Allegiance to the Crown
“Sire, the crown has arrived. Would you like to see it before the coronation, or shall I have the guards sent to protect it until then?”
Fingon wrung out the cloth he had been using to wash behind his ears and draped it over the side of the tub. “Maybe I should try it on prior to the ceremony. Or, would that bring bad luck?”
Tauredhel looked concerned. “I do not have that information, sire. Shall I ask the head librarian to find out?”
“No. Well, maybe. Yes, I suppose you should. I wonder if I should check on Galadaurien this afternoon.”
As Fingon sat up in the bath, Tauredhel took his cue to bring over the pitcher of warm water and used it to wash the suds out of the soon-to-be-crowned king’s dark hair. “Sire,” he said carefully as he set the empty pitcher aside and retrieved a large towel, “I do believe that seeing your bride would indeed be a breach in protocol.”
“I know, but...” Fingon sighed as he stood up, one hand on the rim of the tub to steady himself. “Tauredhel, it is only fair for you to know this, and I must entrust this information to you with the hope that you will not tell another soul.”
“Your majesty, I have never nor will I ever in the future utter to anyone a word that you say, whether intended to be in confidence or not, save what it is you ask me to tell others!” Tauredhel waited until Fingon had secured the towel around his waist, and then bowed down upon one knee. “When I swore my allegiance to your father, it was to his house, and now to you I do so again. By all of the stars in the heavens, may my life be forfeit if your trust I break.”
For a moment, Fingon looked down at his butler, speechless. “Uh, Tauredhel—“
“Yes, sire?”
“I... I need another towel for my hair,” he said, looking around. Fingon would have retrieved one himself, but he did not exactly know where they were kept, and so—
“Here we are, sire.” Tauredhel held out the item, and cowered once more once it was taken.
“Oh, do get up,” begged Fingon, who bent down and pulled Tauredhel back into a standing position. “We have well established that you are not about to speak to others about things that go on in this room. If I did not already trust you with my life, well…” He raised his hands out to either side. “Look about. I can count ten ways you could have killed me while I bathed.”
“Your majesty! I would never!” Tauredhel was back down up both knees now. “Your majesty, I—“
“Tauredhel! On your feet!” Fingon glared slightly, which would have been an amusement had Tauredhel not truly been scared of the slight ellon who was shorter than he was. “It was only an observation. Now, I expect that sort of behavior shall not continue; I have important things to tell you. Come with me, and bring my comb.”
Fingon led the way to the parlor. The windows had been opened earlier that morning by the maid and a light breakfast sat untouched on a cart, save for a cup of tea that had been sweetened and barely sipped and a few nibbles on a thin slice of sugared bread. When returned later to the kitchen, one might mistake it for the remains left by one of the ladies instead of the leftovers from the king.
Once he had settled onto the settee, Fingon motioned to one of the chairs across the room. Dutifully, Tauredhel dusted it off. “Sit in it,” commanded Fingon in exasperation.
Tauredhel swallowed hard but did as he was told, perching just on the edge of the chair. “Sire,” he said in a bit of a panic, “Master Fingolfin begged me never sit upon the furniture like this.”
“It is a chair, Tauredhel, where are you supposed to sit, the floor?”
“Sire, I am on duty. I should not be sitting, in case you should have need for my services.” Tauredhel’s muscles were taut, ready to launch himself into motion at any moment should Fingon have a task for him.
“Relax, Tauredhel. Please.” Fingon waited until finally Tauredhel moved a little further back. “I think you have a right to know what is going on. Galadaurien and I are getting married so that I have a means to producing an heir.”
“Of course, sire,” said Tauredhel, cheeks colored crimson. “I would expect as much from most married couples.”
“Yes, well, the difference is that we are marrying for just that purpose. She was selected for me; I did not know her before the first day she came here.”
“Then you do not love her?” asked Tauredhel in shock.
Fingon shifted slightly as he worked the tangles out of his wet hair. “She is a very nice lady, and I love her for the sacrifice she is making, but I do not truly love her as a husband would and should.”
“That seems cruel.” Tauredhel bit his lip. “Forgive me, sire, I spoke out of turn.”
Placing the comb aside, Fingon worked through the snarls with his fingers. “I am not angered, but I am curious. How so, Tauredhel?”
“You are denying another, who might love her, the chance to be with her,” he explained carefully. “You deny her that ability, to choose such a path instead.”
“She was not forced into this. Freely, she has chosen this path, and she has assured me that she has no desire or interest in anyone at this time. On the other hand, it is I who am melancholy over this marriage, for although I understand it is necessary, there is another with whom I would rather be, and cannot.”
“Then it is true,” ventured Tauredhel.
“What is true?”
“That you followed your cousin here from Valinor because of your lover for him.”
Fingon looked down at the floor with a frown. “It is so obvious?”
“Well, you did rescue him from Morgoth, sire, from a peril no other would dare venture into.”
“Yes,” said Fingon quietly. “That I did.”
Tauredhel sat in the chair awkwardly until recalling his uncompleted errand. “Sire, I must be dismissed to go to the library, to look for the information regarding your crown and whether it is bad luck to try it on.”
“Oh... yes, that would be fine, thank you. You are dismissed.” Fingon waited until Tauredhel had gone before wandering to the serving cart. There was a bowl of cream with fruit in it, and he used a spoon to remove the pieces of fruit and set them on a small plate. He placed the bowl on the floor and took the fruit to the window, setting it on the ledge for the hummingbirds to enjoy. When he returned to the cart, there were already three cats nudging one another in order to get the best position around the bowl of cream. Fingon licked the cream from the spoon slowly before placing it on the cart as someone knocked on the door.
