The Starlit Sky by Cirth

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Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Having taken Maedhros' advice, I rapped on Maglor's door and waited for a long time. It appeared there was no one inside. "Where in this entire fortress could that man be?" I thought. Impatient, and more than a little irritated due to Maedhros' abruptness, I opened the unlocked door and walked in. Straightaway the faint smell of ink crept into my nostrils.

What met me was akin more to a study than a bedroom. There was an oak desk, upon which rested a stack of books, a bed, a chest for clothes at its foot, and a stool by the window. On the wall behind the bed there was an old tapestry, shot with gold. Little else could have fit inside without looking incongruous. Yet Maglor had managed to squeeze onto the floor a fine wooden harp that rested against a leg of his desk.

I had earlier decided I would wait for Maglor to arrive, yet soon I began to fidget, and decided to take a nose about the room. I crept to the rosewood coffer by the bed. When I lifted the lid I saw several detailed portraits in black ink, preserved in glass.

I pondered. What, I said to myself, was the harm in glancing at them? Had my brother and I not been wronged by these Fëanorionnath, who had taken away all that was precious to us, even our dignity? A skim over a few sketches seemed, in contrast, insignificant.

Wiping my damp hands on my trousers, I picked up the first portrait. It was of an elf with fair hair and sturdy shoulders, who wore a wreath of marigolds on his brow. On the bottom right corner it read 'Turko'. The second showed another elf, with black curls and very bright eyes. There was haughtiness in the way he raised his finely arched brows, and beneath his scarf it was written, 'Curvo'. I blinked, confused. Surely these were epessës; they could not be real names. Intrigued, I looked at the third picture, of an elleth. Her lips curved upwards in the smallest hint of a smile, and even in the colourless portrait, I could see the slight blush in her cheeks. There was no name on her picture.

My conscience chose at that moment to pinch me, and my hands began to shake. I tucked the portraits back in their coffer, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

I turned back, and saw to my horror that Maglor had soundlessly entered the room. He had clasped his hands behind his back, and was gazing at me with narrowed eyes. "Elrond," he said in a quiet voice, "what are you doing here? Why did you come in without my permission?"

I opened my mouth, but could form no words to speak. Since Maglor had started teaching my brother and me, I had grudgingly begun to offer him a certain amount of respect. Ever had my elders at Sirion taught me that the master occupied an almost higher place than the parent. This mindset had seeped, however little, into my behaviour around Maglor, against my will. My insolence was a sore blow to my ego.

Maglor, after a moment, sighed tiredly, bowing his head, and asked, "What do you want?" Not in the mood to lie, I explained, stuttering, what Maedhros had told me. Maglor's expression changed, and he arched an eyebrow and said, "Of course."

We stared at each other. At least, I stared at the laces of his tunic, tied in a neat bow. He seemed uncomfortable, as well, gazing at my feet.

I said, "Are you, um, not going to tell me?"

He paused, and returned, "Bear no grudge against my brother, Elrond, for refusing to educate you about bloodlines and half-muffled history." His mocking tone made me flush. "Come, sit, for I can see by the gleam in your eyes that you will not be sated unless I – "

"You would tell me?" I said, not particularly caring that I was interrupting him.

"That is what you wanted."

"I still want a lot of things."

"I cannot give you everything, boy," he said, but he was smiling, though it contained little spirit. I felt a sudden surge of pity for him, though I knew such a feeling was both futile and needless. Noticing that he was gesturing to his bed, I quickly sat on the covers, clutching at them with my hands. Maglor sat on his chair and crossed his knees, looking as if he was going to give me another lesson on poetry.

He put his chin in his hand and inclined his head to one side, and said, "I wonder where I should begin. Grandmother's death? The Awakening?"

The term 'grandmother' made me blink in confusion, till I realised he was talking of Míriel Serindë. That he had such close ties to a person famous in history was bewildering, even if I had known it.

He chose to start with Cuiviénen. Initially his eyes were hazy as he talked; he was reciting only what he had read in books and had gathered from hearsay. Then they grew clearer, brighter, as his words gave shape to sharp memory. I did not punctuate his lengthy tale with questions, choosing to listen intently. He did not look at me at any point, keeping his eyes fixed sometimes on the floor, at others on a crack in the wall behind me. At one point his gaze fell on my lap, but he quickly shifted it to his shoes. I must have changed my position on the bed at some point, for when he finished I was sitting cross-legged, my back hunched.

We sat in silence for a time. My head felt like a sack of bricks with all he had said, and I swayed a little. At length I turned to him, wondering if I would anger him if I talked. "Maglor," I said, "do you think you can ever find peace?" He had probably been asked this before, but I wanted to hear his answer, anyway.

He looked like one of the sad drunkards that stumbled in the streets of the part of Sirion inhabited by Men. I was glad he was not weeping, for I would not have known what to do. "Oh, child," he said. "I know there will be no peace for our lot. We cannot look at the crescent Moon in the starlit sky and feel the love of our Lady Elbereth."

I did not know whom he meant by 'we', and did not care to ask.

Maglor turned to me at last and smiled. "Did my story sate you? Or would you like me to say also what I think is going to happen? That will take till the next sunrise, unfortunately." He glanced out the window. I followed his gaze and started, for it was night. "It is late," said Maglor, standing up and stretching. "The evening meal is being set. Off you go, boy. Your brother is waiting for you."

When I trundled out, I realised that, for the first time, I had spoken his name.

Some days afterwards, late morning, I was in the Great Hall, my head resting on a table, and listening to someone pick a harp. Maglor suddenly emerged from the east staircase, advanced to me, and said, "I suppose you know there is a feast being held today? Our soldiers did well some days back on the field – all the Orcs were killed, and there was hardly a scratch on our group. What a rarity."

I did know, from the attendants' chatter, and told him.

"I hope, Elrond," said Maglor, "that you realise you and your brother are welcome to join us. I know you prefer to take your meals in your chamber, but it might do you some good to have a night of celebration with our folk. Everyone will be there."

I stared, taken aback, and then cleared my throat. "I will consider it."

"There is one more thing. You recall my brother telling you that I would teach you and Elros to prepare meals? Well, I will not ask you to do so presently, but I would like you and Elros to come to the kitchens in some time. You can watch the preparation of the food, just for a while."

Whatever I had expected him to say, it was not that. Maglor said, "I will be there with you. In fact, it will be me you will be watching cook." He grinned at my expression. "Oh, think not that I am a lord and so know not how to make my own food! I will await you and Elros in the kitchens at the fourth hour of this afternoon. Make sure you wear only cotton, and assuredly something old or worn." He inclined his head once and left, disappearing around a corner as suddenly as he came, silent as a phantom.

I returned to my chamber and saw Elros at his desk, and told him of our plans for the rest of the day. He had never relished the idea of cooking, and scowled when I gave him the information. I, on the other hand, was more enthusiastic than I liked to admit. We had rarely been let into the kitchens at home. I had always wanted to know what happened on the tall counters and in the gargantuan vats of steaming, sputtering liquid.

A while later I changed into stained clothes and went with my brother down to the kitchens. Maglor was already present, wearing a sleeveless tunic, his hair bound in a plait. He smiled when he saw us. "Glad to see you both here. Follow me." He pushed open the doors and we went in.

The kitchens of Amon Ereb were a cluster of vast, smoke-filled chambers that thrust upon me such a motley array of aromas that I took a step back upon entering. Maglor grasped my shoulder to steady me. "No sense in fainting now, Elrond," he said, and picked me up. I felt frail in his strong hands. He set me on a counter, which he dusted with his fingers. Then he did the same with my brother, who squirmed on the slate. There were bowls of raw food and various instruments set beside us.

Without preamble Maglor proceeded with his work. I watched as he cut vegetables and meat, peeled potatoes and kneaded dough for bread. "I know bread is usually made by women," he told us, "but I want you to know how to make it, anyway."

He released a sharp breath, pushing a strand of hair from his temple with the back of his hand. A sheen of sweat glistened on his bare skin, highlighting the knotted muscles beneath. I looked down at my own, rather skinny arms and crossed them, feeling a twinge of shame. But the feeling soon passed. People were rushing about, carrying bowls and saucers and plates; I saw two ellith lugging a cauldron, and could not hide a grin. I was not used to such swirling chaos, and strangely enough, I liked it. When I asked Maglor if it was ever like this in Valinor, he laughed. "Not usually, but our house was always swarming with guests and apprentices."

Elros sat with his chin in his hand, sighing and swinging his feet. When Maglor eventually released us, my brother hopped from the counter and almost collided with an ellon carrying a bowl of fruits. The poor fellow staggered, swayed, and turned half a circle on one foot before steadying and puffing. By this time Elros was sucking his teeth, red in the face.

"Elros," said Maglor, "be careful. You will knock someone over if you rush like that."

Elros murmured an apology and scampered off. Maglor looked after him, shaking his head. Then he turned to me, smiling. "I think he is afraid of this place; what a Man-like quality. I have cooked for my family countless times, and have never thought it odd. I hope you will be there tonight, Elrond."

The past hour had heightened my humour, and I nodded. Maglor's smile grew wider. "I will see you soon, then."

When night fell, I dressed in my best clothes, which were not extravagant, but well-made, and asked my brother to plait my hair. We held hands and went downstairs to the Great Hall. Until now, I had not realised quite how many people lived in the fortress. We could scarcely walk without poking someone. Craning my neck, I thought I caught sight of Agorael somewhere in the crowd. Even more trestle tables and long benches had been laid out than before, and food was being served.

Elros tugged my hand, and we sat on one of the benches. Someone was playing a flute, and another singing. A steward offered me a glass of wine, but I rejected it, and instead sampled some soft cheese from the table. It melted beautifully on my tongue.

I looked up when Elros shook my arm and pointed at someone. It was Maglor, chattering to a group of ellith. His hair was held away from his face with a clip of mithril, and a scarlet cloak fell from his shoulders. He looked less a lord than a prince.

As if sensing our gaze on him, Maglor glanced our way and saw us. He spoke a word to the ellith, and came over to us. "I am glad you both could arrive," he said, his dark grey eyes glittering. "Have you eaten yet?"

When we said that we had not, he called for some food. Soon, a page brought us a plate of mashed potatoes and a portion of roast venison. Maglor pushed a small glass of yellow wine into my hands, and took a full goblet for himself. "Go on," he said. "You can share it."

"We were never allowed this at home," said Elros.

Maglor scoffed. "You are not at home, and I am sure your Elvish blood will stop you from throwing up after a few sips of such weak brew."

I hesitated. "Just a sip," insisted Maglor. I took a quick breath and gulped the drink, sloshing half of it down my tunic. Elros raised his eyebrows and then burst into laughter, burying his face in his hands. Maglor took the glass from me, trembling with the effort to suppress his own chuckles. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "We should wait till you are a few years older, though by then you'll be begging me to put a glass of wine in your hands. Go to your room and change, and then come back."

I did as I was told, wondering if I would ever want to taste such foul liquid again. When I returned, I saw Maedhros had joined the table. A copper circlet rested on his brow, and he'd stretched out his legs beneath the table.

"I was just telling my brother," he said as I sat down, "that he is a fool if he thinks he can offer wine to children and expect no misfortune to befall." Despite his tone there was a smile on his face, and to my surprise there were dimples in his cheeks. It was the only thing about him that spoke of childish innocence, and made him look far younger than he actually was.

"Maedhros, you took your first sip of wine when you were a couple of years old, and you have never tired of the taste!" Maglor returned. The ellyn on the other side of the table grinned and exchanged glances, though they daren't laugh at their lord.

Maedhros gave his brother a wry look and picked up his glass. "At least," he said, "I do not impose my dubious ideas on folk whose faces are still soft with baby fat." He took a sip of his wine, and looked rather more elegant than I had some minutes ago.

The table grew more crowded, and shouts and banters rang out from around the hall. Maglor had disappeared, and we were left in Maedhros' imposing presence. Yet soon we grew merry with good food and with music, and began to speak to the other elves. At least, I was shy; Elros was chattering like a lark, his face glowing.

Within an hour I had eaten so much that my stomach began to ache, and I pushed away whatever food was offered me, feeling a little ill. It was not very late, but my head began to nod with the buzz of people's voices around me. I cupped my chin in my hands and tried not to yawn.

Then I felt a firm tap on the side of my head and glanced up to find Maedhros looking at me. "You cannot want to go to bed," he said. "You are a part of Amon Ereb now, and you'll have to keep awake if you don't want to miss the best bit of the evening." I leaned back and rubbed my eyes, wondering what he meant by 'the best bit of the evening'.

I sat up, alert, when suddenly the crowd went silent. Everyone's eyes seemed to be fixed onto a spot at the other end of the Hall. I craned my neck to try and see what it was, but Maedhros told me it was his brother. "Sit back, Elrond," he said, "and listen."

Through the silence, a harp played. Maglor began to sing, and visions of a far green country danced before my eyes, and for a while I lost myself in peaceful dreams.

 fish-in-fridge made a wonderful drawing of the scene with Elrond and the portraits. :)

Notes:

Turko – Celegorm's epessë, from his father-name, Turkafinwë.

Curvo – Curufin's epessë, from his father-name, Curufinwë.

The portrait of the woman is of Maglor's canonical wife.

 

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