Formidable
Dec. 31st, 2018 03:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nathair_nimheAnother fic I wrote for Fandom Giftbox 2017.
Rating: Gen
Words: Around 580
Content Warning: None
Summary: Míriel refuses a commission
“I won't do it.”
To make her words even more final, Míriel took the scissors lying on a small table among tools and threads of all colours, and cut the fabric stretched out on a large frame – with the tracing already in place and the lower border stitched in – rending it neatly in half for a good one third of its width.
The man blanched, shuddering as if the scissors would come for him next. “But, Your Majesty, this is an important commission, a gift to honour the Valar!”
“Since you have so many ideas on how to improve my composition, since you know how many leaves are too many leaves and how large a portion of the fabric the sky should take and which birds I should add, I take it you might want to make the tapestry yourself.”
“Your Majesty, we agreed –”
Míriel silenced the man with a huff, waving the scissors still clutched in her fingers. “I agreed to embroider a large piece for you, yes, and showed you plenty of possible designs beforehand. You kept saying anything I would do would be perfect and that you trusted my expertise. Since it is not so, I am giving you the chance to work the tapestry yourself whichever way you like.”
“But I'm not a broiderer!”
“Oh no?” Míriel drew her eyebrows together, in the most openly mocking expression she was capable of.
“You rarely come up to Taniquetil, I merely thought you would want suggestions in order to make the tapestry more pleasing –”
Míriel stabbed the scissors into the nearest wooden beam. The frame was sturdy, made to accommodate large tapestries and allow more than one broiderer to work on it at the same time, and barely creaked. Míriel said, very quietly, staring at the splinters of wood dislodged by the scissors, “do I look stupid to you?”
The man attempted a rebuttal, but clenched his jaw as Míriel turned to him.
“I'm sure there are plenty of broiderers out there ready to weave tapestries to honour the Valar and to make them as pleasing as you would like. Do tell them you have the blessing of the High Queen of the Ñoldor and head of the guild of Weavers. Good day,” she finished, pulling the scissors free and thrusting her arm towards the door.
The man slowly backed off, turned. Míriel bent over the frame and finished cutting the fabric in half, watching – with keen pleasure – the man speed out of her workroom as she did.
While she put the scissors back where they had come from, she heard a sigh.
“You were there the whole time?” she asked, recognising Finwë even before he came forward from the shadowy corner where he had been standing.
“Yes,” Finwë said, sighing again. “I do wish you were more diplomatic.”
“It's a waste of time with such inflated nonentities.”
Finwë took her face in his hands. “Do it for me.”
“Finwë Ñoldoran,” Míriel said with the utmost seriousness, her chin thrust up, “I did not come to this place to be given embroidery lessons from people who don't know the first thing about the craft. And I will not suffer disrespect for your sake or anyone else's.”
“I didn't mean that,” Finwë gently protested, and silenced Míriel's rebuttal with a kiss. “You know I will always be at your side, no matter what.”
Rating: Gen
Words: Around 580
Content Warning: None
Summary: Míriel refuses a commission
“I won't do it.”
To make her words even more final, Míriel took the scissors lying on a small table among tools and threads of all colours, and cut the fabric stretched out on a large frame – with the tracing already in place and the lower border stitched in – rending it neatly in half for a good one third of its width.
The man blanched, shuddering as if the scissors would come for him next. “But, Your Majesty, this is an important commission, a gift to honour the Valar!”
“Since you have so many ideas on how to improve my composition, since you know how many leaves are too many leaves and how large a portion of the fabric the sky should take and which birds I should add, I take it you might want to make the tapestry yourself.”
“Your Majesty, we agreed –”
Míriel silenced the man with a huff, waving the scissors still clutched in her fingers. “I agreed to embroider a large piece for you, yes, and showed you plenty of possible designs beforehand. You kept saying anything I would do would be perfect and that you trusted my expertise. Since it is not so, I am giving you the chance to work the tapestry yourself whichever way you like.”
“But I'm not a broiderer!”
“Oh no?” Míriel drew her eyebrows together, in the most openly mocking expression she was capable of.
“You rarely come up to Taniquetil, I merely thought you would want suggestions in order to make the tapestry more pleasing –”
Míriel stabbed the scissors into the nearest wooden beam. The frame was sturdy, made to accommodate large tapestries and allow more than one broiderer to work on it at the same time, and barely creaked. Míriel said, very quietly, staring at the splinters of wood dislodged by the scissors, “do I look stupid to you?”
The man attempted a rebuttal, but clenched his jaw as Míriel turned to him.
“I'm sure there are plenty of broiderers out there ready to weave tapestries to honour the Valar and to make them as pleasing as you would like. Do tell them you have the blessing of the High Queen of the Ñoldor and head of the guild of Weavers. Good day,” she finished, pulling the scissors free and thrusting her arm towards the door.
The man slowly backed off, turned. Míriel bent over the frame and finished cutting the fabric in half, watching – with keen pleasure – the man speed out of her workroom as she did.
While she put the scissors back where they had come from, she heard a sigh.
“You were there the whole time?” she asked, recognising Finwë even before he came forward from the shadowy corner where he had been standing.
“Yes,” Finwë said, sighing again. “I do wish you were more diplomatic.”
“It's a waste of time with such inflated nonentities.”
Finwë took her face in his hands. “Do it for me.”
“Finwë Ñoldoran,” Míriel said with the utmost seriousness, her chin thrust up, “I did not come to this place to be given embroidery lessons from people who don't know the first thing about the craft. And I will not suffer disrespect for your sake or anyone else's.”
“I didn't mean that,” Finwë gently protested, and silenced Míriel's rebuttal with a kiss. “You know I will always be at your side, no matter what.”
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