Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it

Summary: See previous chapters.

APPEARANCE AND ADDRESS

This bi-monthly gathering was at Rowan's apartment, where he had taken up Mairi's habit of taste-testing recipes on other people before trying to present it to his guild mentor. Sam was helping to look up documentation, since most of the recipes from that time and place were written in a different language.

The linguistically-gifted member of their little group looked up. "Um, how accurate do you want me to be here? Whoever wrote this was fond of terms like 'wench' and 'knave', but I don't think you want to hand that it to a teacher."

Rowan was, ironically enough, being mentored by Mistress Rowan, the first Baroness and Mistress of several Guilds. He wouldn't have handed wording like that in to anyone, but especially not to a multiple Guild mistress. "I'd appreciate if you'd re-word it a little. 'Wench' may be Period, but it's not something I want to document."

Having been told several times about the necessity of things being Period-appropriate, Sam was understandably confused. "But an Elizabethan person might call a woman a 'wench' if she wasn't of an obviously higher social class. Wouldn't they do the same with you lot?"

Mairi and Suzi looked up from a book on the history of medicine, two pointedly-raised eyebrows daring him to try it. Rowan shuddered at a recollection of the last time that happened. "Not without injury, they wouldn't. About a third of our fighters are female, and girls stick together in these things. Don't even get me started on what cooks, seamstresses, and other professions can do to make your life miserable if they feel insulted."

Suzi looked very interested; after several months of no-one taking her seriously as anything but a general nuisance, some skill that would have made them treat her with some level of respect would have been wonderful. Rowan had been on the receiving end of a rather inventive woman who decided that peer disapproval worked wonders on arrogant boys, and one of Rowan's shield-mates had been very unpopular with the rest of the company when he had got the entire unit banned from the tavern.

That wouldn't have been horrible, but then word had spread to the cooking stalls. Several cooks competing to see who was the best, and all pretending that the company wasn't there when they tried to buy anything.

Rowan wasn't about to share the details of that story at knife-point, especially not with anyone who hadn't been there and already finished laughing at the compay's misfortune.

Suzi translated his expression easily enough, and sighed. "No, I suppose you wouldn't be inclined to tell me. A pity, though; I could have used something like that when we were in Middle – "

The other three lunged to clap a hand over her mouth, a few seconds too late.

They appeared just outside of Rivendell. From the sound of Wargs in the far distance, it was – currently – safely away from any pursuing Orc-pack.

That didn't make them safe from a patrol of hostile and wary elves, a hobbit and thirteen dwarves (mostly just hostile to anything over four foot tall) and a gaggle of increasingly confused and irritated fanwriters.

For once, they didn't have to introduce themselves, as a fanwriter narrowed his eyes, pointing at them dramatically. "I know you! You're those 'canon-hunters' who came out of a self-insert fic and insist on going around trying to destroy common plot-points! We were warned about you!"

Hearing this, several elves instantly dismounted and bowed, having endured the fanwriters long enough to welcome and respect anyone who could get rid of them. "My Lords, my Ladies."

Another fanwriter threw up their hands. "Hey, why do they get called that? You refused to address us like nobility!"

Actually, that had baffled Suzi more than a little, though Rowan and Mairi had instantly bowed in return, hands over hearts. "I'd sort of like to know that, too. Sam was called 'Master', as were the Hobbits, Rowan seemed to alternate between 'Master' and 'Lord', and I didn't get called 'Lady' until after Lothlorien, but everyone called you 'Lady Mairi' from the start."

Mairi closed her eyes, ignoring the Middle-Earth natives for now. "Hobbits have no station higher than Thain or Mayor, though they do have Gentlehobbits, so all of them would be addressed as 'Master' or 'Miss'. The same principle applies for Sam and you," she frowned in thought, "though I actually don't remember people addressing you much at all, at the beginning."

Rowan shook his head, taking over the explanation. "They didn't, or mostly referred to them as 'your companion/s' while talking to or about us. Anyway, a name and locative byname, such as Mairi of Kilravok, generally indicates upper-class, or at least land-ownership, and we introduced me as her protector, which implies a lower rank, but also automatically indicates that SOMEONE holds me in high enough regard to entrust me with Mairi's safety. That makes me a 'person of merit', which leads back to 'My Lord as a term of respect. They started calling Suzi 'Lady' after the miracle healing fiasco, as I recall."

The Elves and Dwarves looked interested, as well they might. "Miracle healing, you say?"

Sam shook his head, "A long and complicated story, my lords. Pay it no mind."

A tanned girl with multiple piercings, including her nose and lip, stepped forward from somewhere in the back of the fanwriter group, hoping to continue the argument, but hastily drew back when the Rivendell elves instantly drew their weapons, prompting the others to do the same. "Haradrim! Get back!"

The girl did so, back-peddling so fast that she knocked into a friend, who was dressed in typical Earth teenage fashion. The friend staggered forward, drawing scandalized cries from dwarves and elves alike, and bumped into another fanwriter. That one, clad in an extremely low-cut dress that ended around mid-calf, deliberately fell so that she could look imploringly at the elves. "Won't one of you help me?"

The leader of the patrol looked at her impassively. "You seem capable of falling on your back without assistance, judging by your manner of dress, as does your acquaintance. Forgive us our disinclination to intervene."

Ori, Fili and Kili all snickered, before they realized who they were laughing with, and pretended to have done no such thing. The rest of Thorin's company were determinedly minding their own business and hoping not to be noticed.

More than one fanwriter looked confused, but didn't really want to risk the sharp ends of various weaponry in their curiosity for an explanation. Instead, wilfully ignoring the irony, a few looked toward the four sarcastic newcomers. Rowan managed to explain that Tattoos and piercings were generally an indication of pirates or Haradrim, and that while a girl in pants might get away with pretending to be travelling in disguise, it was usually a sign of cross-dressing, but faltered as he searched for a polite way to explain the remark about the dress.

Mairi was not so scrupulous, and so fed up with the fanwriter's behaviour - she had never help much esteem for those, male or female, who slept with whoever took their fancy, whom she saw as having an appalling lack of self-respect - that she didn't censor herself. Perhaps bluntness and a sharp shock would get through to them. "Oh, for the love of the Valar! 'Fall on your back' is slang for 'will sleep with anything that doesn't run away' and a low-cut, high-hemmed dress is either a cast off from a much broader woman that has drastically shrunk in the wash, or an indication of a Streetwalker, to put it politely!"

Ori's gentle nature finally won out over his desire to avoid involvement, and he stepped forward, offering his cloak to the one dressed in Earth fashion. "There's no need to speak so roughly to children in unfortunate circumstances, my Lady! Here you are, Miss. I don't know what happened that you're forced to wander in naught but your bodice and belt, but I'm sure that one of the Elves has a spare cloak or blanket that you can fashion into a dress of some kind."

A few of the elves looked contrite now, rather than scandalized, and offered up the mentioned items. Rather than play on sympathy and possibly earn goodwill through politeness, the girl pushed it away. "Excuse me? I'll have you know that this is a perfectly good mini-skirt and tank top! Why would I need to make my own clothes when someone else could do it for me?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his eyes. "That, right there, explains so much about you people."

The lead fanwriter waved their hand imperiously. "We don't want you here ruining our fun! Get back to wherever you came from! Alakazam!"

The mocking laughter that followed the fanwriter's inexplicable need to add in 'magic words' managed to hang around for a good five minutes after the four giving voice to it had vanished.

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A/N: So, Swytla and I were talking, and I realized that this is another thing (or two things) than needed to be tackled. Now, in the SCA, 'Lord' and 'Lady' are the default terms for a person whose name you don't know, unless they are wearing an obvious indication of rank… such as a crown or some kind of badge of office. Likewise 'Master' or 'Mistress' is shorthand for 'Guild-master/-mistress', an indication of skill in a particular area. It's a small issue in the world of fanfiction, so I don't usually take exception to it, but I decided to bring it up just in case.

Manner of dress, on the other hand, is much bigger. If you showed up in the Shire in a skirt that reached above your knees, or anything that showed off your elbows, you'd probably be arrested for public indecency. In many cases, the bust, neckline, and sometimes shoulders were about the only bare skin you could show off, but even then there were limits. They didn't have elastic or anything, so falling out of a dress, if it was too low-cut, was a potential risk, and in such a close community, everyone would know about it within a day.

Mairi might have been very blunt, and quite rude, but she was right.

If there are any other ideas you'd like me to tackle, let me know in a review!

Thanks,

Nat