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Vairë Was a Weaver, or, Real Men Wear Corsets  by Celeritas

Aragorn sat heavily on the loveseat in his wife’s closet.  “This had better be important.”

            “Were you really making progress on that delegation?”

            He shook his head and unclipped the heavy robe of state about his shoulders, letting it slip to the floor.

            “Consider it an act of mercy, then.”

            “A very rude act of mercy.  This is one of the first impressions Khand has had of me as a ruler of men.”

            “Yet not the first.  You are a noble man, and it will take much more than a hobbit’s impudence to shake the knowledge of that, so deeply instilled in the hearts of all.  Besides, has not this ambassador protested that he has no authority for the past hour?”

            “He is still the one making the report to the Khandis.  What was so worthy of an interruption that you sent for me?”

            “I felt alone.”  She began to pace in front of him.

            The King stared for a moment at Arwen, not entirely sure if he was hearing this correctly.  “Enough to…”

            “I was also afraid.”

            “Afraid?  You’ve put your stakes on so much and…”

            “And now I wonder if it was worth all the effort.  I have received everything I wanted for almost the past forty years, but now I do not know if it was what I should have wanted after all.”

            The color drained from Aragorn’s face.  “You could not mean…”

            “I am sorry.  I know I have already made my vow to you.  Yet even then you always said I could sail.”

            “Arwen, I—this is madness!  Both of us swore to forsake the twilight—”

            “And yet the heart of a maiden is difficult for the head to rule.  I know I should stay.  Only I had never expected leaving my people to be like this—to be revered by Gondor as one of the Valar, and yet never understood, never loved for myself, never even being appreciated before men by my own husband…”

            “Arwen, I love you with my entire being!  Look at how much I achieved to win your hand!”

            “And yet you neglect the prize for the pursuit.”

            “If you doubt my love I could show you some token of it.  When Peregrin made that remark about—”

            Arwen made a small laugh.  “Oh, you appreciate me well enough when we are alone.  Yet in public my needs are secondary to those of the realm.”

            “I am afraid that you are outnumbered there, my lady.”

            She nodded.  “I understand, and that is why I am making my decision.  Oh, if only there were some way you could show them all what I know is in your heart…”

            Aragorn rose and took her hand, grasping at the faint line of hope being thrown to him.  “I am certain there is one, and if it is in my power I swear to you on my honour that I shall accomplish it.”

            Arwen broke into a smile and kissed his hand.  “I know you will, and I shall hold you to your oath.”  She walked over to the armoire and opened it.  “May I, my lord, present to you your clothing for tomorrow.”

            His jaw dropped.  “You were never thinking of leaving, were you?”

            “I never said that I was.”

            “What—why?”

            The smile on Arwen’s face reminded Aragorn of his brothers.  “I do not know.  But trust me on this.  It shall at least remind our people of the place you hold for me in your heart, and it might also take away the drudgery of state affairs.  You shall not be alone in this.”

            The guard at the entry to the room (who had been keeping a remarkably straight face during all this) let in a serving maid announcing the arrival of the Steward of Gondor and the White Lady of Rohan.

            “My lord,” said Faramir, making a bow.  Then he saw the armoire.  “Oh, no—not you, too?”  Éowyn followed him in.

            “Excuse me,” said Arwen to the servant.  “Would you mind fetching Meriadoc and Peregrin?  They should be at tea right now, at the hobbits’ accommodations in the sixth circle.”  The maid curtseyed and left.  “Very well.  Once they arrive we shall be ready to determine what exactly you two will be wearing tomorrow.”

            A sense of dread fell on the men.  “I thought you had already settled on the gold,” said Aragorn, finally, resigned to his fate.

            “I am willing to change my mind if a better gown is found,” Arwen said.  “After all, I have not gotten a chance to truly see if the color suits your complexion.”

            “What do the Halflings have to do with this?” said Faramir.

            “Peregrin showed a particular interest in the matter.  It was only logical to get his cousin involved.”

            “You should have seen the expression on his face, dear,” said Éowyn.

            “Is that what this is for, then?  To make a laughingstock of the King and Steward?”

            The women looked affronted.  “No one would laugh at two such formidable men, even bedecked in a dress and jewels,” said Éowyn.

            “Jewels?” said Aragorn.

            “Jewels?” said Faramir.

            “Jewels!” said Arwen, delighted by the idea.

            “After all, if the true point behind this is an exercise in honor, and in devotion to one’s lady, why not demonstrate such love in the fullest way possible?”

            The men gawped.

            “The Halflings, my lady,” said the servant from the door.

            “I practically had to drag him here, Arwen,” said Pippin, flouncing into the room. 

Merry followed at a more respectful rate and bowed.  “And what sort of assistance will you be requiring in your scheme, my Lady?”

“Nothing as of yet, Meriadoc.  If you two could just take a seat and observe, offering any commentary as you choose, that will be all that is necessary.  Pippin did acquaint you with the particulars of the situation, did he not?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  Are you really going to do this?”

Arwen brandished the gold dress.  “Whom would yousuggest to wear this, then?”

Merry was taken aback.  “Er… I don’t know—Éowyn, perhaps?”

Éowyn shot him a glare.  “You expect me to wear that sort of frippery?”  Without waiting for Merry to respond, she continued.  “I don’t see why you’re so opposed to the idea, Merry—at the very least it will be… educational.”

“And will Faramir need to receive an alias as well, then, to continue in the tradition?”

Éowyn laughed.  “I hadn’t thought of that, though since it’s not an imminent struggle it wouldn’t be necessary.  Arwen, can you think of any good names for a woman of Gondor?”

Faramir rose from the couch.  “Éowyn, I agreed to the clothing and nothing more!  This is madness!”

“And I am sure you will conduct yourself honorablythrough such madness, as a man of Gondor,” Éowyn said calmly.  “You accepted the stakes, and the consequences of loss, full-willing.”

“No names, then.”

Éowyn bowed her head, smirking just a little.  “As my lord commands.”

Pippin walked over to him.  “Don’t fret about it so much, Faramir.  After all, as Éowyn said, it will be educational.”

Faramir gave him a look so unfathomable that Pippin decided just to ignore it and wait for the women to get to business.

“Right,” said Arwen after everyone whose opinion mattered was ready.  “Estel, love, I’ll need you to come over to the wardrobe.”  The King complied with bowed head.  “Now, Éowyn, I believe that we agreed that you would hold the dresses and I would judge, did we not?”

Éowyn nodded and rose.  “I’ll save the gold for last.”  She began to leaf through sundry dresses in the armoire.  “Do you suppose his complexion is warm or cool?”

“I’m imagining warm—hence the gold—but we had better check anyway.”

Éowyn drew out the silvery gray dress Arwen had worn to welcome the delegation earlier in the day, and also the deep red.  She held the former up to the King’s body, pulling a sleeve tight to give the appearance of it lying on his arm.  The wince on the faces of the judges’ panel was almost audible.

“Definitely not,” said Arwen.  “Civic life has not yet leached the tan of the wild from you, beloved.”

“I’m glad to know that,” mumbled Aragorn.

Éowyn proceeded to draw all warm-toned articles of clothing from the wardrobe.  “Merry, do you think you could hold some of these?”

Merry did not budge.  “How could I?  They look massive.  I’d drown in silk.”

She let out a small sigh.  “Killjoy.”  She draped the extra dresses over her arm.

The red dress actually looked rather fetching, until Pippin pointed out the problems with the low neckline.  Aragorn allowed himself a little detachment from the situation: “I don’t think I’ve seen you in this before, Arwen.”

“For good reason—immodesty is not becoming of a Queen.  I don’t even know why they made it for me.”

“Does it fit you?”

“It might.”

“If modesty is your concern, my lady, might you be coaxed into wearing it in private?”

Merry gave a little cough.

“We can discuss that after we’re done with this whole business, if you like.  Consider it a potential reward for good conduct.”

Éowyn went through a few more dresses, none of them with a decent enough reaction to elicit any serious contemplation of the King’s wearing them on the next day.  Finally they reached the gold dress.

Merry’s jaw dropped.

Pippin burst into a short spurt of laughter.

“Perfect!” said Arwen.  “I had guessed correctly.  That shade of gold—it perfectly complements the skin tone.  And the better contrast with your eyes!  Oh, Estel, this will work even better than I thought!”

Aragorn stood there for a few moments, looking clearly crestfallen.

“You may sit down, love.  Now, of course it will be difficult to find jewelry with settings that will match this shade, but we have a great deal of time.  It will be well worth the effort.”  She stood up, and Éowyn handed her the dresses she had been using.

“It is your turn, Faramir.”  The Steward rose and stood in front of the armoire.

At the first attempt it became painfully clear that Faramir was far more suited to wintry colors than his liege lord.  Arwen replaced all the dresses that had been considered for her husband, and took out the ones that Éowyn had left inside.

“It’s a shame that you wore this one so recently,” said Éowyn, regarding the grey dress.  “It would have worked perfectly.”

“Then we shall just have to work with colors that suit grey well.”  Arwen took out the blue dress and held it up to him.

“I like the color, but it’s too plain.”

“The same problems I had with it earlier today.”  They proceeded through the rest of the dresses, but to no avail.

“Hm,” said Éowyn.  For a few seconds she was lost in thought.  “You know, I think I might have the dress myself.  Merry?  Pippin?”

The hobbits rose.  “Would you run down to my room at the Houses of Healing and find in my clothes press the dark blue dress?  You needn’t worry about drowning, Merry, if each of you takes an end.”

Merry shrugged.  “Why not?”  He and Pippin made their obeisance and left the room.

“A dark blue dress?” asked Arwen.  “I am intrigued.”

“I believe the inspiration for it was actually the cloak Faramir gave me—that and the fact that I was a famous woman who had neglected to bring women’s clothing to the City.  I do admit, I am rather fond of it, since it is not practical to wear the cloak in summer weather.  In fact, Faramir—if you wore your cloak of state over the dress, and I wore white and the blue cloak tomorrow, we’d complement each other perfectly.”

Faramir’s head sank directly into his hands.

“Need it be tomorrow?” said Aragorn.

“Why not?”

“It’s the Highday.  There is a banquet going on in the evening, and the ambassador of Khand is a guest of honor.”

“I do not know.  I should think that you would want to exonerate your honor as fast as possible.  Even if we put it off for a day, you would still be appearing in front of Khand in a dress.”

“Hum.”

It took a few more minutes for the hobbits to navigate their way back to the court, laden with such a dress.  “We were afraid that someone was going to lay down on the dress like an invalid,” remarked Pippin.

“Give it here,” said Arwen.  She held it up to Faramir.  “Excellent idea, Éowyn!”

Éowyn found herself nodding without even thinking about it.  “I did not think I was this good at coordination.”

“You learn something new about yourself every day with the King and Queen,” said Pippin.  “Talents you didn’t even know you had are brought to the fore.  Ouch!  What was that for?”

Merry folded his hands in his lap and pretended that he had not just clapped Pippin extremely hard on the back.

The city bells rang, and the King rose to leave.  “That is the signal for supper, and afterwards I must prepare for the morrow’s audience.  I trust I shall not be interrupted this time?”

Arwen bowed her head.  “You will not.  This evening Éowyn and I shall determine some of the more basic parts of each of your wardrobes—Faramir, Éowyn will meet you early in the morning and get you dressed, and then we shall reconvene for the finer points of your appearances.  Merry?  Pippin?”

“Yes?” said the hobbits.

“I imagine both of you will need to be—stewards, almost—of these tasks.  Should anyone need an item, you would be the ones to find it, and you would also manage all of the—accoutrements.  Merry, should you choose to accept, you would have the additional task of chaperoning Éowyn and Faramir.  Until then, you are dismissed.  I trust to see you both very early in the morning, well before sunrise.  You need not worry about breakfast.”

Both hobbits bowed low.  “The Queen is most gracious,” said Pippin.  They departed.

For a few moments the two couples sat in the Queen’s chambers.  “This is the part where you are supposed to escort the ladies to dinner,” said Arwen.

With a shake of the head, the two men proffered their arms to the ladies, and the four exited the room.





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