“Oh, dear,” muttered Éowyn.  “Still too small.”  She took her eye away from the crack in the screen where Faramir had hastily covered himself with his towel, so that she could judge the fit of the garment she held.  “Merry, you shall have to…”  She paused, trying to think of a way to phrase this delicately—“… search around.”

            “And leave you two lovers alone in such a state?  Really, Éowyn!”  Merry grinned.

“Do you not trust us, Merry?”

“I do,” said Merry, “but so do all chaperones persuaded to leave their charges alone.”

“Just be quick about it, Merry, and no one else need know.”

“All right,” said Merry, “but I have some misgivings about this.”  He curtsied, waggled his finger at them both, and exited the room. 

            “Are you ready to be dressed, yet?” Éowyn called to her betrothed.

“I shall never be ready,” said Faramir.  “However, since I seem to exist only to gratify your whims this day…”

            “You can come out, you know,” said Éowyn.  “I do not have everything yet.”

            Slowly Faramir’s head emerged from behind the screen, nervously eying the array of baubles on the dressing table.

            “Are we using all of those?”

            “Not yet.  Once you have dressed, you and I shall meet the King and Queen, and there we shall settle the issues of jewels and the various powders and creams which will enhance your appearance.”  She smiled.  “Arwen told me she would be setting his hair in elf-fashion.”

            Immediately Faramir’s head disappeared.  Éowyn sighed.

            “Oh, do come out, love.  You should be grateful I didn’t make you shave.”

            “Might I remind you that Merry trusts us?”

            “Oh!  I forgot.  Here, put this on.”  Éowyn picked up a spare petticoat and tossed it over the screen.

            There was an evident rustle of fabric as Faramir mused over the piece of clothing.  “I have to wear this?”

            “Just step into it and tie it around your waist.  It makes the skirt of your dress fuller.”

            “But shouldn’t I be wearing under it—”

            “No.  Just keep your legs together when you walk.  It’s what everyone else does.”

            “I cannot believe I am doing this,” muttered Faramir.  “First the lavender-scented bathwater, and now—”

            He was interrupted by a knock at the door.  “I think I have found something that will fit,” came Merry’s voice from the corridor.  “May I come in?”

            “No!” cried Faramir.

            Éowyn laughed.  “Don’t mind him, Merry.  He’s just being difficult.  Please come in.”

            Merry opened the door and entered the room.

            “I really am sorry, my Lord Steward,” said the hobbit as he shut the door.  “But my loyalty has been pledged to Rohan, not Gondor.”

            “And to think that we are allies…”

            “Let me see…” Éowyn said, taking the article of clothing Merry had brought.  “Yes.  I think this shall fit.  Will you come forth now, Faramir?”

            Faramir finally stepped forth from his refuge, wearing the petticoat and looking very much like the proverbial sheep being led to the slaughter.

            “Come!” said Éowyn, seeing his expression.  “You are not one to wallow in self-pity!”

            “It is but a fit that will pass, I am certain,” said Faramir drily.  He did not look particularly happy.

            “Poor dear…”  She held up the article, judging how it would fit on him.  “Yes, this shall work perfectly!” she told Merry.  “How did you find it so quickly?”

            “Oh, I ran into Pippin in the hallway.”  He laughed.  “Apparently Strider and Arwen are running into similar problems.  Fortunately he found a few spare ones in the chambers of some noble’s wife.”

            “You shall have to thank him for finding them.  Now, I’d imagine such hard work is taxing on the appetite, so if you need to refresh yourself…”

            “You do want to be alone with him, don’t you?”

            “Dressing the Steward is a personal matter, which as few should witness as possible.  You cannot do it from your height.”

            “Very well, but I am staying within earshot,” said Merry. “I shall return within ten minutes’ time, though, whether you like it or not.”

            “How can that Halfling make light of a situation this dire?” said Faramir.

            “His name reflects his disposition, that is all,” said Éowyn.  She began to undo the laces of the garment.

            “Éowyn?”

            “Yes, Faramir?”

            Faramir swallowed.  “Forgive me for asking, but what exactly is that?”

            The corners of Éowyn’s mouth began to twitch.  “It’s called a corset.  It goes around your waist.”

            “That thing goes around my waist?”

            “Yes, of course it does.  Now, if you’ll put your arms above your head, I’ll get this on you.”

            Faramir’s arms remained plastered to his side.  “No.  I gave you my word that I would wear the dress you chose for me.  I did not give my word that I would have the life squeezed out of me by one of these… corsets.”

            “I understand,” she replied.  “However, in order to fit into the dress I picked out, I am afraid you shall have to wear a corset.  Thus, by your agreeing to wear the dress, you also agreed to wear anything that would aid you in wearing the dress.”

            Faramir sighed, and then raised his arms above his head.  “Do your worst.”

            “Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” said Éowyn.  “If half the women in the free lands can do this every day, I’m sure you can do it this once.”  She neatly set the corset about his waist, threaded the lace through the first two holes, and pulled.

            Faramir grunted.

            “Grit your teeth, love, it helps.”  She continued to lace up the corset.

            “I am beginning… to understand… why… you masqueraded… as a man… for so many days!”  The sentence was barely discernable through Faramir’s clenched teeth.

            “There,” she said.  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  She let the laces go.  They only hung an inch from the last holes.

            Faramir took a few deep breaths.  “This thing is more uncomfortable than a suit of armor!  What is it made of?”

            “Linen, reinforced with whalebone brought in from Dol Amroth,” replied Éowyn.  “Here.  Take a look at yourself.”

            Faramir took one look at his reflection in the full-length mirror and wilted.  “How could you be this cruel to me, Éowyn?”

            “Shh…” said Éowyn, placing her arms around his neck.  “I love you.”  Gently she turned him around and kissed him.  “Now, I want you to close your eyes and think of tomorrow, when all of this will be over.”

“Merry is listening…” said Faramir, though he was already relaxing.

“We’re going to get through this today, and then you’ll never need worry about it again.”

“Never?”

“I promise.  Just think:  if you can do this, you can doanything.”

“If I survive,” Faramir whispered.

“You will survive.  You’ve survived a lot worse than this.  And then we shall be wed…”  She kissed him again.

“Mmm…”

“I just need you to do this for me.  Do you think you can?”

He nodded.

“All right.  Arms above your head, please.”

Faramir complied.

“Breathe in… and breathe out.”

Éowyn grasped the strings of the corset, anchored her hand against Faramir’s back, and yanked on them with all the strength of a shield-maiden of Rohan.