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

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Merry said for the seventh time.

“Yes, Merry,” said Pippin testily.  “I’m the lightest of the bunch, I’m not quite as scared of heights as you, and I’ve got deft fingers for fishing out magpies.  And we’re doing two ropes, so even if something strange happens and one person lets go, I still won’t fall.  It can’t be any worse than leaping over a crevasse in Moria.”

“No,” said Merry, “it can’t, but I’d still hate to report your demise to the Thain, after all you’ve been through, because you wereretrieving jewelry!

“Oh?  And how were you going to explain Frodo’s demise?”

Merry went white.  “Considering,” he said coldly, “how very close I came to having to report just that, I shouldn’t joke about it if I were you.”

“All right,” said Pippin, suddenly feeling very sheepish.  “Too soon, I guess.”  He sighed.  “If you don’t want me to go…”

“No, it’s all right,” said Merry.  “I’m just being silly again.”  He double checked the knots on Pippin’s bedclothes harness, though, just to be sure.  Pippin climbed up the windowsill, still facing everyone else, and gave one slow nod.

In truth he was more nervous than his bravado let on; there was something quite worrisome about feeling the wind on the soles of your feet.  But he’d faced worse before, he told himself, and if all went well it shouldn’t last very long.

Aragorn, and Gimli began to lower him over the edge.

About twenty feet down, Legolas called for them to stop.  Pippin peered far to his right, but he couldn’t see the nest from there.

“All right!” he called up.  “I’m going to start swinging!”

His heart was hammering, and his palms were starting to sweat, and his entire lower half felt much too cold in the wind.  He would not look down yet.  He began to propel himself along one side of the tower wall—it was too smooth for him to climb, so he had to push himself off the wall one way, and let his momentum carry him in the other direction.

The harness was getting very tight against his armpits.

At last he was able to spot the crevice, and he jammed his hand in.  Immediately he drew it out again, bleeding—that blasted bird had bitten him!

On the next pass, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, shoved it in the nest, and immediately flung it as far away as he could.  “Catch that, you daft bird!” he cried.

The magpie would not budge.

“Stupid bird,” he muttered.  He didn’t think he’d have the nerve to do this a second time, so he had to think of something…

He got out another coin.  They were the only shiny things he had.

This time, he offered it to the magpie, who delicately accepted his offering with its beak.  While it was doing so, he got his other hand in the crack.

“Now, listen,” he said to the bird, looking it in its black eye.  “You’ve gotten the King in a lot of trouble today”—not entirely true, but close enough—“and if it weren’t for him, you’d be roasting on an orc spit by now.  Let me clear out your hoard, and I promise I’ll get you a reward.”

The bird looked at him once, clicked its beak, and flew out of the nest.

Pippin sighed in relief.  He didn’t think that would work!

With his free hand, he gathered up his skort, and then pushed the contents of the nest, fair and foul, into it, like a hobbit lass gathering apples.  Then, he tugged once on the makeshift rope, and was pulled back to safety.





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