Disclaimer: I must emphasize that ABSOLUTELY NOTHING is mine. You'll see why it's stressed in this chapter. You will find extra credits at the bottom of the chapter.
A/N: I hope you don't mind this chapter. It really does nothing at all, except satisfy this strange desire of mine to... well... you'll see. I enjoyed it anyway. Probably my favourite chapter in the whole story.
Huggles to all my reviewers!!
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Chapter Seven: Passing the Time in Song
After his conversation with Eomer, Faramir began to sink back into his old fears. Time passed slowly, and it seemed like forever since the torch had gone out. The air and light made him feel only slightly better, and after the sound of their voices, which had seemed so loud at the time, had stopped, he found the silence more oppressive than ever. He concentrated on his breathing, but it became so hard to even do that. Eventually he couldn't help but make a sound. "It is so quiet," he whispered, but still his voice seemed to echo and magnify off the walls. He wasn't quite sure whether the sound made him feel better or worse.
Eomer began to hum a simple tune, and quietly tapped his boot against the floor. After the simple melody was finished, he turned to face Faramir. "Better?"
He gave a short, uncertain laugh, wondering if Eomer was angry with him. But he did not sound so, and therefore Faramir replied, "Yes, thank you." Simple enough, but he hoped that it smoothed over any problems from their – discussion – from before.
"Perhaps I should honour you with another tune," Eomer said, with a flourish from his shadowy hand.
"I would much prefer the words to the one you just sang," Faramir said, hoping desperately for a long lay, though judging from the tune that would not be the case.
"I'm not quite certain you'd appreciate the lyrics, Faramir," Eomer said with a laugh.
"Please, Eomer, sing," Faramir said, curiosity stopping him from a more witty reply.
"Very well," Eomer said, taking a deep breath. His baritone boomed throughout the cave:
I have been the Wild Rider for many a long year,
And I've spent all my money on sweet mead and beer.
But now I'm resolved to lay it all in store,
And I ne'er shall be called the Wild Rider no more.
Wild Rider, Wild Rider, Wild Rider give o'er!
And I ne'er shall be called the Wild Rider no more!
Faramir was laughing so hard that tears began to stream down his cheeks, and he was pleased to know that Eomer was laughing just as hard. Eventually, he caught enough of his breath back to reply. "On the contrary, Eomer, the lyrics are genius in their... simplicity." Another long round of laughter ensued.
"We Rohirrim are noted for our drinking songs. It is not so much the drink as the music that often livens our revelry." Eomer continued. "Naturally, we have many ballads and lays, but none are quite as amusing."
"Indeed," Faramir said, the last of his laughter dying. "Will you honour me with another one?"
"I will," Eomer replied. "But only on the condition that you sing me a song first. I am interested to hear what the men of Gondor sing of."
"I'm sure you do not wish to hear me sing," Faramir protested. "Most of the songs I know of are not very cheerful at all."
"Well then, I'll just have to settle with a tale of bitterness, despair, and unhappiness. Sing," he commanded, in a mockingly serious tone.
Faramir attempted one last try at a delay. "I really don't sing very well. Besides," he added, "I'm extremely thirsty right now, and singing some tale of woe probably won't do much to help that."
Eomer paused for a moment, seemingly to plan his reply. "Faramir, if I'm not mistaken, did you not sling your flagon of water over your shoulder when we picked up food and drink?"
Faramir suddenly remembered this. "Yes, I did, but I'm sure I dropped it in the collapse. I do have food in my scrip, though," he said, pulling out the bread and cheese.
"I thought I remembered seeing your water on the floor. Let me see if I can find it." Eomer stretched his hands out across the floor, feeling for the leather casing. With a small triumphant cry, he dragged back the container. "There," he said, handing it to Faramir.
Faramir took a sip, and then offered it to Eomer, who did the same. [Strange how I haven't even thought of food for all this time, yet now I am starving.] He split the food in half, and gave some to Eomer, who took it gladly. "We should probably not eat too much right now, and save it for later." Eomer agreed, and they put the food away, each man storing his own.
Eomer took another sip of water, then passed it back to Faramir, who took one last draught, then corked it again. "Now," Eomer said with a smile on his face, "sing."
Faramir had hoped he would have forgotten that. "I'm not promising anything half as enjoyable as yours, though," Faramir said. Now it was his softer tenor filling the cave:
Mirie it is whil sumer ilast
With fughules song.
Och nu necheth windes blast
And weder strong.
Ey, ey! Whats this nicht is long,
And it with well michel wrong,
Soregh and murne and fast.
"I rather liked it, actually," Eomer said. "But that does not sound Gondorian. Winter is not severe there."
"No," Faramir replied. "My mother taught me that. She was from Dol Amroth."
"I see. That makes more sense, yes."
"I don't do it justice, though," he said, in an effort to apologize for his skill. "Singing has never been my strong point."
"Nonsense," Eomer snorted. "You're better than you'll ever admit to. Didn't you ever have to sing at court functions, or entertain your men with a tale? Aragorn's coronation was full of song and poetry, and every commoner was invited to sing a tune."
"Yes," Faramir said, glad the conversation had switched away from himself somewhat. "In Gondor, the younger noblemen and women are often called upon by their elders to sing or play an instrument. It is a tradition at court."
"Then did you ever sing?"
"Not very often," Faramir said, glad that the dark hid his reddening face. That was one emotion he had yet to learn to control. "My brother was called upon more often than me. I did accompany him at times, though."
"Accompany? You play an instrument?"
Faramir cursed himself for letting this drop. [Doubtless Eomer will not forget this.] "Four, actually."
"Four?" Eomer repeated incredulously. "What do you play?"
"Well, I started playing recorder, but I tired of that, so I switched to pipe instead. One of my tutors taught me to play the hammer dulcimer, and I played that until I joined the army, but I couldn't take that with me, and, as you say, the men like to hear a tale. So I taught myself to play the gittern, and that is what I play mostly now, though I still go back to the dulcimer at times."
"I must say, Faramir, that I am impressed. You must play for me some time."
Faramir agreed, in the hopes that Eomer would forget his promise. "Anyway, you promised me that you would sing your other song."
"Oh yes, so I did," Eomer said. "Though I'm not so sure you'll like this one as much as the previous one." Eomer's voice once more echoed off the walls:
In Gondor there is no beer;
That's why we drink it here.
And when we're gone from here,
Our friends will be drinking all our beer!
Again Faramir was hysterically laughing, with Eomer doing the same. "I can assure you," he finally said, "that there is indeed beer in Gondor. I think many Rohirrim seem to believe this – misconception." Eomer laughed at the word.
"And you, of all people, would be able to tell me for certain that there is indeed beer in Gondor?" Eomer teased.
"I can assure you, there is," Faramir repeated, with a knowing voice, which caused more peals of laughter. "Though I must say, I do not partake of it as often as others," he said, with a sparkle in his eye.
It took Eomer a few moments to realize the full meaning of his words. When he finally did, Faramir was laughing at him again. "It's probably because you Gondorians sing so many depressing tunes that you yourselves are too busy wiping tears from your eyes to fully enjoy the ale," he snorted back. "Whereas I on the other hand, I can fully appreciate the..." Faramir's laughter stopped him from saying any more, and he aimed a lighthearted punch at Faramir's shoulder.
"If we depress you so much, then perhaps you should know that there are indeed cheerful Gondorian songs."
"So you're not all as stiff-necked as I thought!" Eomer laughed. "Come, Faramir, sing a cheerful song."
Faramir, by this point extremely giddy, whether from genuine happiness or lack of food, decided on his tune, and began to sing:
Wantonness for ever mair,
Wantonness has been my ruin;
Yet for all my dool and care,
It's wantonness for ever.
I hae lo'ed the Black, the Brown,
I hae lo'ed the Fair, the Gowden.
All the colours in the town,
I hae won their wanton favour.
Eomer was practically rolling on the floor in his hysterics. Faramir nearly found himself doing the same, and for a long time they merely sat and laughed.
"If I didn't already know you for the man you are, I might take that seriously!"
"I certainly hope you don't."
Eomer laughed again. "Still, you didn't sing a particularly cheerful song, no matter how entertaining it may have been."
"I suppose not, but still..." Faramir smiled broadly. "I rather enjoyed it."
"Well, you still owe me a cheerful song. Don't think I'll forget it."
"Perhaps, Eomer, your next selection will be your own song of misery. Surely the Rohirrim have gloomy songs of their own."
"Aye, we do. I will sing you one, if you promise your next selection to be a merry one."
"Agreed," Faramir said eagerly, anxious to hear Eomer sing a more serious tune. [Now I may hear the long lay I originally sought.] But he was uncertain now as to whether he would prefer to hear one, or to continue sharing a short selection each. Thinking back, he couldn't quite remember the last time he enjoyed singing so much.
Eomer began his song:
Death hath deprived me of my dearest friend;
My dearest friend is dead and laid in grave. In grave he rests until the world shall end.
The world shall end, as end all things must have.
All things must have an end that Nature wrought;
That Nature wrought must unto dust be brought.
"You certainly were not lying. That song is indeed depressing," Faramir said, reminded suddenly of his brother.
"Yet still, I sense hope for the future in it," Eomer replied. "I sense a hope for reunion." Silence came over them for a moment, each man lost in his own thoughts. "Come, Faramir, your song now. Raise my spirits."
"Must it be happy? I really don't know any..." At Eomer's skeptical look, Faramir thought of a substitute. "I know one that will probably amuse you, if nothing else."
"Well – it'll have to do," Eomer said, as he exaggerated a sigh.
Faramir gave a quick laugh before beginning.
My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang,
An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang
Wh' gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
"What...?" Eomer just looked at Faramir, completely confused.
"Shall I continue?" Faramir said, practically in hysterics.
A' down my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle
To see me loup,
An' raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were i' their doup!
"What is the name of that song?" Eomer asked, between his peals of laughter.
"Address to the Toothache," Faramir replied. "And that was only a small part of the song – it goes on for much longer. Shall I continue?"
"No, Faramir, that's quite all right." Faramir merely chuckled, and began belting out the next verse. "No!" Eomer moaned, in mock agony, though both were half-hysterical in laughter.
Both were silenced, however, when a third voice joined the fray.
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"Wild Rider" is actually a sea chantey, "Wild Rover". No idea who wrote it – I just changed around a few of the words.
"Mirie It Is" – an anonymous song from the 13th century, possibly Scottish in origin. It's about the oncoming of winter.
"In Gondor There Is No Beer" – another of 'Arahiril's messed-up versions of not-so-well-known songs'. It's based on "In Heaven There Is No Beer". No clue who wrote it again – I heard it off the polka station with my grandparents, and it has since become a family classic. Teehee.
"Wantonness" – yes, I have an author for this one: the great Scottish poet Robert Burns.
"Death Hath Deprived Me" – an English madrigal by Thomas Weelkes.
"Address to the Toothache" – a rather entertaining Robert Burns song, wouldn't you agree?
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Faramir's instruments: I thought that the Middle-Earthians would most likely play instruments that would be essentially medieval, since many other aspects of their culture are rather similar to the culture of Europe in the Middle Ages.
Recorder – something rather like a flute.
Pipe – a more advanced recorder, basically.
Hammer Dulcimer – this really awesome horizontal harp-like thing that you play with hammers, and it makes a really awesome hollow harp-like sound.
Gittern – a smaller version of the lute, which is rather similar to a guitar.
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I think that's about it.