“Do we have to?” That was not a very dignified tone coming from the King of the Reunited Kingdom. Arwen sat up in bed and poked his shoulder. 

“They’d be heartbroken to miss out on Eldarion’s 30th birthday, they should be here. And you’d miss them too.”

“But Eomer’s coming,” Aragorn grumbled into his pillow, and Arwen winced. 

“Yes, I know,” she said, sighing. “Another bout of posturing over Grandmother and myself. Just ignore it.”

“Easier said than done,” Aragorn muttered.

…

“Give me a drink.”

“Hello Lothíriel,” said Aragorn gloomily. “Have they started already?”

“We met them on the road yesterday,” said the Princess of Dol Amroth, snatching the glass from his hand and pouring herself a generous measure. “I like them well enough, but really-!”

As she took a large gulp, voices could be heard in the courtyard, jocular and teasing.

“…go for my axe, I should show you, you thickheaded wheatfield -”

“…reach my neck, shorty! Can you even see their faces well enough to make a judgement?…”

“You find beauty in a horse’s rump! As though you’ve any taste at all!”

Lothíriel pinched the bridge of her nose.

Aragorn patted her shoulder. “Have another one. It helps,” he advised.

…

Legolas looked miffed when he returned to their room. 

“Love, are you well?” Gimli asked, frowning. It wasn’t all that pleasant to be so much closer to the sea, after all…

Legolas’ nostrils flared. Then he pushed Gimli back onto the bed and fixed him with an unnerving Elven stare. “Do I have to remind you again,” he said dangerously, “which Elf to give your compliments to?”

Gimli blinked.

Then he innocently tipped his head. “Perhaps you ought to jog my memory, eh?”

Legolas growled at him, before proceeding to do exactly that.

…

(Much, much later:) 

“Obstinate Dwarf,” Legolas said, sleepy and sated.

Gimli grinned into the dark. Works every time.