I had writer's block for about a day or so. It didn't seem right to just stick them right there in the wedding, like I had originally planned. So, hopefully this will still work. Also, this is important, my timeline is way off; all this stuff with Arwen is supposed to happen in the Two Towers, not ROTK like the story is actually set. So bear with me here. I apologize and will try to make it work.

This stuff was all made by J.R.R. Tolkien/Peter Jackson/Fran Walsh. I only invented Linwe. Enjoy!

-The Author

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"Are you packed?" Arwen's voice was a hush. Figwit nodded. His cousin entered and sat upon his bed. She looked at his small bag, teardrop-shaped. She said, "I suppose you will be traveling with Linwe."

Figwit shrugged. Actually, he had thought they would be traveling in a large group, together.

Arwen looked out the window. Figwit felt as if he should say something.

She stood up. Figwit thought hard. He had never been very good at saying…anything, really. The image floated through his mind, of Arwen mourning alone at Aragorn's grave, her face hidden by the dark veil. Was there anything he could say?

"Figwit!"

He shot her an apologetic glance and went to his door. Linwe stood on the path, her hands shaking.

"Where have you been?" she cried. "I've been looking all over. I can never find you. Figwit! It's happening today! They're getting married! They're going to live happily ever after and live in a pretty house with lots of flowers and babies and it's happening today!"

Figwit immediately looked at his lovesick cousin, and turned and hurried to Linwe. He put a finger to his lips to shush her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He tried to think of an answer to that.

"Was someone in there with you?"

He tried to think of an answer to that, too.

"Oh, well!" Linwe grabbed his arm and began pulling him to her room. "I could find you anywhere, Figwit, and I looked everywhere. I looked in the libraries and the armory and the kitchens and the archives – you weren't anywhere!"

"I was in my room."

"Yes!" said Linwe. "Well!"

They hurried into her room. Linwe hadn't even poured the water for her washbasin yet. Figwit sat and straightened and dusted his clothes, while Linwe scooped some water from the fountain and poured it into her bowl. She twirled it around, her eyes flashing, until she found what she was looking for. She sat down immediately, wiping her finger on her skirt.

Eomer, now the King of Rohan after the death of Theoden King, was walking with Eowyn down an aisle.

"Ooh," said Linwe. "I like her dress." Her feet were tapping anxiously, but she was also thinking; her brow was drawn and she was tapping her lip. Figwit knew that he didn't look on the King of Rohan, but Linwe's future victim.

Brother and sister arrived at the altar, where Eomer handed his sister off to a smiling Faramir. Eowyn of Rohan and Steward Faramir took hands and stepped forward together for the rest of the proceedings, and the rest of their lives. Linwe rubbed her hands together and Figwit bent down to find a handkerchief by the basin; Linwe was wont to cry at weddings.

Suddenly, he heard her gasp. Figwit sat up, half-expecting something terrible to be happening at the wedding. No. It was a normal wedding. Everyone was at least pretending to be paying attention. He looked at Linwe for an explanation.

"Figwit, I have it," she said. "There stands Eomer King of the kingdom of Rohan on one side, and on the other, look."

It was Lothiriel, the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

"It's perfect!" Linwe said. "Oh! This is going to be so much fun!"