“They tell me we are heading into a recession, but from the looks of things here the pub owners will have naught to fear with you around.” Maeglin took a seat upon the stool beside Erestor, in front of whom a half dozen empty pints were scattered. The seventh was being nursed with a shot of whiskey.
“I just like to drink,” drawled Erestor matter-of-factly. He gulped down the rest of the whiskey and set the glass loudly on the counter, an alert to the bartender to pour another. “If I had the freedom to return home, then I would drink there, not here. Too expensive drinking here,” said Erestor as the server poured another shot. The server admittedly nodded in agreement before walking away to tend to another patron. “As soon as this damned event is over I can go back to my own damn room and drink my own damn… whatever this is.” He swallowed the shot and chased it with the rest of his beer.
“I have terrible news for you, then,” said Maeglin as he motioned the bartender back over and requested a cherry cordial. “Turgon dismissed the lords nearly an hour ago. Our King has already retired for the evening as well.”
Erestor grumbled something as he shoved the last mug across the counter to join the others. As he reached into his pocket to find coins to settle his tab, Maeglin shook his head and tossed enough silver to amply cover both of their bills. “I assume you are going up,” he said as he nodded to the stairs. “We can walk together; I have want of the company, and you, I dare say, are in need of it,” he added as Erestor managed to shakily stand. Maeglin slid his cordial from the counter and sipped it slowly as they crossed the room. It took them so long that by the time they reached the stairs, Maeglin had finished his drink. He handed it to a maid as she passed by and kept an eye on Erestor’s balance as they made their ascent.
“When is the next play?”
“What?” Erestor hung onto the railing, one hand over the other. “Oh... I have to ask Salgant. I think there is one playing now. Casting for the next one will be soon.”
“I very much enjoyed your last engagement. I have seen the one they are putting on now and it is dreadful. Faelion is terrible as a lead actor.” Maeglin shifted his eyes up to catch Erestor’s expression.
Erestor paused when they reached the second landing. “He tries. He needs more training.” Erestor swayed a little as he started on the next set of stairs.
“He needs to adopt a less cocky attitude.” Maeglin placed his hand momentarily on Erestor’s back when it appeared he was going to stumbled backwards. “It is one thing to be arrogant when you know what you are doing and another entirely when you are just a lucky youth. Then again, we all might learn a lesson from Lords Ecthelion and Glorfindel.”
Another stop was made on the third landing. Erestor scrutinized Maeglin and then demandingly asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, of everyone, they are the most chivalrous and the least conceited. Lord Ecthelion is a better singer than Lord Salgant, a better fighter than Lord Rog, and a better leader, dare I say, than my uncle. He never boasts of that, like some people erroneously do of their own skills.”
When Maeglin appeared finished, Erestor pressed him further. “And Glorfindel?”
“Lord Glorfindel is just a blonder, younger, slightly less confident and not as skilled version of Lord Ecthelion.” Maeglin waited for Erestor to agree or contest. Instead, Erestor started up the stairs again.
“Tell me, Erestor, how is your wife? I saw her only briefly this evening. I imagine she is overjoyed that you have safely returned.”
“I suppose. She is fine, I guess.” Erestor clenched his teeth to keep himself from speaking, but upon reaching the next landing he was unable to hold back. “What do you mean, less confident?”
“Excuse me?” Maeglin stopped as well, waited for a couple venturing down the stairs to pass them by, and crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean, about Lord Glorfindel?”
“Exactly.”
Maeglin shrugged and looked off to the side, but he still kept watch on Erestor out of the corner of his eye. “He hesitates. In council, he sometimes looks unsure of his decisions.”
“I assure you, it is not a lack of confidence,” argued Erestor. “He is careful; more of us would do well to follow his lead.”
“Indeed, as I already said.” Maeglin motioned to the staircase, and they began up the next flight. “I meant no disrespect towards Lord Glorfindel.”
Erestor said nothing.
“In fact, I have a great deal of respect for him. His methods are unusual. That he chooses to live within the King’s tower rather than use land for a personal mansion in the midst of the housing crisis is commendable. I hear that you have neither a maid nor a butler. It must be difficult to manage without them.”
Erestor remained silent.
Maeglin tried another approach. “The fact of two couples living together is even more amazing – it must really dampen one’s love life, to worry about someone else listening on the other side of the door.”
They were now walking down the corridor to the suite shared by Erestor and Glorfindel. Erestor dug in his pocket for the key as he said, “A pleasure speaking with you this evening, but I must see to my wife. And you are right – it can be difficult, but with Glorfindel and his wife out for the evening, I plan to use my time well.”
Erestor promptly opened the door, and stumbled into the room, falling down onto his hands and knees. His entrance would have been slightly more graceful, but Maeglin had taken an opportunity.
Some might call Maeglin vile or evil – it seems only fitting both words are anagrams of one another, with the chameleon qualities Maeglin possessed. However, Maeglin would argue he was neither, simply an opportunist. When an opportunity came along, there was no time to think, only to take it or to walk away. Maeglin, like his parents before him, was not one to walk away. So when he saw the loose lace of Erestor’s boot dragging across the ground, he ever to carefully put his foot down on it as Erestor tried to step forward.
Aranel came rushing forward immediately. She had been waiting in the sitting room, dressed demurely for what she hoped might be an intimate evening with her husband. As she helped Maeglin to pick Erestor up from the ground, she blushed as she realized her current state. She felt prying eyes upon her as she mumbled thanks and helped Erestor to stumble into the bedroom.
When she returned, she found Maeglin reading a small page ripped from a book. He calmly folded it and dropped his hand to the side. “I hope he is all right,” said Maeglin, his voice sounding so very sincere. “I found him at the bar counter, and I implored him to come home. It was so late, and I... well, I assumed someone was probably waiting for him.”
Aranel had had the sense to grab a robe on her way out of the bedroom, though it was Erestor’s so it hung low and dragged behind her. She held it closed with both hands as she approached Maeglin. “Thank you for returning him. I apologize that I cannot invite you to stay, for I must tend to his condition.”
“I understand,” he said knowingly. He gave her a sympathetic smile and added, “It must be terribly difficult to have a husband who is a drunkard.”
Aranel straightened up. Though it was hard, she did her best to defend Erestor. “He has his admirable qualities.”
“Oh, I know,” stated Maeglin quickly. “He is a wonderful poet.” And Maeglin unfolded the paper and began to read:
If I kiss you, will you kiss back?
Will your lips be sweet as wine?
You remind me of the Eldar days
Of honey and sunshine
Maeglin looked up, and saw that Aranel looked quite confused. “It slipped out of his pocket when he fell. I did not mean to pry; it happened to fall open and... well, he is a wonderful poet.” And Maeglin read on:
If I touch you, will you touch me?
Is your skin as soft as a peach?
I know not why I think this way
Of forbidden, out-of-reach
The look of horror on Aranel’s face made Maeglin stop. He looked away and said quietly, “Now that I reread the words, it seems he speaks of someone else.”
Aranel grabbed the sheet from Maeglin’s grasp and read the rest herself, trembling as she did so. By the time she turned the paper over to find the last verse, tears were falling. Maeglin came up beside her and gently dried her eyes with the corner of his sleeve. “He…” she sniffled, but she said no more as she began to cry again.
Maeglin slipped the paper away from her and led Aranel to the couch. His eyes skimmed the page again and certain words caught his attention more so than they had. “Idril,” he whispered, unsure if Aranel heard him, and remembered the way his dear cousin sometimes looked at Erestor, and things she had said about him in the past. It was not unknown to him that Erestor had held an interest in both Aredhel and her cousin; Idril was not so far removed from either.
He forced back his anger and tenderly stroked Aranel’s cheek. “There, there... he is a fool,” decided Maeglin. “Here, he has taken as wife one of the most beautiful ladies in our fair city, and he has so little respect for someone he should put above all others. Perhaps he is a husband, taking care of you financially as he is so obligated,” Maeglin said, giving the door of the bedroom a good glare, “but how long has it been since he has given you his love? Has he ever truly been your lover?”
Honestly, Aranel was able to answer him. “No,” she replied meekly, finding herself trapped in Maeglin’s arms. She should show Maeglin out, she knew she should, but she felt so betrayed by the ellon in the next room. Sure, Erestor had been told he was free to seek out company elsewhere, but now that it was done it hurt, and badly. “You... you should...”
Maeglin silenced her with his lips. Nothing more was said. The heavy embroidered jacket Maeglin wore slipped onto the ground next to the discarded robe. Other garments joined the pile, leaving flesh to press against flesh. Little time was wasted, and when Aranel cried out and bit her hand, Maeglin drew back and stared down at the blood in shock. “What an arrogant bastard,” mumbled Maeglin, and he bowed his head and kissed her tears away, and pleaded forgiveness and slowly resumed as encouragement reached his ears.
When they finished, there was hope and regret.
“Leave with me,” said Maeglin as he sat on the couch, catching his breath as Aranel hastily dressed again.
Aranel shook her head. “I am sorry... this was a mistake.” She picked up his trousers and held them out to him. “You need to leave, but I cannot go with you.”
“Why not? It is clear he does not love you,” argued Maeglin. “Why did you marry him? Or was this one of those convenient political things – your father needs a decent captain, and he needs you married off.”
“Please, you are going to wake him up!” Aranel shoved the rest of Maeglin’s clothing onto his lap. “I do not want a scandal. He might not be perfect, but he is my husband, and that is all there is to it. You must go, and you must go now.”
Maeglin grabbed hold of Aranel’s wrist and pulled her onto his lap. “If you do not come with me, I will let everyone in the city know of his infidelity.”
“If you do that, it will be the last words you speak, for I will tell my father and my husband that you raped me and you will most certainly join your father in the abyss of the Echoriath.”
The threat shocked Maeglin at first, and angered him soon after. He shoved Aranel away and hastily pulled on his pants and gathered the rest of his clothing. Before leaving, he turned and said, “Maybe the two of you are meant to be together.”
