The Singer's Girl by Lady MSM

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Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Vanafinde was excited. Very excited, in fact. Actually, she squealed like a stuck pig when I came to her house to tell her, and danced her husband all around their kitchen.

Her husband seemed pretty pleased, too. Mardan was a quiet, sturdy boy, and not much given to excitement—how he wound up married to Vanafinde I’ll never know—but even he was grinning. “Folk like us, going to a royal banquet,” he kept saying. “Doesn’t that just beat all?”

“Can I come?” asked Rille, Vanafinde’s oldest girl. She hadn’t quite come of age and already all the boys in Elk Woods were chasing after her. And she knew it, too.

“No, Rille,” said Vanafinde sternly. “You’re too young.”

“But Mama! I want to meet royalty! You never let me do anything!” she whined. “Dad, convince her to let me go.”

Mardan shrugged. “I guess your mama’s right, Rille. Don’t worry; they’ll be here for seven years and once you’re a little older you can meet them.”

Rille sniffed. “I’m nineteen, you know. I’m not a child anymore.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Vanafinde.

“Yeah, look at your mother,” I pointed out. “She’s as old as I am and she’s still a child.”

Vanafinde, apparently eager to prove my point, stuck her tongue out at me. Rille had a laugh at that one, before she remembered she was supposed to be sulking. Mardan just leaned back against the wall and shook his head.

“I swear, I don’t think I’ll ever meet an odder family than yours,” I sighed.

The day of the banquet, the path up to my door was under two feet of snow and it hadn’t let up by afternoon, either. I wondered for a moment if the whole event would be called off—after all, I sure wasn’t the only one who would have a hard time getting out of their house—but I knew damn well that Maglor wasn’t the type to call off a party once he’d set it up. So I girded my loins and spent two hours shoveling my path, and then headed off to Vanafinde’s house with my best dress (it was green velvet, with gray trim, and I’d owned it for years) under my arm. She’d insisted that I come over so we could help each other get ready. I knew what it was going to be like—a lot of fussing with our hair and helping her pick out which of her six (six, and I’m not joking about that) fancy dresses to wear. Still, this was a pretty special occasion, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to look smart.

Vanafinde sniffed when she saw my dress. “You’re wearing that?”

“What’s wrong with this dress?” I asked indignantly. “I’ve been wearing it to every village event since we came here.”

“Exactly. It’s old, Andril. And you at least have to wear your hair down,” Vanafinde insisted. “The candlemaker’s wife has this smashing new way of doing her hair—and I know she’s not invited, so you won’t have to worry about seeming like you’re copying her!”

“Joy!” I said sarcastically. “Just as long as it’s not too complicated.”

“Oh, it’s not, that’s the beauty of it! But before we do that, help me pick out which dress I should wear.”

I advised her to wear her green dress (it didn’t show stains much and besides, we’d match) but it took her ten more minutes of deliberation to finally agree with me. Meanwhile, I’d already put on my dress, picked out Mardan’s outfit, and promised Rille and the other children that we’d tell them all about the event once we’d gotten back. There were things to be said for only owning one nice dress.

After we’d gotten the dresses figured out, Vanafinde insisted on sitting me down and doing my hair—half of it twisted into a knot on top, half of it down. It looked pretty sharp, I had to admit, though I knew it’d be a mess by the end of the evening. Vanafinde was wearing her hair down and curly (I knew she’d probably had to spend hours curling it, since her hair was flat as a board).

Formenos wasn’t far in the spring, but on a night like this we’d surely freeze if we tried to walk there. Luckily the blacksmith Rekano and his wife Aldea had been invited, and they had a sleigh, so we hitched a ride with them. Vanafinde and Aldea spent most of the ride squealing in excitement, while Mardan and Rekano and I talked about our various businesses and tried to keep warm.

A thin man with brown hair and an indifferent expression greeted us—if you can call it that—in the entrance hall, which could have fit three of my houses inside it.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said coolly. “May I ask your names?”

Vanafinde took it upon herself to be the spokeswoman. “Yes sir, I’m Vanafinde and this is my husband Mardan, and these are Rekano and Aldea. And Andril.”

“I see.” He examined the list of names in his hand. “Master Mardan, Mistress Vanafinde, Master Rekano, Mistress Aldea, Mistress Andril…very good. May I take all of your cloaks? Romenella will show you to your seats in the banquet room. Mistress Andril, if you would come with me, please.”

The others gave me confused looks over their shoulders as Romenella, a tall, gangly girl with black hair, led them through the large double doors in front of us. I just shrugged and followed the butler (I assumed that was his title) down the hall to the left.

“So…” I said, just to break the silence. “Are you taking me anywhere special? Or are you just trying to confuse my friends?” I smiled while I was saying that, so he’d know I was joking. Luckily, he smiled back.

“Well, Mistress Andril, as I’m sure Prince Maglor has told you…probably several times…that you’re being considered a guest of honor at tonight’s event. And of course we can’t have the guest of honor entering through the same door as the regular guests, now can we?”

“If you say so,” I said, shrugging. “This is my first royal banquet, so I guess I’m stuck doing whatever I’m told to do.”

He laughed. “I see, then I’m in a position of great power.” We stopped at a door, which he pushed open and bowed. “Do come and find me if you are in need of anything, my lady.”

I stepped through the door and onto a stage.

Well, it wasn’t so much a stage as a platform with a table on it at the front of a large banquet hall. But the way everyone turned to look at me, including the nine men seated at the table, sure made it feel like a stage.

Maglor, unsurprisingly, leaped up from his seat and threw his arm around my shoulders. He was wearing a green shirt and didn’t look half bad. “Happy Yule, Andril! Come on, come on, sit with me. You’ve got to meet my family.”

“I suppose I ought to, if I’m going to be sitting with them,” I replied, sitting down in the chair he enthusiastically pulled out for me. The table was shaped like a square with the corners cut off, and my seat was at one of the corners, so I had a pretty good view of everyone around me, but I kept my eyes down.

“All right, all right, excellent,” said Maglor, sitting down next to me. “Everyone, this is Andril, she’s the one who…”

“Fixed your leg and reconciled you with your horse and managed to keep from decking you when you were talking her ear off, we know,” said the young man on my right. He had blonde hair and an expression I didn’t quite like.

“This arrogant bastard to your right is my brother Celegorm,” Maglor explained. “He’s three years younger than me. Try not to listen to a word he says.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Celegorm.”

“This here on my left is Maedhros…he’s the oldest. You can listen to him, but not too closely.”

“Evening, Andril,” Maedhros greeted me. He was a real looker—tall, athletic, wavy red hair, the works. Maglor and he had that same earnest, enthusiastic look about them, even if Maedhros seemed a little more restrained.

To Maedhros’ left was another young man with straight black hair and a sullen look, who Maglor introduced as Caranthir, the fourth-oldest. He didn’t say anything—just nodded curtly and went back to staring at the ceiling. On Celegorm’s right was Curufin, the fifth-oldest, who was similarly dark-haired and arrogant-looking but who did bother to say hello. Sitting across the table from each other—one on Curufin’s right, one on Caranthir’s left—were Amrod and Amras, who in addition to being the youngest were identical twins and looked almost exactly alike, down to the red hair and charming smile. All seven brothers had the same amber eyes, pale skin, and long eyelashes, but other than that they weren’t a very similar-looking bunch. I suppose with seven sons there’s bound to be more variety than usual.

The man across the table from me, a dignified-looking gent with dark hair and blue eyes, laughed. “Looks like he’s saving the best introductions for last, Feanor.” He smiled kindly at me. “I’m Maglor’s grandfather, Finwe. And you, my dear, look a bit familiar. Have we perhaps met somewhere?”

“I wouldn’t think so, your majesty,” I said. “Unless…” I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“So this is the famous Andril,” said the last man, who I could only assume was Prince Feanor. He had intense amber eyes, black hair neatly cropped to his chin, and a completely unreadable expression. “Well, so far you fit the description.”

“Do I, milord?” I asked, and looked sharply at Maglor. “Maglor, what have you been telling them about me?”

“Well, he told us that you have blondish hair and blue eyes, which is the only part of the description you’ve fit so far…” Curufin began.

“Oh, only good things, I can assure you,” said Prince Feanor, cutting in coolly. “He’s been talking about how clever you are and how much we’ll like you for the past two weeks.” He looked me straight in the eyes, as if he was saying, You’d better be clever, girl, or don’t think this “honored guest” thing is going to last more than an hour.

“Well, I h…hope I fit that part of the description,” I stuttered. Dear Gods, I’m afraid of him.

The clock struck eight and the food was brought in. That girl Romenella seemed to be in charge of serving our table…she winked at Celegorm as she put a big tureen of soup on our table, and he grinned.

The soup looked good, with vegetables and barley and all the good things you usually get in soup in the winter, but there were some big chunks of venison in it that I kept having to eat around. I looked at Maglor, who I could tell was doing the exact same thing.

“You neither, eh?” he asked with a smile. He had some nice dimples, I noticed.

“Nah,” I said. “I find that when you can talk to the animals it takes some of the fun out of eating them.”

“Oh, Lords,” groaned Celegorm. “Don’t tell me you’re a self-righteous vegetarian too. It’s too much, it really is.”

“Don’t pay Celegorm any mind,” said one of the twins—I think it may have been Amrod. “It’s just because he’s addicted to hunting…”

“…and meat is practically all he eats, you know?” said the other twin (Amras this time—I later found out that the main way they could be told apart was that Amras phrased most things as questions). “But we don’t mind. I guess it’s just good that Maglor’s finally got someone to not eat meat with?”

“It’s so lonely not eating meat all by myself,” Maglor sighed melodramatically.

“So tell us more about your relationship with animals,” said King Finwe. “Maglor says you’re very good at communicating with them?”

“I suppose I am,” I said. “It’s just something I’ve picked up over the years. If you can decipher the body language and the sounds they make, it’s not so difficult.”

“I know what she means,” said Celegorm. “I use that a lot, especially while hunting. My dog Huan and I, we understand each other.”

“You have a dog?” I asked. “You’ll have to introduce me sometime. What kind is he?”

“The giant gray kind,” said Caranthir sharply. “And he jumps on people. And licks their faces. So if you’re into that, you’ll love him.”

“I can call him in if you like,” suggested Celegorm.

Everyone at the table shouted “No!” in unison. Apparently giant dogs weren’t popular at royal feasts.

“There are a lot of people here,” I remarked. Supper was over and everyone had moved into the ballroom for the dancing/awkward conversation portion of the evening. Maglor and I were standing in a corner watching everyone else make fools of themselves (one thing about these city folk was that they liked their liquor strong). “I take it they can’t all be family members?”

Maglor laughed. “No, I’ve got a big family, but not that big. Actually, my dad’s got a lot of friends in Tirion, and so a number of them came here with us. Say, you still haven’t told me what you think of my family.”

“Well, I like Maedhros and the twins and your granddad,” I said. “Celegorm’s funny, but he gets on my nerves. Curufin and Caranthir have barely said two words to me, which isn’t exactly a mark in their favor. And your dad terrifies me.”

“The C’s are all terrible, so don’t let them bother you,” said Maglor. “And Dad terrifies most people, though I think he actually likes you. He just…kind of considers himself superior to most people and so it’s difficult to impress him.”

I smirked. “I’ve noticed that arrogance seems to run in your family.”

“It does,” he admitted, “but not completely. Maedhros seems confident, but he’s actually so neurotic that he spends hours deciphering every comment anyone makes about him. And with me, well, I’m a famous singer, so people would be disappointed if I didn’t act all arrogant and privileged. Really, it’s just playing a character. I have fun doing it, and people think it’s funny, so it’s good all round.”

“Well, if it works…oh, Lords, will you look at that?” I indicated Vanafinde, who’d had a bit too much to drink and was now attempting to flirt with Celegorm while Mardan stood by rolling his eyes. “I swear, you’d think she’d remember she’s married, no matter how tipsy she is.”

“Is that your friend Vanafinde?” said Maglor. “She seems…lively.”

“She’s usually…well, she’s usually a little more coherent. I don’t know about more sensible.”

“You two go way back, I assume?”

“Yes, way back. I delivered all three of her children.”

“Dear Gods, she has children? What interesting childhoods they must be having.”

“Oh, they are, believe me. And what a time her poor husband has of it.”

“Wait,” said Maedhros, sidling up to his brother. “You mean that cute girl’s married? Damn. All the best girls are taken.” (I frowned at him—I knew I probably wasn’t one of the best girls, but he could have been a bit more tactful about it) “Anyway, Maglor, Grandpa’s insisting that you play something, so I hope you’ve got your fiddle somewhere nearby.”

“Don’t I always?” He winked at me. “See you in a bit, Andril.”

“Have you ever heard Maglor sing?” Maedhros asked me after his brother had disappeared into the crowd.

“No, I haven’t.”

He laughed. “Well then, you are in for a treat! I’ve never met anyone who could sing better than—or louder than—Maglor.”

I was about to reply, but was interrupted by the screech of a bow being drawn across a fiddle. Everyone around me (even Vanafinde, surprisingly) stopped what they were doing and turned to face the center of the room.

“Sorry about that, ladies and gents, but I had to get your attention,” declared Maglor. He was standing on a table in the center of the room that had had drinks on it, but those had been rapidly cleared away (presumably to avoid a huge mess). “A-hem!”

And he started to play.

I swear, in my entire life I’d never heard music that good. He made that fiddle sound like it was alive, and his voice—his voice was even more beautiful when he was singing than when he was talking. Not to mention that he was able to sing and play the fiddle and dance on the table at the same time, which would be quite a feat for even the most coordinated person. Even Maedhros, who was probably used to this, was smiling and tapping his foot. Me, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Maglor could be a little flighty and annoying, but right then, I absolutely adored him.

He only played three songs (knowing full well that we all really wanted to hear more), then bowed dramatically, leaped off the table, and came straight over to me.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“I’d say you’ve got every reason to act like an arrogant arse, at least sometimes,” I responded. “But don’t let this go to your head.”

He scratched his aforementioned head. “I think that statement was a little contradictory, darling.”

“Don’t call me darling.”

It was far past midnight by the time us four poor villagers headed home. Everyone was exhausted, but all in all we were a cheerful bunch—especially Vanafinde, who was still a bit drunk.

“Prince Maglor liiikes you,” she stated gleefully. “Are you gonna marry him, Andril?”

“Are you going to marry his brother?” I retorted. “I think poor Mardan here might have a few things to say about that.”

“Oh, relaaax, dear, I was just joooking…”

“Were you now,” said Mardan gruffly. “Believe me, my dear wife, we are going to have words when you sober up.”

“Don’t bother, she probably won’t remember any of this,” laughed Aldea, who was driving the sleigh while her husband slept. “I know Rekano won’t. Look at him; he’s out like a light. But really, Andril, the guest of honor! I think Vanafinde may have a point.”

“Tooold you,” slurred Vanafinde. “And you had a good time, didn’t you, Andril?”

I closed my eyes. The last song Maglor had played was still going through my head and I had no doubt that it would continue to do so for the next week at least. But I didn’t mind.

“I sure did,” I said.

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The Singer's Girl by Lady MSM

Chapter 3