretty much going wherever the story takes me; I've never been much of a planner. But rest assured there will be more chapters, for those who've expressed worry that it's over. I do hope to finish up the story as it's laid out in the appendix, though how I'll do that in a humorous manner I have no idea.
All the appropriate kudos to reviewers, and hopefully you don't mind all the grievous blunders I have no doubt made!
p.s. Thank you, Furius and Altariel, for answering my question about Jane and Lizzie Bennet!