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"Father."

Elrond, who had been until then deeply involved in discussing important matters of the realm with his chief advisers, Erestor and Glorfindel, looked up along with his colleagues to see his toddler daughter Arwen standing at the door of his study with an anxious expression on her small face. He smiled at her and then looked apologetically at the now broadly smiling elves beside him. "Excuse me, Erestor, Glorfindel.” Then he returned his attention to the toddler. “Yes, Arwen?"

She came straight to the point. "Papa, I want a brassiere."

Elrond blinked. His colleagues looked similarly stunned. He frowned at the toddler. "Why, Arwen? You have no need of a brassiere."

Her lips pursed in mimicry of her mother. "I want a brassiere."

"You do not need one."

"But I want one."

"But you will be uncomfortable wearing one." Beside Elrond, Erestor suddenly crossed his legs. Elrond swallowed.

"But I want..." Her fists balled, her mouth pursed tighter – wrinkling now into a pout.

"Arwen, you should discuss these matters with your mother!" As he said this, Elrond started to feel annoyed. After all, why was Arwen raising such an issue with him?

"But she said to ask you!" Arwen informed obstinately. "She said that you would sort me out!"

"Arwen," Elrond tried in a placating voice, "a brassiere is for holding up your breasts. You have no breasts; therefore, you have no need of a brassiere."

"So?"

"So you do not need a brassiere."

"But I want a brassiere."

"You need breasts if you want a brassiere, Arwen."

In the ensuing silence, she continued to screw up her face. Elrond could see that she was thinking hard. He did not have to wait long to find out what she was thinking about.

"Can you give me breasts, Father?"

Glorfindel choked. Elrond glanced sharply at the quietly snickering elf-lord and then looked back at his daughter. "No, Arwen. They will grow on their own."

"But I want breasts now!"

"Arwen."

"NOW!" Her eyes filled with furious tears. Her face was wrinkled up as far as it might go. She looked like a pug. Elrond knew that some might call her expression adorable. He currently thought it was tiresome and tempting a wind change.

"Arwen, why do you want to wear a brassiere?"

The wrinkles faded slightly. Still glaring at him, she shrugged.

Elrond stared at her for a long moment. Then, finally, he hissed out between his teeth and shook his head slightly. "Arwen, if you want one so badly, go downstairs and find the housekeeper and ask her to make you a brassiere."

Like the sun, she brightened up again as if night had never fallen. "Yes, Papa."

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Elrond turned back to Erestor and Glorfindel. Erestor uncrossed his legs and visibly relaxed. Glorfindel hurriedly wiped the smirk from his face. Elrond smiled tightly at the pair of them. "Now," he said, "where were we?"
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