The sun was setting, and almost all the court had retired to bed—the night’s festivities were considerably rowdier than most of them were used to.  Frodo himself was ready to sleep, although that perhaps was not surprising.

“I am sorry, Sam,” he said, as they made their way to the main table, where the King, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and assorted elves had gathered.  “Either my memory is going, or else the Ring has affected my tolerance.”

Sam only snorted.  “Don’t you go about blaming it on that, sir,” he said.  “It’s more like to have been both of us starving half to death, and not quite yet recovered from it neither.”

“Did you notice any changes in yourself?” said Frodo.

“Maybe,” said Sam.  “I don’t keep watch for that sort of thing.  Can’t begrudge you making yourself a little merry, though.”

“Thank you,” said Frodo, and that was all that needed to be said.

At the main table, Pippin and Aragorn were sorting through the contents of his skirt, which seemed to be a good deal of filth, and—gold?

Pippin held up one of the coins.  “Do you think this is the mystery thief?”

“Eh?” said Frodo.

“We spent this evening tracking down a particularly malicious magpie,” Merry said by way of explanation.

“Yes, and coin’s been going missing from all the stalls, and the guard hasn’t been able to catch it!  That magpie’s terribly clever, you know.  She understands speech.”

“I’m sure it does,” said Merry, rolling his eyes.

Galadriel pulled out from the mess not one, but two hairpins, and held them triumphantly to her husband.

Celeborn shook his head once.  “Clean them first.”  Then, deliberately, he pulled the rest of the pins from Aragorn’s hair.  Aragorn heaved a sigh of relief and shook his hair free.

“Letting your hair down, love?” Arwen murmured to him.

“The sun has nearly set,” said Aragorn, catching her hand and kissing her on the wrist.

Gimli made a noise of disgust.  “Newlyweds.”

“Tomorrow,” said Aragorn, “I shall wear the most comfortable clothing I own, barring my nightshirt.”  He caught his wife a meaningful look.  “And I hope you will wear—”

“The red dress, yes, but only in private.”  She whispered something further in Aragorn’s ear that made them both laugh.

“Well,” said Merry, “I’ll be happy to go back to trousers myself, even if Pip and I didn’t make ourselves faint-prone.  My lady Arwen, we simply must tell you about that singular victory…”

“Tomorrow,” said Arwen.  “And what of you, Peregrin?”

“Oh,” said Pippin, “I’m thinking of doing this all over again, just to confuse everyone twice over.”

Aragorn blinked.  “You’d spend another full day in a skirt?”

Pippin only grinned and lifted the article in question.  “Oh, it’s not a skirt, my lord!  It’s a skort!”