A Sense of History: Straight Road
The next in a series of articles about ships passing to and from the West, Simon uses "The Fall of Númenor" to attempt to arrive at Tolkien's reading of the exordium to "Beowulf."
He had dressed in his finest: a tunic and matching long robe of crimson silk trimmed with silver, and tight leggings that skirted on indecent but did show off his shapely thighs to good effect. His hair flowed loose over his shoulders and had been perfumed with sensuous lemon and mint. So, thus prepared, Maeglin leaned against the doorframe in a casual yet striking pose and knocked three times.
Idril flung the door open almost at once, an expression of eager anticipation on her face. That expression fell immediately.
"Oh. It's you again. What do you want this time?"
"Just an invitation," said Maeglin. He shook his head so that his hair rippled around his face. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?"
"No." Scowling, Idril tried to slam the door shut, and would have succeeded had Maeglin not stuck his knee in the way.
"It's a beautiful evening for a walk. I thought we could stroll down to the fountains."
"No."
"Along the city walls, then?"
"No. Maeglin, go away.
He leaned forward, pressing against the door until his face was inches from hers. She pulled back with a look of annoyance. "Is this because I'm your cousin?" he whispered.
"Er, yes," she said. "That's what Atya says, anyhow. Our love is forbidden because we are cousins. We cannot fight that, but must move on. Now go away."
"I know what your father says. I know what everyone says. But, Idril! It is no strange thing among the dark folk of the woods. Did you know my father's parents were first cousins once removed?"
"How very interesting. Go away."
"We cannot let society deny our love, my darling."
"It's not society that bothers me. Go away!"
"What bothers you then, sweet lady?" he asked. He would have taken her hand to stroke in a reassuring manner, but all of her except her face was well hidden behind the door. "Is it my intense demeanour? I've been told I can be overwhelming at times. I have a very masculine personality."
For a very long moment, Idril stared at him. Her eyes were so blue. He did his best to stare back at her with the gentlest and most tender face he could make.
"Yes," she finally said. "That's exactly it, Maeglin. You see, you are very strong and rough, as you demonstrated when you accosted me in the garden last week and did that thing that made me slap you, whereas I am but a delicate lady. I am terribly frightened of your strength and manliness. Now for the love of Ulmo, go away!"
She gave the door a mighty shove, pinning his knee against the frame, but he cast all thoughts of pain aside. "Idril, I can change!"
"No you can't. It's hopeless. I'm too afraid of you. You should give up now and never speak to me again."
"But Idril-"
A sudden bolt of agony coursed through his leg as her foot connected with his shin. He lost both his balance and his tenuous mastery of the door, stumbling backward just as Idril slammed it shut and turned the lock with an audible click.
"I can change!" he shouted at the door.
"Go away!" came Idril's muffled reply.
Shrugging, he stalked off back down the corridor toward his own quarters. If he were honest with himself, which he always was, that conversation had gone better than expected. She had spoken more than a handful of words to him. True, she had argued and told him to go away, but at least she had done so in complete sentences. That was progress.
He would try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day following that, and every day thereafter. Eventually, she would have no choice but to give in and grow to love him. And then Idril would be his.