Very few knew what it was that Turgon did. Some thought he did not do anything. The reality was that he had one job that was very stressful and important, and one job that was very easy and enjoyable. Most people would guess that the easy job was the stressful one and vice versa, but that was not the case.
On his face was a very disciplined look. His eyes scanned those milling around close by for anyone who might be an issue. As people walked past him, he greeted them politely and made sure that the faces were familiar ones. He knew every single competitor who was to be admitted past him. Even if he was not aware of all of them, it was easy enough to tell who should not be let in.
“Turgon!”
Despite the unexpected exclamation, Turgon remained calm and refused to look in the direction of it. Instead, he became even more guarded of the entrance. When the two most renowned young rogues, Ehtele and Thranduil, sauntered over, he moved to the middle of the entryway. “Aye?”
“Turgon, there has been an accident. Someone has spilled something at the east entrance into the arena. Two people have slipped already, and more may still,” said Ehtele.
“And you thought I looked as if I had a rag and bucket with me?” questioned Turgon. “You shall need to find someone better equipped than I to deal with such a thing.”
Thranduil shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The lad was tall already, despite being a little over five years from his majority. “We looked all over, and found no one. Maybe you should clean it up – it is your job to ensure safety, is it not?” Thranduil did not make eye-contact, instead looking past in an attempt to gaze down the passageway.
The passage led to the chambers used by the female gymnasts to ready themselves. In order to keep any spirited young ellyn from wandering into the area to accidentally see any ellyth in various states of undress, there was a group of safety patrollers who kept watch. The majority of them were ellyth who stayed in the actual passage and made sure everything was well. One was male, and he stood outside to deter any would-be peeking.
At this particular arena, the job was held by Turgon, who took the position extremely seriously. He had even commissioned a tailor to make him a number of sashes for those at this arena to wear. The fringe on the embroidered ‘Decency Squad’ sash swayed warningly as he stepped up to Thranduil. “My job is to ensure the safety of the young competitors behind me, not to worry about clumsy guests and their inability to step around a puddle. However, since you are so concerned about it, I will call for someone to escort you back to the area.” Turgon pulled a whistle from his pocket and lifted it to his lips.
Ehtele quickly placed his hand upon Turgon’s arm to lower it. “There is no need for that, really. As you said, people should be more careful and watch where they are going.”
“There is no spill, is there?” inquired Turgon. “This was just a lame attempt to try to make me move from my post, was it not?”
Thranduil was already backing up. “We really should be going. I think I heard the bell for the first event.”
“Impossible,” said Turgon quickly. “None of the competitors for the first event have left the ready rooms. This is despicable,” continued Turgon as he took another step toward Thranduil, who again stepped further back. “It is quite perverse for someone so young to make overt attempts to endanger the chastity of the young ellyth within. And you,” he added, his sights set on Ehtele now. “You encourage him with your lascivious behavior. I should call for the master of the guard now. Perhaps it best you not be in attendance at these games at all.”
Again, before Turgon could blow the whistle, Ehtele intervened. “My friend,” he said in a low voice, for Turgon had been quite vocal in letting anyone nearby know just what was going on, “there is no need to carry this on further. Thranduil and I concede; but then, you should understand our desire to have a chance to enter such forbidden territory, having been young once yourself.”
“I was young once,” agreed Turgon. “However, I was not a pervert.”
A much older ellon, wearing one of the official sashes Turgon had instituted, walked up to the entryway. “Is there any trouble here?” he asked sternly.
Turgon gave both of the would-be sneaks a good glare before he looked to his superior. “No, sir. These gentlefolk were just a little lost and looking for their section. I was just informing them that I am not at leisure to assist them.”
“Let me take you to one of the ushers,” offered the master of the guard. “I am sure we can get you to the correct section before the start of the games.”
“Thank you,” said Ehtele as he held the tickets out to the guard for inspection. Turgon tilted his head slightly, and continued to stand in Thranduil’s way so as to block his view down the tunnel.
The guard made a motion with his hand. “This way, please.”
Turgon resumed his position just to the side of the entrance once the incident had passed. The sound of someone giggling behind him did not turn his head, but he did ask, “Might I assist in some way?”
“It was amusing how you chased away those two boys. They were practically harmless, and yet you treated them as if they were common criminals.”
“Madame, my concern is for the safety of you and all of your comrades. The intentions of those two scoundrels was quite impure, I assure you of that!” He adjusted his sash as the elleth came out of the tunnel and circled around in front of him.
She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You cannot tell me that you have never looked.”
“Down the passage?”
The elleth nodded.
“Never,” declared Turgon without hesitation.
“You must have.”
Turgon tilted his chin forward, quite put off by the accusation. “Certainly not, madame!”
“What about when you come to deliver messages?” asked the gymnast. “I have seen you on numerous occasions walking through the rooms without averting your eyes.”
“First of all, that is part of my duty,” Turgon reminded her. “Secondly, I respectfully decline to look when I am doing that duty.”
“I am sure you see what is going on,” prodded the elleth.
“Indeed, I may see, but I do not look.” Turgon stepped aside to allow one of the teams to enter the passage. “There is quite a difference.”
The elleth did not look convinced. “You see, but do not look? Are they not one in the same?”
“Seeing is an innocuous act; looking is purposeful.”
Before the argument could continue, the elleth was tapped on the shoulder by a teammate. “Come, Elenwe, we are going to be late.”
“We will continue this later,” vowed Elenwe as she and her teammates bounded towards the arena.
“We will continue this later only if I say we shall do so,” mumbled Turgon, though for once, he actually looked at one of the gymnasts leaving the guarded passageway.
The rest of the teams exited soon after, and following a sweep of the rooms, Turgon headed for the arena himself. The rooms for the ladies were located above ground, but near to the arena. It was a short walk to the stairs that would take him to the guard’s platform. As he reached the steps, he was flagged down by another guard who stood beside a well-dressed Noldo.
“Turgon, this ellon is interested in speaking to you. I told him you would be free for a little while during the competition. I hope that was alright.”
“Of course,” said Turgon. He motioned that they proceed to the upper level, but the ellon shook his head.
“If you do not mind, I would like to speak to you out here for a moment. I find the distraction indoors too much of a temptation while talking business.”
“Ah, I see.” Turgon thanked his coworker and then began to walk to an area with tables and benches used to picnic at before and after the tournaments. “Is this in regards to the Airenen?”
“How did you guess?” wondered the ellon as he sat down across from Turgon.
“From your looks, you are in trade or business or your own – I noted the bulge in your pocket as well,” added Turgon. The ellon rose one brow slightly. “It appears to be some sort of journal; more likely a ledger. You are either a poet or a proprietor; I hardly have poets coming to call upon me.”
“I am both,” admitted the elf as he brought out his book, and showed that one side had writings while the other displayed figures in black and red. “My name is Rumil; I own a small establishment on the outskirts. We cater to the creative types.”
“I see,” said Turgon, leaning back slightly with a look of interest. “Just what sort of establishment is it?”
“A... drinking establishment, I suppose you might say. It is a pub. Just a small one,” he added. “I suppose you might think that I would not provide much business, but I have very loyal patrons. They are always interested in new and unique beverages. When I heard a mention of Airenen, I thought it might be a very likely candidate.”
“Very good,” remarked Turgon. “You must forgive my asking, but specifically what sort of activities go on in your place of business?”
“I do not think I follow you,” apologized Rumil.
Turgon frowned. “Is there any lewd behavior that occurs?”
“Someone occasionally gets drunk, if that is what you mean,” said Rumil. “We have a couple of cots in the back for them to sleep it off, though.”
“A very good idea,” commended Turgon. “I think you might not understand my meaning, though. Are there any... girls there?”
“Girls?” Rumil frowned.
Turgon made sure no one was around that could hear their conversation and then said, “Are there any girls there? In your bar. You know, dancing girls, the ones that show a little leg and such.”
“What? Absolutely not! My wife would have a fit!” exclaimed Rumil. “Besides, that seems highly uncivilized to me.”
“That is just the sort of answer I was hoping for. You will have to excuse my manner of questioning; I am given a very solemn task, and I must be sure that the Airenen is only given to those who exhibit the highest degree of seemliness.”
“Of course. I fully understand,” replied Rumil. “So, shall we speak of prices?”
Turgon chuckled. “My friend, it is much too early to speak of that. I must come and see your establishment first, and determine the correct quantities and the right years for you. We have various flavors as well; you must understand, I have to be careful what goes where. I am entrusted with a very important task.”
Rumil looked as if he was almost about to argue that it should not matter what the purpose was of something that was being sold to a paying customer, but thought better of it. “I understand, my friend, I understand. When would you like to come and see the pub? I will be there this evening.”
“This evening would be splendid. I will have time to come over as soon as my watch is complete.”
Directions were given to Turgon on how to reach The Victorious Eagle, and he used his break during the competition to visit a nearby storehouse that only he had the key to. Two tall brown glass bottles were placed in a specially designed carrying bag, and Turgon brought these back with him to the arena. After he completed the second part of his shift, he followed the directions he had been given in order to find Rumil’s pub.
The Victorious Eagle was an establishment frequented by poets, especially a small group that was dedicated to writing epics for Manwe. In fact, the tavern was named for that fact. The original name was long forgotten, and painted over with a stylistic swooping eagle. Turgon took a few minutes to circle the building and inspect the foundation; Rumil stepped outside upon seeing him. “Welcome!”
Turgon looked up from where he was crouched down next to the building. “Normally, I am a very big proponent of trees, but your birch is threatening your foundation.”
Rumil walked over and looked at what Turgon was inspecting. “I never noticed that before.” He frowned. “I would hate to cut it down.”
“You could have it relocated,” suggested Turgon. He walked from the building and pointed to an open spot nearby. “Right here would be perfect.”
“That land is owned by my neighbors,” explained Rumil.
Turgon strolled around to the other side of the building. “What about here?”
“My other neighbor,” Rumil remarked.
“I see.” Turgon spotted the path to a public garden across the road. “What about over there?”
“What about it? I think they like to have things planned out fairly well in those.”
“They could use another birch tree,” decided Turgon as he crossed the road and began to survey the area. “Right there. See that bench? It would be so much better if there was a birch tree to shade it.”
Rumil waited for Turgon to return to the front door of his pub before he spoke again. “I will look into it,” he promised. “Would you like to see the interior?”
“Of course I do,” said Turgon as the door was opened for him. He stepped inside and took his first look at the bar. “This is nice. Very cozy. The drapes really bring out the color of the wine bottles.”
“Uh, thank you. My wife made them.” Rumil patiently opened doors and cabinets as asked, and explained everything that was pointed to or given an odd look.
At the end of the very complete tour, Turgon set the pack he had brought with him onto one of the tables. “You know what I have with me?” he asked as he set each bottle on the table carefully.
“I would suspect it is the Airenen,” said Rumil.
“It is,” confirmed Turgon. “However, one bottle is for you, and one bottle is for your establishment. One, a gift; the other, for your business.”
“That is very generous,” said Rumil.
Turgon pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “It may not be so easy as that. Do you have cordial glasses?”
Rumil hurried behind the bar and retrieved a pair of them, and then scooped up a few more just in case he would need extras. These were all set on the table when he returned. Turgon took two and removed the cork from the first bottle. “There are different ways that the Airenen can be enjoyed. You can drink it straight, but it can be bitter that way. There is also a way to prepare it by pouring it slowly over a cube of sugar. I prefer the latter, though I do not have any cubes of sugar with me. You may wish to purchase some. It can also be cut with water, but it diminishes the taste and effect. Some like to mix it with a fruit juice, again, to alleviate the bitterness.”
One of the glasses slid across the table toward Rumil. He picked it up, but did not drink yet. Turgon held his as well. He sniffed it, and when Turgon leaned forward and clinked his glass against the one that Rumil held, Rumil took the sign to try the liquor.
Like most strong liquors, it burned a little. Unlike others, it had a smooth feeling that masked the fire of it. The taste was very earthy, and though bitter, there was a natural sweetness to it. “This is the one you will serve at your pub. I brought the two I thought would be the best matches; this one is our Laiquairenen. It is still of Airenen derivation, but it can be produced faster than the normal Airenen, and is most pleasing to a large audience.”
“It is very good,” commended Rumil.
“I know.” Turgon handed the other bottle to Rumil. “This is for you. Pure Airenen – the original recipe. We do not produce much of it anymore, but I thought from your description that this might be the place for it. Instead, I think that you should have it.”
Rumil’s eyes were wide as he accepted the bottle. “This is very generous of you,” said Rumil. “Thank you.”
Turgon smiled. “We like to establish a friendly relationship with all of our customers from the onset. You also seem like the sort who will appreciate a fine liquor such as this. Just be careful of the potency – I would suggest being home near your bed before you try it.” Turgon poured another small portion of the Laiquarienen into each of their glasses and lifted his. “To a successful partnership, and the success of your business,” said Turgon as he lifted his glass.
Rumil lifted his own and tapped it against Turgon’s. “I shall drink to that!”
