“You called, my Queen?”  Pippin made a dapper bow.

            Arwen bowed her head.  “I have an idea, and a message for you to take to Aragorn when you have heard the idea and given me your opinion of it.  The Lady Éowyn, here,” she gestured to Éowyn, “was wondering if there was a way for the King to demonstrate his great affection for me without neglecting his duties.  I happen to have a golden dress, the fabric of which much better suits his weathered complexion than it does mine.”

            Pippin tried to connect these two ideas in his head, but the relationship between them was very tenuous.

            “Do you think his wearing of the dress would be sufficient sign of adoration?”

            Pippin’s eyes started out of his head.  The Queen kept such a serene face; he could not tell if she was serious or he was mad.  “Permission to laugh, your Majesty?”

            “Permission is granted.”

            Pippin laughed so hard that he turned red.  He appeared to be having trouble standing up straight.

            “You have not yet told me your opinion of the matter, Peregrin,” Arwen said quietly.

            It was dubious whether it was even possible for Peregrin to speak without suffocation, but somehow he managed.  “Yes.”

            “And what is so amusing about that?”

            Pippin mastered his emotions, and fixed the Queen with a particularly cool stare.  “I don’t care if you can mask your feelings; that’s incredibly funny and you know it.”

            “Then you think I should proceed in proving my husband’s love for me to the nations?”

            “Wait, really?”  There was another spasm of laughter.

“Yes.”

“In that case, I follow the orders of the Queen of the City that I serve.”

            Only now did Arwen smile.  “Very well.  I have a message for you to deliver to the throne room.”