A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: We are glad and pleased that we have such a lot of reviews (although Rukuelle is saddened that most of them pertain to Lydia, although it is understandable. After all, Lydia is of EftP fame. But Rukuelle still wishes someone might review for her, for a change...). Thank yous, to SteelFlame (Faramir's odd 'cos we can make him go through character development later) Asha Ice, Crow, Cerse, Tesmarana, The Woods Witch and Celias23. We're glad how you appreciate the triple Orlando Bloom conjunction. Rukuelle muses off how a double Keira Knightley might look...
4. Stitching and Submative-assessments
"Hello, dears," said the lady at the front of the classroom. Many of the students recognised her as the woman who had been ladling out stew last night and porridge this morning. "I am the Lady Galadriel, and your Aesthetics teacher."
"I wonder what Aesthetics is?" muttered Grub to Trouble.
"Aesthetics," replied Galadriel, almost as if she had caught that whisper, "is the learning and appreciation of arts. Your basic module this year involves Home Economics, Performing Arts and Art and Craft, all which I shall be teaching."
"Is that good or bad?" muttered Merry to Sam.
"Of course it's good," went on Galadriel. "I am the best and only Aesthetics teacher you will ever get in this school."
"I think she can read our minds," thought Frodo.
"I can," answered Galadriel, looking straight at him. "I am the mistress of many extraordinary powers. And it does no good to offend me." She spun around and faced Van Helsing. "You, dear," she said. "Do take off your hat."
"I like to have it on, thank you," replied Van Helsing coolly. I wonder how come she doesn't pick on the guy at the back with the pirate hat...
"It will interfere with your learning," said Galadriel, eyes narrowing eerily. "Now, do take it off before I start on you."
Van Helsing glared back.
Galadriel's eyes grew even narrower. They seemed to radiate some mystical power; the tension between teacher and student was electrical. Then Van Helsing, almost meekly, took off his hat.
Anna and Carl looked from Galadriel to Van Helsing, mouths open in shock.
"Thank you, dear." Galadriel swept back to the front of the classroom. "Now, this Home Economics lesson will involve – sewing."
Achilles raised his hand at the back. "And why," he called, "do we need to learn sewing?"
Andromache glared at him. Galadriel, however, did not. She merely stopped her sweeping pace and gave him the sort of smile adults give to children who relentlessly insist that chocolate is a lot more healthier than spinach.
"I suppose," she began, "you think that it is only women who have to sew. Sewing to you, and to most of the boys who first pass through my hands, is a feminine task. However, say if the world ran out of women. Who would mend your clothes? Who would even bother making them? You would have no clothes."
Achilles looked as if he would rather have no clothes than endure any more anti-chauvinistic talk, but Galadriel went on mercilessly. "Sewing is a job that should be shared among men and women. Men must learn that women will not stand having all the domestic chores thrust upon them, and that they can and will take their share. As my dear husband learnt himself."
"I pity her husband," thought Achilles.
"Don't worry," said Galadriel. "He's quite happy under my rule. Celeborn is such a dear. Anyway, today we shall start lightly. Now, you will find spare cloth, thread, needles and scissors in your desk drawers. We are going to learn how to sew – " she paused for dramatic effect, "– buttons."
She was not exactly very pleased with the shocked silence that followed.
"Well," Galadriel frowned at her students. "Do take them out." She turned around and began to draw a diagram on the board as her students fumbled for the sewing equipment. It took fifteen minutes to explain in detail the method of sewing buttons.
"Now," said Galadriel. "You will practice sewing your own buttons. And I must warn you, this piece of work is submative."
"What's submative?" wondered Éomer.
Galadriel was happy to elaborate. "Submative means the grade for this piece of button-sewing is counted into your overall examination grade. So you must put in effort even on this."
Hermione looked all ready to start sewing, at the mention of submative and overall grade.
Galadriel beamed at them all. "Begin."
And so proceeded their first submative assessment and (for the majority of the boys, at least) nightmare.
The first stumbling-block encountered by most of the class was the threading of the needle. Galadriel made it look easy; it wasn't. Threads split; needles slipped; fibres frayed; as did tempers. In the end, Arwen had to thread Aragorn's needle for him, and also the needle of her other deskmate, Paris's brother Hector. Galadriel managed to get Andromache to help Achilles thread his.
In the middle column's fourth row, just behind Arwen, two girls were fighting for the attention of a bemused boy. "Marius," crooned the girl on his right, whose chestnut hair was coloured with stunning gold streaks, "I'll thread your needle!"
"No," interjected the girl on his left, the ragged French girl who had snapped at Chix last night. "Let me thread it for you, Marius."
"I'll thread it myself," said Marius hurriedly, and forced the thread through the needle's eye – successfully, he noted in relief. The two girls looked disappointed, so he hastily added, "But thank you anyway, er..."
"Eponine," offered the girl with black curls.
"Cosette," declared the neat chestnut-haired girl, who also had a strong French accent.
"Er, well, thank you."
Then there came the sewing itself. Faramir had sewed happily through the button three times by the time Boromir pointed out he hadn't tied the knot in the first place. Then he had to tirelessly convince Faramir to unpick all his work and start over.
"My needle is jammed," complained Éowyn as her needle got stuck in a buttonhole.
"Force it through," suggested Holly, who was finding it no easy task herself.
Éowyn accordingly shoved hard at the needle, which promptly snapped into two. "I hate sewing," muttered Éowyn, as she angrily swept the broken needle into Artemis's pile and dug a new one out of her drawer. Artemis looked with distaste at the needle halves and gingerly poked them off the table.
The French Revolution had only selected the cloth scraps that were red in colour, and they were now singing, "Red! The blood of angry men!" much to the extreme annoyance of Anna and Van Helsing.
"These buttons actually have a rather tangy flavour," observed Mulch as he popped yet another button into his mouth and crunched on it. Pippin glanced at him uneasily as three more buttons followed their unfortunate fellow. Mulch burped with satisfaction.
Helen sewed alone and missed the company of her two admirers. Will Turner might have joined her, but Galadriel had told them they were not on any account to change seats.
Malfoy glanced at Lili. Galadriel had disallowed her to use her phone in class, and Lili was sulking again. She had not even touched her needle. Malfoy wondered if he should try goading her into sewing, but decided it might be better if he just let her fail of her own accord.
"I – Hate – Sewing!" muttered Achilles through clenched teeth. Briseis glanced at him worriedly as he positioned the needle like an attacking spear and drove it furiously through the buttonhole. "It is, after all, a woman's job."
Andromache sniffed. "Men."
Achilles growled and stabbed at the buttonhole as if it was Andromache's eye socket. Then he received a huge shock when Galadriel stuck her head over his shoulder. "Gently, Achilles dear. It's a needle, not a spear."
Achilles wondered how long she had been standing there without him noticing, and dug the needle in viciously. Galadriel's eye socket would have been a much better comparison.
Ten minutes before the end of the lesson, Galadriel called them all to finish up their last stitches. "Now," she announced, "I shall collect all of your work. And then I shall grade them in class, so you can watch and learn how to improve – and I shall test in particular how strong your stitching is."
When the cloths were laid in a motley pile of colours on her table, Galadriel lifted up the foremost – Hermione's. Hermione held her breath as Galadriel noted the stitching pattern, the number of stitches, the neatness of the thread. Then Hermione gasped in horror as she hooked two long fingernails under the button and ripped at it.
The button held.
Galadriel smiled at Hermione. "A," she said approvingly, and Hermione nearly dissolved in relief.
Harry's survived, and he received an A too. Ron was not so lucky. His button came away between the fingernails of doom. "B," sentenced Galadriel. "Your method is right, but you do not sew well enough. Improve, dear boy."
Ron drooped miserably.
In turn, each member of the class held their breaths as Galadriel methodically and ruthlessly ripped at each of their buttons. Van Helsing's stayed firm, but Galadriel gave him a B, because he had paranoidly redoubled the thread so many times that the button was buried amidst a forest of white fibres. "In future," she said sternly, "four rounds will do."
Anna smirked when she got an A.
Arwen received an A – "Of course, my darling granddaughter," – and to his relief, so did Aragorn. Hector's was ripped unmercifully from its cloth. Hector winced.
The French Revolutions' buttons were sewn so loosely they ripped like a scene of synchrony. Button after button was wrenched in perfect rhythm from their scarlet nests. The revolutionaires looked unrepentant.
Galadriel's eyes narrowed in the now familiarly dangerous way when she saw Lili's sewing. Or rather, lack thereof. "Lili, would you explain this?"
"Sewing is bad for my fingers," muttered Lili sullenly. "It gives them wrinkles."
"Then you will have to put up with the wrinkles," replied Galadriel severely, and gave Lili a 'D'.
Achilles seemed to have sewn so viciously a patch of cloth ripped off along with the button, edges serrated with needleholes. Galadriel tutted. "What did I say? Gently..."
At last, Galadriel put down the last cloth and pronounced Briseis an 'A'. The people who had got 'A's breathed in relief. The people who hadn't were either sobbing into their partners' shoulders or, in Van Helsing's case (he certainly wasn't going to sob into Anna's shoulder), glaring moodily at his desktop. Achilles hurled all his sewing equipment into the drawer and glared at Andromache, who was prissily helping Briseis line the needles up in neat rows.
Galadriel beamed at them all. "Now, run along, dears. You have recess next, but since there's going to be Firearms afterwards, I suggest you use that time to change into more – " she glanced at Helen's flowing white Greek gown, "– appropriate attire for outdoor activity. Recess in the dining hall; Firearms will be in the range building in the field outside."
They hurriedly streamed out of the doors. The French Revolution were singing loudly again. Galadriel stuck her head out after them and yelled: "Taisez-vous! There are other classes having lessons now!" The French Revolution subsided into many mutters. The rest fled down the spiral stairs towards the dining hall, extremely glad to escape.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming... Crossfire and the Commander