“Nothing like a nice, gentle walk after a meal.” Maeglin stepped around Glorfindel and held the door open for him.
For a moment, Glorfindel stared at the open exit. “I could have gotten that myself,” he stated as he began to walk slowly to the opening.
“My mother always said to respect my elders.”
Glorfindel came to a dead stop. “On second thought, I will get it myself.”
“Oh, come now, I did not mean it like that.” Maeglin sighed as Glorfindel settled onto a bench in the hallway of Galdor’s house.
“You insinuated that I am old.”
“Well...” Maeglin continued to hold the door open, but he stuck his foot in the way to keep it from closing so that he could cross his arms over his chest. “You are older than I.”
Glorfindel’s mouth twitched in uncertainty on how to reply.
“Is that why you dislike me? Because I displaced you in council as the youngest of the House Lords? I bet you and Erestor must have enjoyed that – the oldest one and the youngest one, ruling the council.”
“What? No. I – who said I do not like you?” Glorfindel frowned when he considered his words. He had not been the most accepting of Aredhel’s son; there were times when he had seen Maeglin in Salgant’s house when he had been there, and he had done little more than acknowledge him with a smile, if that much. “What do you mean, ruling the council?” he added.
“Nice day for a walk, especially when you know your wife is going to be out all day having tea with every person she ever knew from her childhood.” Maeglin glanced out the door. “It looks like it is going to be a cold winter this year. We should really make the most of it while we can.” Maeglin seemed to be ignoring Glorfindel as he watched the frantic hustling of squirrels across the lawn, but when Glorfindel did start to approach the door, Maeglin held it open a little wider. “I promise to answer your questions; I just hate to do it around walls. They have ears, you know.”
Glorfindel was unsure of Maeglin's motive, if any. After the unexpected embarrassment at lunch, he appreciated the company. They made their way from the House of the Tree to the House of the Fountain, and into the carefully tended gardens. Maeglin did most of the talking while they headed down the path. There was no need to ask if Maeglin had come to Glorfindel’s aid after he left, for it was obvious from the way the young lord spoke of the others who remained at the celebration that some opinion was voiced.
When they were a fair distance away and with enough space between them and any others enjoying the last few truly warm days of summer, Glorfindel asked, ''So, what did you mean about Erestor and I ruling the council? Your uncle rules the council."
Maeglin smiled. ''Of course he does. But when the decisions need to be made, the council takes a vote. With eleven houses besides the king’s house, my uncle never has to make a decision he does not want to. Actually, it is ingenious. He never has to take the blame for a bad idea. If there is something that he wants credit for, or believes very strongly about, he can be the one to make a proclamation and be praised for it."
Glorfindel walked along quietly. Some of the leaves were beginning to change, but nothing had fallen to the ground yet. "What is the connection between the way your uncle runs the council, and Erestor and I?"
''I have noticed that most if the people on the council are very predictable in how they vote. You are not. You almost always cast the deciding vote."
''But I never vote last,” argued Glorfindel. “There is no way I could be affecting things that much. I only have one vote.” Glorfindel laughed uneasily.
Maeglin nodded toward a bench as Glorfindel’s breathing became labored and they sat down. The sound of the water in the fountains of Ecthelion’s courtyard muffled their conversation from any would-be eavesdroppers. “You might always vote second, but you should look at the voting record sometime. I think what you find will surprise you."
''And what of Erestor?"
"He is the only one who can sway you. He puts the subliminal thought in your mind." Maeglin leaned in and said in a low voice, "Sometimes, he does it s very sneakily. He will orate for a time and at some point state, ‘My choice is to vote yea on this topic’ or ‘The only sane vote is a no vote’. Then he will continue to make his case, but he speaks in such a way that it makes one rethink their decision. On occasion, he can flip the votes of others with that tactic, but he uses it sparingly. I can see from the look in your eyes that you were not aware of this trick of his.”
“Maybe he does it subconsciously,” reasoned Glorfindel. “It might be unintentional.”
“It might be,” concluded Maeglin. “However, my mother told me that Lord Erestor was a cunning Elf, and one to carefully take note of.”
Curiosity reared its head, and Glorfindel asked, “What did your mother say of me?”
“She told me that you were trustworthy with secrets,” answered Maeglin. “Usually, that tends to mean a person has secrets of their own.”
“Why would I need to keep anyone else’s secrets if I had some of my own?” wondered Glorfindel almost convincingly.
“Everyone has secrets; the question is never what the secret is, but how many they have and how well they keep them. Unkept secrets are not secrets for long, hence, I am sure you have many – perhaps not all your own, but I would wager a few of them are.” Maeglin smiled at the twitch of Glorfindel’s chin. “My mother also said that you were vain about your looks, and shy about your intelligence. Generous and brave, but very, very vain.”
Glorfindel opened his mouth to dispute the fact, but found it impossible to lie. He closed it in a smile, and Maeglin simply nodded knowingly.
“Vanity, well...” Maeglin shrugged. “It hurts no one, though I myself care little for such things.” Maeglin was fit and well-groomed, as any heir to the throne should be, but there was no great deal of time or effort put into anything more. “Now, secrets... well, that all depends.”
The expression on Maeglin’s face was unreadable, but his words seemed oddly confrontational. “What are you getting at?”
“You and Erestor seem pretty... comfortable with one another. You would have to be, to be able to live in the same quarters – and, married, and both expecting fathers... either, all of you are very quiet and polite, or you have some amazingly thick doors and walls.”
“A little bit of both,” said Glorfindel hurriedly, “though I doubt you really have any interest in the intimate relationships of others.”
“On the contrary, I have to admit to a certain degree of curiosity when it comes to Erestor.” Maeglin held up his hand. “No need to answer any of these questions; just listen to what I have to say. I happen to have reason to believe he is, how to put it, somewhat unfaithful when it comes to his wife. Ah, confusion,” said Maeglin as he read Glorfindel’s expression. “Then there is no more for me to tell, for obviously this is news to you.”
“Erestor would never be adulterous,” whispered Glorfindel. “That is a ridiculous accusation!”
“And yet...” Maeglin tapped his finger to his nose before tilting it toward Glorfindel. “You just exhibited uncertainty, and fear. You doubt your own words; you are concerned I am right.”
Glorfindel wet his lips and swallowed hard. “Let us just entertain, for a moment, the possibility that you are correct. How can you determine a person’s thoughts? Are you gifted with some enhanced powers of the mind?”
“Oh, no... no, no, no,” chuckled Maeglin. “No... you see, I can—you do not play cards, do you?”
“Uh... not often,” admitted Glorfindel.
“I do. I play a lot. I win most of the time.” Maeglin smiled proudly. “My father hated verbal conversation. He rarely spoke to my mother or I. He forbade his servants to speak. With the exception of my parents, the only communication I had with those who lived in those horrible caves with us were their expressions. You learn to pick up a lot from them.”
“And from expressions, you have determined that Erestor is being unfaithful? Because, forgive me, but that seems quite unreliable.”
“It is. Very much so. Physical evidence is so very helpful in these cases.” Maeglin reached into his pocket and removed a small journal that he carried with him. He opened it and removed a folded sheet, which he unfolded and handed to Glorfindel. “A poem that he wrote and tried to keep hidden. The interpretation is... quite interesting.”
Glorfindel skimmed the sheet and tried to hand it back. “This is not his hand.”
“I know. That is not the original, only the words, copied by me. Keep that. Read it. Tell me your thoughts when we next meet.” Maeglin stood up. “I think you will find it quite interesting.”
“Wait... not so many minutes ago, you accused me of disliking you. Now, you trust me with... whatever this is,” he said, holding up the paper, having not looked at it yet. “How can you trust me not to go to Erestor? How... how can you trust me at all; you hardly know me. What reason have you to care about Erestor’s affairs?”
“Oh, my reasons are my own. Now, trust... I trusted my mother, and she gave her life so I might live. She trusted you. Should I have reason not to? As for the rest... it was Erestor who told me you disliked me, though, he did not say it in words.” Again, Maeglin tapped his nose and smiled. “He, I have little trust in. He lies constantly; you might do well to distance yourself from him politically. As for the rest, I have already told you, we all have our little secrets.”
---
Glorfindel watched Maeglin stroll away from him. The paper was hastily refolded without being read and shoved into a pocket. More questions were swimming around in Glorfindel’s head now that Maeglin had gone. Foremost in his mind was how Maeglin would have obtained any of Erestor’s private poetry. He was itching to read the page, but wanted complete privacy to do so.
If he was lucky, Tauniel and Aranel would still be out of the apartment, and Erestor would still be partaking in the celebration. Glorfindel stiffly walked back to the tower and painfully struggled his way up the stairs without taking any breaks. His knees were sore and his chest burned within by the time he reached the suite.
As he reached for his key, he heard voices bleeding into the hallway. The door was unlocked, and he let himself into the sitting room, only to find Erestor and Faelion sitting on chairs across from each other. There was a bottle with the stopper off sitting on the middle of the table, and only one glass with a stain of liquid at the bottom.
“I thought you were going to be at the party until this evening,” said Glorfindel as he shut the door behind him, fighting to keep his breath.
“I got bored. Also, I think some of what was said was uncalled for,” replied Erestor. “Besides, the casting was completed and the script changes were made. Faelion and I are reading through together before we start memorizing lines.” Faelion waved at Glorfindel, as if he had not been there earlier that day.
Glorfindel nodded and wandered into his bedroom. When he was certain he was not followed, he slid the paper from his pocket and concealed it in the pages of the alchemy tome he often referred to. He changed into a more comfortable shirt and house shoes before returning to the sitting room. “What is the title of the play?”
“Chameleon. Completely new,” added Faelion. “The writing is spectacular.”
Erestor averted his gaze and looked down to the paper.
“Both of us have lead roles,” continued Faelion. He was grinning now. “I am very curious to see the reaction from the King.”
“I hope the King stays home and neglects to see it,” muttered Erestor.
Glorfindel peeked over Faelion’s shoulder before moving to sit on the couch. “Who are the lead ladies?”
“Well, there is one,” said Faelion.
“Just one, with two lead males?”
“Three lead male roles,” Erestor corrected.
“Oh.” Glorfindel fluffed a pillow and arranged them to his liking. “It seems as if most of Duilin’s plays have two couples in them.”
“Indeed. They do.” Faelion bowed his head back to his script now as well.
A few silent minutes passed before Erestor addressed Faelion without looking at him. “So... uh... does this kissing scene... does that have to be onstage? Can we possibly have that behind a white curtain or something? Just show silhouettes?”
“No, I think he really wants that to happen. Center stage, he has the direction written right there.”
Slowly, Glorfindel sat up again. “When you are talking about... a kissing scene... you mean between one of your and the lead lady, correct?”
“No.” Faelion smirked, looked up, and winked at Glorfindel.
“Between... both of you and the lead lady?”
“Without the lead lady,” replied Erestor dryly.
“We should probably practice it well before rehearsals,” stated Faelion.
Glorfindel had leaned over now to look at Faelion’s manuscript. “Is Turgon going to allow this sort of thing?”
“It is a parody,” explained Erestor. His cheeks were pinkish and he kept his head down, his eyes on the page, which he had reread many times over without going to the next.
Faelion pointed to a part on the page. “Right there – that is the kissing scene. I am so excited; this is going to be my first onstage kiss! We absolutely must practice ahead of time,” he added again.
“I should be your coach – I could... give... tips and such,” offered Glorfindel.
“You just want to watch,” mumbled Erestor darkly.
“That, too,” admitted Glorfindel wistfully. “When can I start buying tickets for this play?”
