Cat's Concert

Screech

Aragorn looked up from where he was reading through one of the documents that piled on his desk. It sounded like the wail of Eldarion's new cat Freya, which Éomer had gifted him for his sixth birthday. Hoping that his son was not torturing her again, Aragorn got up and went to investigate.

Screech

There it was again, and this time it was louder. The noise was definitely coming from Eldarion's chambers. Aragorn sighed and had already begun to compose a severe lecture concerning the treatment of innocent animals, when he reached the outer door to the boy's rooms. Opening it carefully, he saw Freya sitting in front of it. She looked at him for a few minute, then bolted past him out of the door.

Screech

Aragorn was now sure that the noise was not coming from the cat. The feline had taken flight from whatever was the cause of the noise and was probably already as far away as possible.

Screech, screech, screech

Aragorn resisted the urge to cover his ears and flung open another door. Then several things happened. The screeching stopped, Elrohir sat up straight from in armchair he had been lounging in, the corpus delicti clattered to the carpeted stone floor, and a small body flung itself at him and hugged his waist.

"Look, Ada, what uncle Elrohir's brought me for my birthday. It's very beautiful and he promised to show me how to play."

Aragorn picked the instrument up from the floor and gave it a close study. It was finely wrought and much work had gone into the intricate carvings.

"Indeed, my son, it is a very beautiful fiddle." He handed the instrument back to his son and addressed his brother-in-law. "But is Eldarion not a bit young to learn such a difficult instrument?"

Elrohir laughed and flipped his hair over his shoulder. "On the contrary, my brother, it is high time that he learns an instrument. And since you neglected his musical education, I will take care of it."

Aragorn snorted but decided not to argue with Elrohir in Eldarion's presence. The potential loss of his authority just was not worth it. That would have to wait until he was alone with the peredhel. He turned back to his son, who was beaming up at him, no doubt waiting to be praised for the first tones he had managed to draw from the fiddle. He had to deliberately resist the urge to tousle the boy's hair. (He had come yesterday and told them in all earnest that now that he was six years old, he was a big boy and too old to have his hair tousled.) He stifled a laugh at that.

"You do well already, but you have to practise for many hours if you want to play as well as the minstrels." Perhaps that would make him think twice about it.

But Eldarion bobbed his head and took up the fiddle again.

Screech

Aragorn groaned.