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

The terrible thing about living in the heights, Pippin mused, was not so much the thinner air or the fact that if you looked down at the wrong time your stomach lurched—through, true, those were some pretty wretched things.  No, the terrible thing was that you couldn’t rely on roads to go where you thought they would!  What should have been a perfectly reliable alley had turned into a twisty little path with far too many Man-sized stairs for his comfort.  And there was no time to decide which way to go when it reached a street again.  Biting back a few choice words, he turned left and blithely plowed through a few groups of upright citizens to help shake off the pursuit.  It reminded him—he realized with a pang of homesickness—of getting into mischief on Market Day when he was a child.

He sighed, or he would have sighed if he weren’t panting with the exertion.  Merry was always the one with the head for directions.  If he could just get far enough ahead to hide himself better, or maybe duck into an inn and weather things out…

No time for that, though.  “Make way for the King!” he heard, cried out behind him.  He couldn’t help but smile, just a little, at that.  Then he passed an inn that looked remarkably familiar…

And realized he was headed straight for the Citadel itself.  That was a dead end, unless…  Suddenly his mind hatched a plan.  He hoped that Merry was going to be easy to find.





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