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

“The worst thing about the entire matter is that nobody knows how the thieves are managing to hide it.  They can catch them right at the scene of the theft, but it’s as if the gold has disappeared.  It must be some new technique that’s been spread among the lowlife of the City.”

Pippin was only half paying attention to his colleague; the other half of his mind was on the mug of ale he was currently nursing.  But Peregrin never forgot that he was a Guard of the Citadel, and even on days such as this where he was all but dismissed from regular duty he meant to keep current on the city’s gossip.  Today this entailed speaking with Targon, one of his first acquaintances and probably one of his best, if only because he was in charge of his Company’s buttery.

We haven’t had to deal with this, though, right?”

“Nay, only the regular city guards.  But it certainly is giving them quite a puzzle.”

“Hmm.”  Pippin thought about the subject for two seconds.  “No, I can’t think of a solution.  There isn’t anywhere… unnatural… that petty thieves would try to hide gold, is there?”

Targon shook his head with all of the stupefying gravity that seemed to be inherent in Gondorian blood.  “There is honor even among thieves, Peregrin; unless such things have been dispelled with the passing of the Age.  And moreover, some of these petty thieves have been caught mere seconds after the theft.”

“Well, couldn’t someone else have stolen the money, then?”

“If that is the case, which many think it is, then Minas Tirith has on her hands the best—and worst—thief in many a year.”

Pippin sighed.  “This is all so disheartening, especially with it being after the War and all.  You’d think that they’d learn to lay off it a little.”

“Alas!  Evil may be defeated in one part of the world, but ever will it rise again in another.”

“I know,” said Pippin glumly.

“But come, let us talk of other things, while we have the time.  I must admit that I had hoped you would come here for provisions today, for you might be able to explain His Majesty’s—and your own, I might add—eccentric behavior.”

“Oh, that.  It means nothing, if you’re wondering, aside from the fact that Elessar has met his match in his lady wife, whose wits outstrip her beauty—if that’s possible.”

“He is doing this at her bidding, then?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” said Pippin.  “Well, perhaps I would, but that’s beside the point.  No, I’d say that she ‘prevailed upon him’ or some such phrase, it’s much nicer to the poor man.  And as for me—well, if the King of Men is allowed to go mad for a day, I don’t see why the Prince of the Halflings shouldn’t be.”

A wry smile came to Targon’s face.  “I suppose that is as good of an explanation as I can hope for.  The Queen gave you no reasons for this turn of events, then?”

“Oh, she said something about him proving his love for her to the people without neglecting his duties, but I think that’s a load of tripe.  She probably just got bored yesterday.”

Targon stared at him, and Pippin had a feeling that he was probably supposed to be reading an emotion on that stern visage.  Assuming that he had made another social misstep, as that was the normal reason he got stares, he added, “Well, that’s the only reason I’d make the King wear a dress.”

“Indeed,” said Targon.  “Well, this may explain why the King dismissed his scribe for the day.  He probably does not wish for any record of today to exist.”

“You’re probably right,” said Pippin.  “A shame that is, too, because I’d love to have a sketch of him and Lord Faramir, just for posterity’s sake.”  Suddenly his expression changed, and he slowly turned his head to look Targon right in the eye.  There was a glint there that made Targon just a little nervous, but he did not look away.

“Say,” said Pippin, “you’ve got a fair hand at drawing, don’t you?”

Targon said nothing.

“Yes, you must—because you wanted to make a sketch of me to show your son, and you wouldn’t do that if you were bad at it.  Look, I know I was really self conscious about it before, but—”





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