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Arwen, the Warrior Babe

 

 

  

 

When dawn arrived in Rivendell
and painted distant summits red
was Arwen first to heed the bell
and leave her sumptuous Elven bed.
She dressed in chainmail bra and helm
and leather boots of sexy taste;
and bright red garb to overwhelm
all men - a skirt slit to the waist.

 

 

  

She also packed some other things
that she could use when she was done:
a liberated babe who swings
needs contraceptives for her fun.
Fidelity to distant swain
is nonsense to a Valley girl;
an unconventional female thain
will not neglect a well-hung churl.
  
     
  She then went down to Shadowfax -
a horse too good for wizard fools.
The sun shone in her hair of flax
(forget the book - it's blonde that rules).
She saddled up, took sword in hand
('tis more adorning in that style)
and spurred the horse into the land
where Angmar's King once built his pile.

     

While riding hell for leather she
did distant darkling specks descry:
some riding with great energy
while others circled in the sky.
The spying crebain she ignored -
who cares for storm-crows and such trash?
But Nazgūl heading for the Ford!
By Eru! Those she'd slice and smash!
  
     
  She spurred her horse to greater speed
and thundered down to Bruinen's brink.
Upon the other strand she saw
her fiancé from Nazgūl shrink.
"Oh, Estel! Don't you fear!" she cried,
"I'll help you out of this one too.
Once more you'll see what female pride
and strength and caring values do."

     

The Morgul-chief was seen to glow
in Spirit-world, by evil spell;
but she, with one one resounding blow,
struck off his head, and down he fell.
The other eight, with screams of fright,
suggested that she call it quits,
but she insisted on a fight
(or slaughter), hacking them to bits.
  
     

 

 "Oh, Arwen, Arwen", Strider sobbed,
"What would I do if not for thee?"
He looked at her and his heart throbbed,
but she just said: "Well, come and see!
We have a guest in daddy's house,
a hefty guy called Boromir;
and he's not frightened like a mouse;
or sexless like a gelded steer."

     

"But, Arwen, by our plighted trust -"
he stammered, but she just replied:
"Go find another if you must,
the love I felt for you has died.
Oh yeah, and there's one matter more:
your silly claim to be a king;
it's now another thing of yore,
for Borry will get crowned come spring."

 
     

 

 "My daddy thinks it's really cool
to finally get me off his hands.
When I and Borry Gondor rule
dad will know peace in Northern lands:
no questing, butchering, riding wild
and noisy trumpets every place
when (as he says) 'My crazy child
will other lands with sword-play grace.'

     

"Well, that is that: come, Frodo, here!
You have possession of a thing
that you will now no longer bear:
that really groovy Master Ring.
We'll need it to extend our sway
from Umbar to the Northern Shore."
When Frodo tried to run away
she cut him down, and said no more.

 
     

 

 Back towards Imladris she rode,
and of the four she left behind
three knelt by Frodo, but one strode
Bree-wards, then stumbled as if blind.
And so the plot found fitter scope
that cut down on the surplus roles
and made the film producers hope
their work would top in all the polls.

     

Öjevind Lång

   
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