Tailor made

Midday finds the Bragollach manor quiet and cold, like many of the houses of Nobility. A few servants brush the dust from the ornaments of the house, while others carry down a number of boxes to the study, off from the foyer.

Inside, the young Lady Gweneth positions mirrors, and directs the servants on where to place the boxes. Wrapped still in her morning robe, her bright demeanor seems out of place in the vast, chill hallways and rooms of Thamas Daerlach.

Little fanfare heralds the entrance of Nathron, for he is no Lord or stately man, but a humble tailor by all appearances.  Though one might judge he does quite well for himself, by the standards of a tailor.  A crimson red tunic adorns him, visibly made from quality fabric and a skillful hand.  Elegantly crafted trousers he wears as well, and a heavy tan cloth sash accompanies the outfit.  The man is not particularly tall, nor would be accounted among the very handsome.  His wide forehead narrows to a pointed chin, and is crowned by a slightly receding hairline.  His ears are small, his nose narrow as his chin, and a tilted smirk appears to be a regular fixture upon the man's thin slender lips.  Two small slanting eyes, however, reveal without blatancy a window into a keen and clever mind.

"Good day to you, young Lady Gweneth.  How fare you?  Well I hope."  He speaks, never actually stopping to await an answer.  His voice is tinged by a slight rasp, and appears well shaped by the many accents that flow through the market streets.  "Let us get started, I have many appointments today and so little time, hm?"

Turning slowly to the man, Gweneth smiles as the tailor makes his entrance, "Ah, Master Nathron, yes? I have a great admiration for your work I have seen elsewhere. I believe you have done work for others in my family, yes?"

She quietly crosses the distance between the pair, motioning to the room, "Will this do? I have prepared a few mirrors and some sample materials we can experiment with."

"Pleeease," he replies with a dismissive tone and a wave of his hand, "call me Nathron."  Without missing a beat he is onto the next topic.  "This lighting will do quite well, indeed.  I must say I am impressed, actually.  Most places I go around here they seem to think I can see in the dark!"  His jest is accompanied by a knowing wink and a slight nudge. 

"Come, let's get you up off this floor where I can see you.  My kit, over here." he points, and this last bit is directed not at Gweneth but rather to a quiet assistant who had previously remained obscured within the shade of the room.  "Now what am I fitting you for exactly?  I'm sorry dear you'll have to remind me, my memory isn't as fit as it once was."

"I don't believe it was discussed in the missive, Master Nathron," the young lady replies, "But I do not have a design for you, only a charge. My mother apparently wishes me married with some haste and believes my previous efforts to attract the attention of men of quality to be lacking. I do not believe she means to have me dress as a harlot, or perhaps I am not conservative enough in my dress." She lets out a tiny sigh, "In all honesty, I could not tell you what she desires. Only that she has requested such from you, and as such, so do I."

With crossed arms, Nathron nods his head several time as she speaks.  "Sure, sure.  Leave the design to me.  We'll make you beautiful, rest assured.  Now get atop that stool if you would." he says, gesturing with his head as he looks through the kit that his assistant holds aloft.  From it he retrieves a couple yards of line with precise intervals marking its length.

The Bragollach girl removes her robe, leaving her in naught but her cream shift, and steps lightly onto the stool. She holds her arms out to her sides without request, "And you Master Nathron, are from the city?"

"So I hear." replies the tailor, who with skillful hands gets to work taking his measurements.  He begins by taking the circumference of her neck line, shoulders, and upper torso.  His hands work quite un-invasively, meandering around her as necessary.  They possess long, slender fingers which while well kept, begin to show the wear of age.  

"I've come to know many of the port towns of Lebennin as my home, but Pelargir among them all."  He smiles and resumes his work.

"Pelargir? How interesting," comes her reply, seemingly genuine, "I have passed through the city a few times, but only as a stop on my way to Minas Tirith."

"I thought you primarily did your work here in Minas Tirith. You sail then?"

"Indeed." he smiles again, motioning her to raise her arms.  "I do, eh, work for the Guild that takes me abroad quite often."

"I have been in the city for but a short time and have not had much of it to explore," Gweneth says, "We have our duties to keep us busy, yes? Do you have a family, Master Nathron?"

"So many questions!" he remarks with a chuckle, though he circles around to behind her and his expression vanishes from sight.  He then begins measuring around her hips and lower body, quietly rattling off numbers to the assistant as he does so. 

"There's a little village east of Linhir where such inquisitiveness is considered impolite."

Nathron pauses.  "That's not to say I do.  Don't worry yourself over it, my Lady."  The last of the measurements are taken and he steps back and around to face her.  "My point is simply that not all take well to such personal questioning."  The measuring line is put away, and replaced in his hands by a booklet containing squares of many fabrics.

"Let's see what would look nice on you."

"I have learned that more often people find it offensive to speak more of one's self and generally enjoy speaking of their own lives," she counters, stepping from the stool, "Though frowned upon when given without request, I've learned that most enjoy playing the role of the prideful braggart in a polite setting."

She takes up her robe once more, donning it, "I figured with yourself, Master Nathron, most speak of your craft and works and other overused topics."

Nathron grins at her words.  "Spoken truly." he replies.  "It is not the topic of craft and other small talk, my Lady, but the mention of family that I do not enjoy.  Forgive me."  He bows his head slightly as he presents the booklet.

"Then I shall mention it no more."

The young woman looks at the booklet, "Is this your recommendation? I only ask for something with a fine texture. Texture is everything in clothing, despite what others may say."

"Ah!" the tailor exlaims, "A young lady after my own heart.  I quite agree, though I enjoy colors.  Textures very much govern the veneer, and ultimately determine how you the wear feels the fabric.  I think I have just the one for you."  And flipping through the booklet he comes upon a square turquoise fabric that bears a queer shimmer and possess a touch that defies conventional knowledge. 

Gweneth glances at the square dubiously. She tilts her head, finger pressing to her lips, "Turquoise," she condemns in a single word.

She pauses a moment then reaches out with the same finger, running it across the square. She smiles despite herself, "But that is very nice."

He laughs.  "I'm surprised you recognize the shade, much less spurn it so.  This before you is the obsession further south right now.  I know not even what pigment they use to dye it, but I know it's very expensive.  Very limited supply, being from abroad and all.  I suppose it reminds some of past imperial glories."

"Though my demeanor may hide it well, know that I am Bragollach true," she smiles, a bit mischievously, "And watery colors are not favored by my kin or I."

She considers, "A dress of this as the primary would be... embarrassing. But," she runs her finger does it again, "I could see its use as a highlight of a more... mature color. I am to attract a suitor not impress Aunt Meneliel for Sunday brunch."

Nodding, Nathron begins to explain as he flips through more pages.  "I do have a deep maroon, as well as a black that is similar.  But if neither satisfies you, then I shall leave my book with you and have my assistant return for it later this evening."

"I will call it a challenge then, for my place is not to dictate color or design, only to judge its outcome," Gweneth says, not unkindly, her hand pulling away from the book of swaths, "It is best if we leave ourselves to our own talents. I am having five gowns made by five different hands. Mine is to contract for more with the hand that creates the best of five. Your works proceed you, Master Nathron, so I have no doubt you will craft something, turquoise or no, that will be fitting for style of the intent and the person."

"Very well then." Nathron replies with a bow.  "You will not be disappointed, young Lady Gweneth."  Then offering a smile he snaps his fingers and the assistant quickly gathers all that was brought.  

"I shall see you shortly." he says and departs.