Sirion by Grundy

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Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

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Makalaurë fought down a wave of nervousness.

He’d been High King of the Noldor, fought in battles so horrible he didn’t like to think on them, and lived with the Oath for long enough that he sometimes had trouble recalling his life before it. Yet he was irrationally nervous about taking two boys of six in to dinner.

He understood his older brother’s reasoning, of course.

Thanks to Elros’ kitchen mishap yesterday, the messenger and guards sent from Balar had seen only one of Elwing’s sons. Given that the Doom of the Noldor had promised treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, it would not take much for the lords around Gil-galad to worry that one twin had died – and once they had such an idea in their heads, it would be hard to dislodge.

So, much as he would rather not have had them inside the main fortress, Maedhros had decided there was little choice but to invite the messenger and several of his guard to dinner.

That, unfortunately, meant dinner this evening would be formal. And that meant the usual protests.

“Why do we have to wear circlets?”

“Because you are princes of the Noldor and the Sindar, and princes wear circlets when they dress formally,” Makalaurë rattled off. The explanation was practically rote by now, and he did not miss a beat braiding Elrond’s hair as he gave it.
At least there had been no attempts to hide them tonight – Elros, the usual culprit, was far too focused on getting to see diplomacy to dare it this evening.

“We never had to wear circlets when we dined at the high table with Nana,” Elros pointed out crossly. “She wore a circlet, but we didn’t have to.”

“That may be,” Makalaurë replied. “But unfortunately, your naneth is not here, which makes you two the highest ranking Sindarin royalty here – and that means you have to wear your circlet. Otherwise it is quite insulting to the messenger.”

Elros’ face was still screwed up into a frown that Makalaurë was starting to suspect was an inheritance from Thingol himself, but he cocked his head to one side thoughtfully.

“Is this part of diplomacy?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” Makalaurë replied, seizing on the topic the boy had been so curious about with some relief. “Diplomacy is how we manage relations between peoples. When a messenger is sent, you must deal with the messenger as if you are dealing with the lord or king who sent him. Would you refuse to wear your circlet if Gil-galad were here?”

“We don’t have to wear circlets for cousins!” Elrond interjected.

“Yes, but the messenger did not come from Cousin Gil-galad,” Makalaurë explained, stressing cousin. “He was sent by King Gil-galad.”

He hoped he was not confusing the boys with the distinction, but he had heard them talk before about Nana when she was Nana and Nana when she was Queen, so he hoped they would be able to understand the same was true for their cousin.

“Very well,” Elros sighed. “But we will be allowed to ask about our letter if we wear them, right?”

Makalaurë smiled.

To his surprise, rather than run around outside on a rare sunny day, the twins had asked to spend their free time after their riding lesson with him, so he could help Elrond (and Elros) spell words as they wrote a letter of their own to Gil-galad.

Elrond’s contribution was quite well-written for one so young, and reflected how much his vocabulary had been expanding in Maedhros’ company. His handwriting was still that of a child, but Makalaurë thought it quite promising.

Elros had written only a single paragraph after Elrond had finished, though it was doubtful that anyone other than himself and his twin would be able to read most of it. Makalaurë had showered the boy with praise all the same, for he had been at great pains to put forth his best work. The tengwar were far clearer than his usual efforts, and the words ‘horse’, ‘cousin’, ‘riding’, ‘love’ and ‘Elros’ were all quite legible.

“Yes, if you are well-behaved, including wearing your circlets as you should, there is no reason you will not be able to ask the messenger if he will take your letter back also.”

He did not tell the boys that the answer was a foregone conclusion. Gil-galad would probably clap the messenger into whatever passed for a prison on Balar if the fool confessed to having refused to bear a letter from the ‘captive’ princes.

“There, Elrond.”

The younger twin checked his appearance in the mirror, and then looked expectantly at Makalaurë.

“We can go down now?”

“Yes, I think so. Now remember, boys – best behavior tonight. If you misbehave, Gil-galad’s messenger is liable to tell him you’re learning all sorts of bad behavior here.”

“We’re learning lots of things, but not bad behavior,” Elros said blithely.

“I am glad to hear it,” Makalaurë said as they proceeded to the stairs. “Because good behavior is generally required for diplomacy.”

Elros sighed.

“I think diplomacy is not so interesting as I thought it would be,” he announced.

But he slipped his hand into his cousin’s all the same, and began to cheerfully speculate on what dinner might be, hopefully naming several of his favorite dishes.

Makalaurë was unsurprised to feel a second little hand creep into his own as well. When they reached the level of the great hall, however, he tried to withdraw his hands. It would be better for the boys to be seen walking in on their own.

Elros did not seem to mind, and continued merrily on his way, not even waiting for his brother, as he caught sight of the kennel master just inside the door and wanted to ask how the puppies did – all of them in general and his in particular.

But Elrond frowned and refused to let go.

“You are a prince, little one,” he reminded him softly. Usually that was enough to keep both boys from naughtiness in front of the entire hall.

“Yes, I am,” Elrond agreed with a small smile. “A prince of the Sindar and the Noldor. Which means that King Gil-galad’s messenger can’t say it is not right if I want to walk in with you, because he will be Noldor like you and Maedhros and will not know what the Sindar think is proper.”

Makalaurë caught the impish gleam in the boy’s eye.

“Glinwen will know,” he pointed out, hoping that this last ditch appeal to a somewhat dubious higher authority might work.

“She won’t tell,” Elrond said airily. “She likes it here too, you know. And she’s worried you’ll send her away.”

“Very well, little one, you win,” he sighed.

They entered the hall together, and Makalaurë was relieved to see that Elros had at least kept his conversation brief before moving on, and was mostly making his way directly to the high table. (It was unthinkable by now that the more outgoing twin wouldn’t stop to talk to at least half a dozen people on the way to his seat, but his cousins were both hoping that tonight he might choose to make the royal messenger one of them.)

Elrond smiled, but steered a course toward his seat without stopping to converse. Makalaurë thought he was very like young Turukano, and would likely have met with his grandmother Anairë’s approval for his calm demeanor and model deportment.

When they reached the table, there was a momentary standoff as the twins discovered that Glinwen, who normally sat between them, had been displaced in favor of Gil-galad’s messenger. She and Nyellië had moved several places down, and would sit to Makalaurë’s left. Elros was not pleased by the change.

“That is where Glinwen sits!” he protested, sounding somewhat scandalized that she had been moved.

“Guests are traditionally given a place of honor, young one,” Maedhros pointed out.

He had already been in the hall, stuck as he was in the role of the good host.

“And as Gildor has two sides, we thought it best to put him between the pair of you,” Maedhros continued. “Otherwise I would be hearing complaints from at least one of you two about the great injustice of your brother getting to sit next to the guest while you did not.”

Elros was silent for a moment, and Makalaurë saw Elrond not quite chew on his lip before both twins nodded and took their seats with no further fuss.

“Hello, Gildor,” Elros said cheerfully. “Was it a very long journey from Balar?”

The hapless messenger looked rather flummoxed by the nonchalant question.

Elrond was slightly more restrained.

“Greetings Gildor,” Elrond told him politely. “I am pleased to see you looking refreshed after your journey.”

Makalaurë hadn’t told him that was the appropriate phrase, so he could only suppose it had come from Maedhros.
It was perhaps as well that the first course arrived just then – and that Elros, for once, did not protest at salad.

Elros kept up a steady stream of chatter throughout the meal, to the point where Makalaurë wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that it entirely prevented Gildor from engaging himself or his brother in conversation, amused, or sorry for the hapless courier, for Elros had never met an elf who was not a friend and cheerfully told him about puppies, ponies, making snow stars in the courtyard, and learning to slide on ice in between quiet injunctions from Maedhros to please remember to chew, rather than try to swallow his food whole to avoid the ban on talking with one’s mouth full.

Makalaurë was relieved that both boys showed their usual hearty appetite without being in such a hurry over their food as to appear as though they did not usually eat well. He would be happy when the courier was gone again, for having to think so much about something as simple as children eating dinner was tiring.

Glinwen, too, was eating well, and even exclaimed in delight at the fennel and carrot soup – a particular favorite of hers that was not often served.

The twins bided their time, waiting until they were being led from the table to prepare for bed. It was somewhat earlier than they usually left the hall, but Maedhros preferred not to have either one falling asleep at table before guests, charming though most of Amon Ereb usually found it, and Elrond had already climbed quietly into Makalaurë’s lap – generally a sign that he was tired and would soon fall asleep.

“Please, Master Gildor, would you do us a favor?” asked Elrond asked as he stood to leave.

The bemused courier was hardly in a position to say no.

“Of course, young Elrond, if it is in my power.”

“Would you carry a letter to our cousin Gil-galad for us please?”

“Only,” Elros added hastily, “it is a letter to our cousin Gil-galad, not the king Gil-galad.”

Several elves nearby covered their mouths at this emphatic distinction, to be sure the elflings did not think they were being laughed at. Makalaurë tried not to sigh, for this was not what he’d had in mind earlier.

“We thought perhaps since you are going back to Balar, you would not mind,” Elrond explained at his most polite, “for it is not a very big letter.”

“It would be my honor,” Gildor assured them, receiving the letter with a bow. “I will deliver it into your cousin’s hands at the first opportunity.”

“Thank you, Gildor,” both boys chorused.

“Will you also give him hugs for us?” Elros asked urgently. “Like this!”

He demonstrated with a particularly enthusiastic example, which might be uncomfortably strong if reproduced faithfully by the nearly grown ner Gil-galad had sent to them.

“Varilon will take you upstairs, boys,” Makalaurë told them quietly. “I will be up shortly to tell you a story and tuck you in.”

The twins nodded, and gave both Glinwen and Maedhros more normal good night hugs before they departed.
Makalaurë gave an internal sigh of relief. They had managed to get through Elros’ first experience of ‘diplomacy’ without incident, and hopefully to satisfy the party from Balar that both boys were healthy and well-treated.

He found Gildor regarding him thoughtfully.

“Did you wish to read the letter, my lord?” he asked courteously.

“That is hardly necessary,” Makalaurë replied easily. “I served as the boys’ dictionary as they wrote. Though other than that, the message is entirely of their own making, for they asked to write.”

“Elros even gave up the opportunity to play outside to take part,” Maedhros added, “which is a rare concession for him. They must be quite fond of Gil-galad.”

“As to that, I could not say, my lords,” Gildor responded, putting the letter carefully into a pocket in his tunic. “He has visited Sirion, but I was not among those who accompanied him, so I have not seen him with the children.”

Makalaurë couldn’t help agreeing with his brother that it was odd indeed for the King on Balar to send a messenger who did not know the children, who could have no basis for comparison to their normal behavior.

“If you wish to have words with Glinwen,” Maedhros said smoothly, covering any lack of response, “there is a comfortable room just off the hall where you might speak to her. She is not so young as the boys, but she is still tender enough in her years that Nyellië will also take her off to bed soon if she does not ask to be excused.”

The girl would not sit on adult’s lap as the twins would, but she was old enough to be embarrassed to fall asleep at table.

“Yes, please, if you would be so kind, my lords,” Gildor replied.

At a nod from Maedhros, Nyellië spoke in the girl’s ear, and introduced her politely to the courier before a steward led the two of them to the small room that often served as a place for those coming in from the first night watch to warm and refresh themselves.

“You have no concerns about what the girl may say?” Makalaurë asked, keeping his words quiet enough that the courier’s guards, seated at the first table below the high table, would not catch them.

His brother was far too practiced a politician for the suggestion to have been whim or chance.
Maedhros shrugged.

“I have more concerns about what the Sindar would think were we to appear to be keeping the girl away from him,” he explained. “She is happy enough here, and has not at any point asked to leave.”

“And if she asks now?” Makalaurë asked, less at ease with this development, for the messenger was to depart at first light – too early for the twins to say farewell if Glinwen was determined to go with them.

“If she does, I will have to insist on adding to the number of guards,” Maedhros said, apparently unconcerned. “But I do not think she will. She is a loyal little soul, and it would take more than this for her to desert the boys.”

“I hope you are right,” Makalaurë said, rising from the table.

He would have to find out the outcome later, for while Elrond might well fall asleep waiting, he could only delay storytime for so long before Varilon would be plagued by an impatient little scamp eager to hear the promised story of the three princes who got stuck in a tree while playing hide and go seek.

He would enlighten the twins when they were older that one of those mischievous little princes was their own great-grandfather. At least, he hoped he would.