Dear reader, the following story was written based on a true event, but given a comedic twist. Any and all happenings did truly occur, but were embellished. Greatly embellished, in some regards.
Cardanith Galadnaith, First Autarch of The Host, Keeper of the Spear and Mantle, Bearer of the Standard, and Lord of the First, stood frozen before the greatest foe he had ever seen. He stopped before this insurmountable mountain, a place where he would be subjected to the greatest of all perils. On the intricate scrollwork above the door, stood a single name.
The Tailors of Imladris.
Cardanith took a deep breath, steeling his will against what was to come. He pushed the door knob, entering the airy, sunlit hall, standing with the usual stoicism he was known for.
“Suilad, Hir!” One of the tailors responded. “We are at your service! What thread may we weave for you?”
“I need... clothes.” He offered, cradling the hands behind his back. “Regular garments, simplest of all. Nothing extravagant.”
“Why of course, Hir! Would you like a robe, a tunic, perhaps a doublet? A flowing pattern or something that would accentuate your frame?”
“Uh...” The words tried to fight out of his lips. “Clothes. I need clothes.”
There was a reluctant look that flashed across the tailor’s face, but he bowed none the less. “Clothes, yes. Halvion, fetch the thread and measures!” He snapped his fingers, before turning once more towards the Noldo.
“Shall I... stand here?” Cardanith gestured, awkwardly.
“Yes, yes! Please, Hir, come! We must take your measurements!” The tailor turned into a flurry of movement, the long sleeves of his azure tunic trailing behind him. “I think.... a doublet would work well, yes? Have you truly no preference?”
“No. I have little need to tend to the trends of garments. But something akin to a arming jacket.”
“An... arming jacket! Ah, a soldier! I should have known! I think...” The other elf, whose name Cardanith later learned to be Maedir, pressed a finger against his lips, thinking. “I think crimson, with a dash of silver on the lining. Yes, that would work splendedly!” Maedir took the long measuring tape from one of the other tailors, then wrapped it around Cardanith’s chest. “Uh... lift your arms up a little, Hir.”
The Autarch did as instructed. With a quick hand, the tailor worked around Cardanith’s arms, waist, shoulders, neck, and wrists. He would mutter a few notes beneath his breath, before standing back before the Noldo. “Well... shall I bring out the fabrics then? Texture is key in such commissions! I’m thinking something regal, something to bring out that proud Noldor brow!”
Cardanith lifted said brow, bringing his arms to his side once more. “I fail to see how my blood has to do anything with this.”
“But it has to do everything, hir! You seem a soldier, and an ancient one at that! Surely you want to show off your military prowess, the honours you’ve won! I think a weaving pattern of roses to contrast with the shining of the medals, yes?”
The Noldo took pause, his proud Noldor brow now displaying confusion. “I... just... make it simple, by the Stars! I need clothes. Clothes. Do you understand that?”
Maedir seemed to want to add more to the topic, but his mouth betrayed him. After a few mumbles, he relented. “Ah... I will... find something regular, then. What about the lining? Surely! Surely you will see the importance of a proper colour palette!”
“A pro- what? I need clothes. I need something on me other than a gambeson, plate or uniform. Just....” Cardanith shook his head, placing two open hands by the ducts of his eyes. “Just make me whatever you want. A doublet, or what you called it. Just make it, I will return tomorrow.”
Soon enough, he was thundering towards the doors, his gut turning with a swirl of anger, frustration and utter confusion.
“But... Hir! Hir! What about the inner lin-”
“Just make me a normal set of clothes! A normal! Set! Of clothes!”
The doors slammed shut, leaving poor Maedir with nothing but a short whisp of air that flew through his azure robe. The tailor turned to one of his adjuctants.
“That has to be, by far, the rudest, most ill-tempered Noldo I ever have met!” He exclaimed, not fully believing the conversation. “Worse even than that blue-clad scholar! But get back to work, Halvion!”
“What are we making?”
Maedir sighed heavily, his arms slumping at his side dramatically.
“A regular set of clothes, I suppose.”
