"Arwen, it seems that there there is some sort of civil war going on in Harad."
"Hmm, that is nice. Miriel, stop pulling your sister's hair!"
"But, but, she made a funny face at me, mother!"
"Dearest, she is an infant, her face is supposed to look like that."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, you once looked like that, child."
"Arwen, it seems that there is some sort of civil war going on in Harad."
"Hmm, really. Have you noticed that Anariel emits an unseemly amount of saliva? I do not recall that Miriel dribbled this much, although she did wet the bed until she was five..."
"Mother!"
"Arwen, it seems that there is some sort of civil war going on in Harad."
The queen of Gondor turned from the bassinet that held her newborn daughter, gave Aragorn an appraising look, then turned and resumed her motherly fussing as if she had heard nothing.
"Miriel, do you not think your sister is the most lovely and wonderful child in the world?"
"No, I think she is ugly and odi..odifer...smelly."
"Miriel, do you not think your sister deserves to have affection heaped upon her by her mother and father every moment of her life, and if her father abandons her so that he can fight in some silly foreign war then he is a horrible parent?"
"No, I think pappy should heap affection on me," said Miriel, who ran to her father and hugged his knees. "Can we play Orcs and Rangers today, pappy? I want to try out the new things I got from Bergil." She pulled a small quiver of arrows off her back and presented it proudly to her father.
"Not today, Miriel, I have to...are those real arrows?" exclaimed Aragorn.
"Real arrows!" said Arwen sharply. Before Miriel knew what was happening her mother had used Elven speed to confiscate the quiver, pull out an arrow, inspect it, and bestow upon Miriel a look of utter fury.
"Miriel! What DO you think you are playing at, young lady!"
"Orcs and Rangers, of course," Miriel answered proudly.
"With REAL arrows! Firstly, that game is not fit for a princess--"
"Like I have never heard that one before..."
"MIRIEL! How DARE you speak to me in that tone! Why, when I was your age I respected my elders! I was--"
"Ten times worse, actually," Aragorn interrupted. "Miriel, would you mind delaying this conversation until later? I need to speak with your mother alone."
"But I do not want you to get yelled at, pappy."
"She will not yell at me."
"Yes, she will. She will be all like, 'Estel, you worthless husband! How DARE you speak to me in that tone!'"
Aragorn looked at his wife, whose face had turned slightly pink. Miriel's imitation was really quite uncanny. Perhaps he should not have given her those bird-call lessons after all.
"I really think you should go now, daughter," said Aragorn delicately.
Miriel must have sensed her mother's impending explosion of wrath as well since she immediately fled the room, mumbling something about going to her room to do her homework like a good little girl.
"She is in so much trouble," said Arwen loudly. "And you, Estel, are in even more trouble. How DARE you undermine my authority like that! Miriel hardly listens to me, now that you have spoiled her so much that she--"
"Arwen," he interrupted her a second time that day, "it seems that there is some sort of civil war going on in Harad."
"I know, I am not deaf."
"I...would like to leave for Harad immediately."
"I think not. Am I to raise Anariel on my own?"
"Faramir advises that I join him at the muster of Ithilien."
"You are the king, not Faramir, and you do not have to follow his every suggestion. Besides, I suspect that this is one of the Horse Wench's plots."
"...How so?"
"She is luring you to Ithilien in order to seduce you--"
"Arwen," he interrupted again, "this is real. If I do not go to Harad, the factions that supported Sauron shall gain control once more. And when we consider Harad's powerful influence over its neighbours...we must end this before it erupts into something larger."
"I know the political situation," sighed Arwen. "And what sort of name is 'Pro-Sauronites' anyway?"
"A stupid one. So I can go?"
"Why are you asking me permission?" She threw up her hands, exasperated. "You are the king, are you not?"
"Well, yes, but you remember the time I ordered a new table for the council and you told me to never make any sort of decision again without consulting you?"
"That was different. You have no sense of interior design."
"True. What would I do without you, beloved?"
"Probably order terrifcally bad tables. But you will not have to order any tables in Harad, I take it?"
"Most likely, no."
"Then you will be fine without me."
"I will. And you will most certainly be fine without me."
Arwen smiled faintly at the thought that she might be emotionally or politically dependent on her husband.
"This will give me a chance to instill some discipline in our eldest daughter without you around to countermand my every order."
Aragorn gazed at her nervously, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. He hoped his wife and daughter would not kill each other in his absence.
"It will be hard to explain your departure to Miriel," mused Arwen. "She shall miss you dearly."
"Oh, I believe she will understand," Aragorn answered.
"YOU ARE GOING TO WAR?!"
"I am sorry, dear, pappy has to quell the nasty barbarian civil war."
"WITHOUT ME?!"
"Yes, dear."
"BUT I WANT TO GO FIGHT THE NASTY BARBARIANS TOOOOO!"
"I am sorry, dear."
"WAAAHHH!!!
"Miriel, please let go of my leg..."
"So, how did Arwen and Miriel take the news of your leavetaking?" inquired Faramir.
"Quite excellently, once Miriel stopped trying to relieve poor Bergil of his clothing in order to disguise herself and secretly ride with our company. Considering that she is little over a metre tall it was rather easy to spot her amongst my riders. I think all of your wife's tales of 'Dernhelm' may have influenced her behaviour," Aragorn replied.
"No more than your wife's tale of saving Frodo from the Nazgul at Imladris."
Aragorn's passage to Ithilien was uneventful, even pleasant. He had missed being on the road, treading through the wilds of Middle Earth, sharing his meals with loyal companions, killing the random hapless orc here and there. He was actually looking forward to this war, come to think of it, though he would miss his family. He surveyed the scurrying soldiers in their bright mail, the shrill whinnying of horses, and the restless clinking of weaponry around him and felt a manly sort of satisfaction creep into him.
Faramir was also looking about appraisingly, and he said with a note of dissatisfaction, "There are too few here, too few. If only my men in South Ithilien would answer my summons...we shall have to try to gather them when we pass through there."
"Why do they go to South Ithilien?" asked Aragorn in surprise.
"Legolas has set up a casino."
"Ah. I always knew he was a card shark."
"And now my men cower in those dank halls of sin and villainry, refusing to obey my orders! Can you imagine that?"
"No, not really. I was under the impression that Elven abodes are airy and well-lit."
"These ones are underground. And I mean that literally and figuratively."
"I've been meaning to ask you," said Aragorn suddenly, "why did you give South Ithilien to Legolas anyway? Not that I dispute your decision, as Ithilien is yours to do with as you will. But I thought it strange."
Faramir looked at a point somewhere over the king's shoulder, his face slightly red.
"You have not heard, then," he said tightly, "of how those damnable Elves just showed up one day with their lawyers and documents written in fancy Elvish script and incomprehensible legal terms? Before I knew what was happening I had a whole nation of new next-door neighbors!"
"How could they do this?" asked Aragorn, shocked.
"According to ancient Elven law, a population need only inhabit a land for a year and create one thousand poems or songs about said land in order to claim it as their demesne. I believe the Noldor passed this law in the First Age, back when they had no lands in Middle Earth and needed to claim some of their own. So Legolas and his kin secretly stole into Southern Ithilien, and by poetry and song have taken it as their own."
"But at least the Elves of Ithilien have produced valuable cultural artifacts..." began Aragorn weakly, until Faramir cut him off.
"Ha! Valuable cultural artifacts indeed! Would you care to hear one of their songs?"
Having experienced Faramir's terrible taste in poetry in the past, Aragorn shook his head vigorously; but alas it was too late, and the Steward began to sing:
Here are trees,
I like them.
Ithilien has trees,
so I like Ithilien!
Aragorn managed not to wince. He appeared to muse for a moment and then murmured, "That does not even rhyme..."
"Those pointy little Elves, skulking about for a year and composing their so-called poetry! We did not even know they were here until the lawyers came tapping, tapping on my chambre door! Only this and nothing more!" Faramir seethed, not even pretending to listen to the king anymore. Aragorn looked about him, trying to find a way to escape.
"Aragorn! Faramir!" called a familiar voice.
"Ah, Eomer!" hailed Aragorn thankfully, turning to meet the king of Rohan who was, as usual, perched atop a very tall horse. Not that Aragorn was annoyed or anything, but he was generally used to being the tallest man in any company. "It has been too long, my friend, since we have ridden together! How fares the Mark?"
"As well as always, although our economy has taken a downturn...there is only so much you can do with horses, I'm afraid. Er, how are you, Faramir? You look somewhat...ruffled. You are treating my sister well, I trust?"
"Of course," replied Faramir, no longer showing his fury but still sounding miffed, "although it is rather difficult when she has dressed herself as a knight and tried to join the riders in our company fifteen times and counting. Fortunately, she is very easy to spot amongst the menfolk."
"I imagine so...how many months has she been with child?" inquired Eomer.
"Eight."
"Eight months?" said Aragorn in astonishment. "And yet she wishes to wield a blade and ride into battle?"
In reply, Eomer muttered a few words in Rohirric. Aragorn, who knew the language well, thought he heard something like "...children being born in the saddle where I come from."
Faramir cleared his throat and said, "I had better go to Eowyn now...just to make sure she is not getting into trouble again." He bowed rather abruptly to the two kings, and strode quickly toward an assembly of cavalry. Aragorn was glad to be rid of his company - the steward's current mood would eventually lead to the recitation of more bad poetry.
Aragorn then turned his full attention to the king of Rohan, smiling wryly and saying, "Your sister is a valiant woman."
"Yes, and if you touch her I will skewer you in many painful ways and places."
"Right."
"I was rather relieved, actually," said Eomer, "that she finally moved out. For when women enter their thirties they start to become unmarriable. And the women of my country have gotten strange ideas into their pretty little heads ever since that book about my sister's exploits was published. What was it called? How the Heroic Maiden of Rohan Slew the Hideous Bitch-Queen of Arnor in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, I believe? Not that most Rohirric women can read it, but word gets around. They are calling her Joan of Mark now, you know."
"Joan? Why Joan?" asked Aragorn, confused.
Eomer leaned down from his horse slightly and tried to whisper at Aragorn, although he was still so high up that he had to perform the equivalent of a stage-whisper.
"Joan means 'butch' in Rohirric," shout-whispered Eomer in a secretive manner.
Aragorn suddenly felt enlighted.
After that revelation the two kings walked in companionable silence for a while...until Aragorn suddenly remembered something interesting Eomer had said.
"Eowyn is over thirty years of age?"
"Oops. Please don't tell her I told you that."
"But of course! Besides, it is not so bad for a woman to be over thirty...my wife is at least three thousand years old."
"Three thousand!"
"Oops. Please don't tell her I told you that."
"But of course!"
"That is a relief," said Aragorn. "Indeed, I am comforted by your company, Eomer of Rohan! It is good to be among warriors once again after these years of married life. Speaking of which, when are you going to find a wife for yourself?"
Eomer's horse stumbled a little at this unexpected turn in the conversation. "Why do you ask that?" he demanded.
"Oh, no reason. It's just that if Eowyn is in her thirties then you must be getting on in years as well, and you have no heir..."
The king of Rohan sighed a little, then said, "Actually, I am looking outside of Rohan for a wife...it seems I have 'exhausted' all of the choices of women at Edoras. If you know what I mean." He winked suggestively.
"Right, all the women at Edoras," said Aragorn. "Come off that high horse, Your Highness."
"Why? I rather like the view up here."
Aragorn groaned. It was going to be a long trip.
"Nevermind, Eomer. So you are considering marrying a woman who is not of Rohan?"
"Yes," he said, looking thoughtful. "Actually, I wanted to ask if you could help me court that lovely, flaxen-haired Elf friend of yours."
"Er..." Aragorn racked his brain for all the blond Elf-maidens whom Eomer had met or seen. He could only think of one.
"Galadriel? I'm afraid she has departed Middle Earth already. And she is married, besides."
Eomer shook his head. "Not her. That friend of yours who was always hanging about Gimli the dwarf. Very good archer, tall, always wearing green, highly flexible?"
Suddenly, Aragorn experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Do you mean Legolas?"
"Yes! That's the one!"
The sinking feeling grew worse.
"Um, when you say you are looking for a queen, do you mean a drag queen?"
"A what?"
"Eomer, you know that Legolas is a man, do you not?"
"Ha ha, a good jest, Your Highness. As if a man could have such nice legs."
"I do not jest."
The king of Rohan blinked, looked carefully at Aragorn's serious face, and became very pale.
"I think I am going to be sick."
Aragorn reached up and tried to pat Eomer on the back.
"There, there...at least you did not make a move yet."
"But I did," said Eomer, his face still as white as a wraith. "Gimli offered to send flowers to her...him in my name."
"I suspect Gimli has much to do with this mess," said Aragorn grimly. "Well, there shall be quite an uproar when we come to South Ithilien."
"Do we have to go there?" moaned Eomer.
"Yes, it is necessary to gather the troops who are, er, stationed there. Chin up, son of Rohan! It cannot be all that bad."
The king of Rohan
Our prince in Ithilien
What lay between them
Do you need me to fill it in?
The king sent some flowers
His words oh-so-pretty
The prince's response
Was really quite shi--
"Shut up! Shut up! I can't take this anymore!" screamed Eomer.
"Nor can I," said Aragorn, thinking that even Faramir's bad poetry was better than this travesty of Elvish song. He had never heard such bad lyrics, even during his childhood in Rivendell where lines like tra-la-la-lally/Come down to the valley were considered acceptable and not at all suggestive.
"I don't know, I kind of like it," Faramir stated mildly, to which Eomer muttered, "You would." At first glance, South Ithilien looked the same as always. But as they approached the dwelling of the Elves they began to hear voices gaily singing, some in Westron and some not, in such a way that Eomer alternately became embarrassed and enraged. They also heard a lot of strange pinging and humming that was, Faramir informed them, coming from the casino.
"Welcome, my lords," giggled an Elf who looked as if he had had a few too many bowls of wine, "welcome to paradise on Midle Earth, to South Ithilien! Would you like to see our fabled Halls of Fortune--"
"Halls of sin and villainry," whispered Faramir bitterly.
"Or," continued the Elf blithely, turning his amused gaze on Eomer, "would you like to see our prince? He would be most pleased to meet with all of you, and one of you in particular."
"No, he wouldn't!" someone yelled.
"That is Legolas' voice. Thank you, you may go now," said Aragorn to the Elf, who bowed and reluctantly departed.
"What a nosy fellow!" sniffed Faramir. "But then, he is an Elf."
"I thought you liked Elves," Aragorn said distractedly, looking around for Legolas.
"I did, before they annexed half of my land and lured half of my men into this festering cesspool of decadency."
"That is nice. Ah, there he is!"
Legolas looked harried; his hair was actually beginning to become slightly frizzy.
"You!" he shouted, not bothing with pleasantries. He pointed at Eomer, who began to twitch visibly but otherwise held his composure admirably. "Look, I don't know where you get your ideas, but I am a man! A MAN! Not at woman! Do you know what this has done to my reputation? My people no longer respect me as their leader!"
"Not that they ever did," Faramir murmured.
"It was an honest mistake--" began Eomer haltingly, but Aragorn cut him off.
"It was Gimli, I believe, who fostered in Eomer this false notion about you, Legolas. It is with him that you should have your quarrel."
"You have to admit that it was a good joke, though," quipped Faramir.
Legolas glared at the steward, who grinned smugly in reply.
"Enough of this," said Aragorn sharply, "for there is war afoot, gentlemen. Legolas, will your Elves march with us against the Haradrim?"
"They will not," he answered haughtily. "There is a reason the Last Alliance of Elves and Men was called the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. It is now against Elvish law for us to aid you."
"I hate Elvish law," Faramir stated blandly.
"That is a silly reason to stay your hand," said Aragorn to Legolas.
"Nonetheless, I must obey our laws."
"Oh, to Mordor with all of this bandying about!" cried Eomer. "I tire of dealing with intrigue and pregnant sisters and Elves who look like women but are actually men! Let us simply go!"
And with that, the king of Rohan spun about and marched off somewhere else, presumably to ready for war.
"I agree," pronounced Faramir. "We waste our time here while the political tides of Harad shift beneath our feet. I shall go now and collect those of my men who have fallen to the temptations of gambling. I shall rouse their warrior spirits if I have to flog it out of them! Good day to you, my lords!" And he too turned and left, leaving only Aragorn and Legolas behind.
"Well, that was rather rude of them. Now, what was this business about Gimli?" inquired Legolas in a tone that suggested that the Dwarf had very little time left to live.
"I was told," Aragorn replied, "that Gimli offered to send those flowers in Eomer's name, and that Eomer accepted."
"I see. Then I shall have to kill the Dwarf."
"Surely Gimli would not pull such a harmful prank unless he were provoked," said Aragorn archly.
"Oh, he must still be angry that he lost our bet. You see, I wagered that I would acquire South Ithilien before he acquired the Glittering Caves...and of course I won. Dwarven property laws are extremely complicated and rather communistic."
"So what did you win from him?"
"The Arkenstone of Thrain. How do you think I set up my casino?"
"...No wonder he is so angry with you. Anyway, I must take my leave now. We ride to war on the hour. Are you certain that the Elves will not go with us?" asked Aragorn one last time.
"Completely certain," answered Legolas. "My father would punish me severely if I did that; most of these Elves are only on loan to me."
"We will have no more aid then," sighed Aragorn, "but at least I know this border will be well-protected should the Southrons attack. Fare thee well, son of Thranduil!"
"Fare thee well, son of Arathorn! Have no fear of the outcome of this war - the Haradrim are a silly people anyway."
"That is true," said Aragorn. "I am sure there is nothing to worry about."
Somewhere, Arwen winced.
Author's Notes:
Before anyone writes in to correct me, I know Eomer is supposed to be married at this point in time. But I like him more as a bucking bachelor than a gelded groom, hur hur hur. I probably will marry him off soon, though.
The name of Aragorn and Arwen's second daughter, Anariel, was suggested by Avelera. Muchos gracias, Avelera!
I meant to include the actual war with Harad in this chapter, but decided that an update was due and the chapter was long enough already. Man, I am getting more and more verbose as I write this story. The whole war in Harad thing, by the way, is mostly inspired (some might say ripped off) from Dwimordene's excellent fic Dynasty. You can find it at www.henneth-annun.net.
So, have you seen that Twin Towers movie yet or whatever it's called?"
Yep. Seen it twice now. I liked it for the most part, especially the second time I saw it, but I have some major issues with some of the changes PJ and co. implemented. My opinions are spoilerish, so if you haven't seen it yet then for goodness sakes read no further. But if you've seen the movie and you're in the mood for annoying fannish ranting, then scroll down.
SPOILERS BELOW!
You've probably already heard this same opinion from dozens of others, but the only thing that really bothered me about the movie was the bit with Faramir. Now, I don't mind them changing the ending of The Two Towers from what it was in the book; at least this way they can use Shelob to spice up the third movie. And let's face it, Frodo and Sam's storyline in Return of the King could use some spicing up. Moreover, I can even accept the change in Faramir's character for "filmic reasons" (quoting screenwriting Philippa Boyens), even though he's one of my favorite characters in the book. But what I can't accept about the movie is that Faramir's character and plotline don't make logical sense. Here are the three main parts that don't sit well with me:
1) When Faramir says he plans to take the ring from Frodo, why doesn't he do just that? Why the hell does he let Frodo wander around the battlefield of Osgiliath without any guards?
2) What's up with the battle at Osgiliath? It just kind of fizzles out. Aren't the men of Gondor supposed to be outnumbered? It all seems a bit lame compared to Helm's Deep. And where does the Nazgul go? So his steed gets hit by an arrow - yeah, so? What every happened to relentlessly hunting down the ringbearer?
3) After Frodo almost hands the ring over to the enemy, Faramir decides that Frodo should be trusted to carry the ring into the heart of enemy territory where he's more likely than ever to get caught and hand it over again. Is Faramir stupid or something?
Okay, presumably this event causes Faramir to realize that the ring is too treacherous for anyone to wield, and it would be a bad idea to send it to Minas Tirith. But don't you think it would be more logical for him to think, "Hey, that stupid hobbit nearly gave the ring away! Dammit, I shouldn't have left that artifact of immense power in the hands of a scrawny and apparently spineless creature and set him loose to wander amongst the enemy! I had better take that ring away from him right now!"
The filmwriters, I think, are so caught up in the idea of the ring's power that they expect Faramir and the audience to think the same way. When Faramir sees Frodo giving away the ring, he's supposed to attribute that act to the ring's corruptive influence over its bearer. But why should we expect Faramir to think that? In the movie he isn't the learned, insightful man we meet in the book. He's more like Boromir version 2.0. He'd be more likely to think that Frodo is a mental case and should have that ring taken away from him, pronto. Heck, even book-Faramir would probably take the ring from Frodo after that stunt.
Ironically, I think movie-Faramir's abrupt change of heart would have worked much better in a novel, where we could see into his thoughts and understand him better. In the movie, he just acts like a dumbass.
Okay, I'll shut up now.