What Happens at Camp Eglarest, Stays at Camp Eglarest by polutropos

Daeron

Read Daeron

“No, no, you’re not getting it.” Maglor slapped the steering wheel with his palm and flared his eyes wide at the road ahead. “The semiotics of harmonic categories do not allow for an epistemological analysis of tripartite theory–”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Daeron shuffled in the passenger seat and tugged at his shoulder strap. They’d been driving for six hours straight and he was now not only going numb below the waist but the midday sun was making the metal four-wheeled cage unbearably hot. And somehow he’d given his roommate an opening to talk about this.

In the five months they’d been living together in one of Maglor’s dad’s mansions (turns out Fëanor Finvesen populated every property he owned in Beleria with a son or other family member to avoid the empty-homes tax), they mostly got along. But when Daeron had responded to the post looking for a roommate he hadn’t expected that music – the common interest that drew him to reply in the first place (well, that, and living in a mansion) – would actually be the issue they’d squabble about most. 

“What do you mean?” Maglor’s brow was knit with sincere confusion when he glanced over at Daeron, who slumped into his seat and met his eyes with an indifferent stare. “Oh, do not tell me you agree with Stella Ekszer’s* theory of–”

“Okay, first off,” Daeron held up a finger on the hand he was dangling out the window, “the words you are using make about as much sense together as the toppings you got on your frozen yogurt yesterday, and two,” he put up another finger, “I don’t know who the fuck Stella Ekszer is.”

“You don’t know who – mm!” Maglor pursed his lips and inhaled deeply. “I don’t know why I even–”

Daeron caught sight of a white post with a sign in tiny text reading EGLAREST BEACH CAMPING. “Wait, that’s the turn!”

“Oh, shit.” Maglor made a sharp right and they careened off the highway onto the narrow road. The car jolted up and down as they sped far too quickly over the uneven pavement.

“Slow down!” Daeron shouted, gripping the window frame.

“I am! I can’t just go from a hundred** to ten like that. Maybe you should get a license before you start telling me how to drive!”

“No way, cars are evil,” Daeron grumbled, “I’m telling you, they will be banned within ten years.”

“All right, get out and walk the rest of the way then!” When Daeron didn’t respond, he smacked the steering wheel again. “Dammit, Dae, you’re so self-righteous! Can’t you go one weekend without pushing some environmental agenda?”

A moment of tense silence passed as Maglor carefully guided the car around a series of immense potholes. They might as well have been walking at this speed. 

The camping trip to Eglarest Beach had been Lúthien’s initiative. His ebullient older sister hadn’t even bothered to ask Daeron if he wanted his roommate along for their annual July long-weekend trip, but given that she was bringing her obnoxious fiancé he didn’t mind having someone else – though the fact two of Maglor’s brothers had gotten wind of the plans and invited themselves was worrying.

“I’m sorry,” Maglor mumbled when they got onto a smooth stretch. “And you’re right about the toppings. Peanut butter and pineapple do not go together. It was disgusting.”

Maglor looked over at him for a reaction and Daeron felt an involuntary tug at the corners of his lips. He leaned forward to grab his phone from the console and started searching.

“Oh, no…” Maglor’s voice dropped as he returned his attention to the road. Daeron bit down on a laugh and hit play.

Baaabbee and a bubblegum beat poured from the speakers like a cry of vengeance. Daeron turned the volume up as high as he could and started to twist and sway in his seat as he drummed out the rhythm on his thighs. 

Daeron caught a glimpse of Maglor’s pained expression, tears practically spilling from the rims of his grey-blues eyes, shaking his head of thick black curls in disgust at the ‘assault on his senses,’ as he would call it. 

"Ring ding dong ring ding dong!” Daeron sang along at the top of his lungs and he smacked Maglor’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Come on, sing it!”

Maglor muttered something but Daeron couldn’t hear him over the blaring K-Pop; he set the song on repeat. 

"Fantastic fantastic fantastic fantastic, elastic elastic elastic elastic,” Daeron belted as they bumped along the narrow road and it turned to gravel, forcing Maglor to slow down even more – prolonging his misery, Daeron thought, and he cackled mirthfully.

When they were finally pulling up to the campground, music still blasting, Lúthien came running up to the car.

“Hey! You made it!” she shouted, running alongside them. “Beren found a spot right on the water – oh my god, I love this song! It’s such a vibe.”

“Right?!” Daeron exclaimed.

Maglor pulled up to the campsite and aggressively turned off the car and the music with it. Slamming his door on the way out, he stalked off into the trees and shouted towards the sky.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lúthien asked.

“Oh, he doesn’t think Ring Ding Dong is a vibe,” Daeron said.

A startling pop made Daeron and Lúthien both jump and turn to face the source of the sound, where they saw a huge motorbike weaving down the road, engine sputtering and belching. Its driver slid up beside Maglor’s hatchback and came to a stop only a few feet from Lúthien. He pulled off his helmet, releasing a mop of straw-gold hair that fell to frame a confident grin and bright grey eyes.

“Hi,” he said, swinging a leg over the bike and popping out the kickstand in one smooth motion. “I’m Celegorm.”

It was only then that Daeron noticed the large German shepherd seated nonchalantly in a rack affixed to the back of the bike. He stumbled backwards.

“Turco!” came Maglor’s voice, addressing his brother in their native tongue. “I told you not to bring Huan! They don’t allow dogs here.”

“Really? Or was it because your weird roommate is scared of them?” He looked Daeron up and down and smirked.

“He can understand us,” Maglor snapped, sending Daeron a conciliatory glance.

“You speak Quenya?” Celegorm pointed a strong finger at Daeron.

“Yes,” said Daeron, at the same time as Maglor said, “He speaks seven languages.”

“Jesus,” Celegorm whistled, “nerd.”

Meanwhile, Lúthien had gone to greet Huan and the dog was enthusiastically licking her face and pawing at her shoulders.

Nervously eyeing the slobbery animal, Daeron rubbed his sweating palms over his jeans and extended a hand towards Celegorm. “I’m Daeron.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Celegorm replied. “I’ve seen your cute posters plastered on every street corner. How is it you get all the best gigs and my brother gets none? Don’t suppose it has anything to do with being the mayor’s son?”

“Uh…” Daeron let his hand fall and stared at it.

“Cel, seriously,” Maglor said. “Don’t be an ass. Daeron is just better known in Beleria than I am, I’ve only been in town a few months.”

Daeron had expected to remain in Maglor’s bad books over the Ring Ding Dong incident for a little more than five minutes, and was almost disappointed that he was taking his side against Celegorm. He returned Maglor’s apologetic smile with a quirk of his lips and Maglor held his gaze for an uncomfortably long moment.

“Oh, aren’t you the cutest!” Lúthien cooed at Huan as he jumped out of the carrier into her arms, toppling her backwards. She laughed gleefully. 

Celegorm spun to face her and extended an arm to help her back up. “And you must be Mayor Singh's daughter?” 

She ignored his hand and leapt to her feet, ruffling Huan’s fur as he stood panting happily beside her. “Yes, that’s me. Lúthien Singh-Goel. And if you shit on my little brother again I will hit you.”

Celegorm stepped back and arched his eyebrows, casting a glance back at Daeron and Maglor. “Damn. Noted.”

“Good,” Maglor said. "Thank you, Lúthien, for your help keeping my brother in line." He turned back to Celegorm. "Where’s Curufin?”

Celegorm shrugged and opened the trunk of his bike to begin unpacking. “He couldn't find any one to look after Tyelpe.”

“What about Finrod? I thought he loved hanging out with Tyelpe.”

“Apparently Curvo pissed him off,” Celegorm waved him off. “I don't know. You didn’t seriously want him here, anyway, did you?”

“Oh, heeyyy everyone.” They all looked toward the drawling voice coming up behind them, which belonged to Beren, Lúthien’s fiancé. Daeron had always thought his sister could do better, but he felt this especially right now as he caught sight of the tattered boots, wool socks hiked up to his knees, and the scraggly beard he had let grow rather out of control. Lúthien, of course, threw herself at him and started rooting through his pack excitedly.

“Hey, Daeron,” Beren said, “hey, hey everybody.” He nodded at Maglor and Celegorm as he walked down toward the picnic table. “I’m Beren.” He threw his pack down on the table and put his hands on his hips, breathing deeply and looking around. “Man, how much do you love this camping spot? Stellar.” 

“Oh, wow!” Lúthien exclaimed, pulling a giant chicken-of-the-woods from his pack. “Beren, I can’t believe you found all these!”

“Yeah, babe, it’s gonna be great. Mushroom burgers tonight.”

“Perfect,” Celegorm said. “I brought some of that frozen ground elk from last fall’s hunting–”

Beren’s perpetually chill expression hardened and he glared across the table at Celegorm. “No, man. We don’t eat animals here.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Celegorm said, “don’t tell me I’m stuck with a vegetarian for four days!”

“Vegan,” Beren corrected.

“Christ, that’s much worse.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but Lúthien caught his eyes, daggers blazing from hers, and he pinched his lips shut. He huffed off to the corner of the site with an armload of his camping supplies, Huan padding after him with a whimper. 

“Uh, sorry,” Maglor said, walking over to shake Beren’s hand. “I’m Maglor, Daeron’s roommate. That was my brother Celegorm. He’s, uh, he gets better. He’s not good with first impressions. Kind of likes to piss on things when he first sees them, to mark his territory – like his dog.” Maglor laughed nervously.

“I fucking heard that!” Celegorm shouted as he hammered a tent peg into the ground.

Beren was calmly unpacking and sorting his haul of funguses as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, cool, it’s chill. Nice to meet you, Maglor.”

---

Chapter End Notes

* Stella means ‘star’ in Italian, Ekszer means ‘jewel’ in Hungarian/Magyar. Elemmírë, the famed composer of Aldudénië, a lament on the Darkening of Valinor, also means Star-Jewel. ** kph, folks. Maglor is not that much a speed demon. If you're like me and have never listened to K-Pop in your life, this is the song Daeron torments Maglor with: Ring Ding Dong.

Celegorm

This chapter contains recreational cannabis use

Read Celegorm

Even the back of Beren’s head irritated Celegorm. That brown mass of hair blowing haphazardly in the breeze. The way he shifted it slightly to the side, scanning the beach. Then his neck tipped backwards onto the log he was leaning against and he sighed ever-so-contentedly and Celegorm could not help but scoff loudly at the over-the-top display of satisfaction. Beren craned his neck back and opened his mouth into a lazy approximation of a smile.

“Oh, hey, Celegorm,” he said. “Didn’t know you were there. Come join me?”

Absolutely not , Celegorm thought, and, Damn Maglor and Huan for ditching me with this idiot . Surely all four of them didn’t need to drive to the store for ice? It was supposed to be time for Lúthien and her useless little brother to catch up – why Maglor had decided at the last minute that he needed to go with them was inexplicable. And inexcusable. Then Huan had barked and barked when Lúthien closed the car door on him, refusing to be left behind by his new best friend, and so Celegorm had been abandoned by both his dog and his brother. 

“No,” Celegorm replied to Beren, and reluctantly, “thanks.”

“You sure?” Beren held up a tall can of Seven Rivers IPA. 

“Wait, you know Ossiriand Brewing?” Celegorm said, and he'd engaged the self-assured little vegan whether he liked it or not. Well, at least Beren had good taste.

“Yeah, of course,” Beren said. “They’re the best.”

Celegorm sniffed. “Yeah, sure, they’re okay. I prefer their kolsch. The IPA is overrated.”

“Oh, well, great!” Beren said. “I’ve got some of the kolsch, too. Help yourself, in the cooler.”

Celegorm didn’t actually prefer the kolsch, but he was committed to it now. He pulled one out of Beren and Lúthien’s cooler, savouring the satisfying fizz when he cracked it open, then walked down to stand noncommittally beside where Beren was sitting. It was fine, he’d just finish the beer with him, then Maglor and the others would come back with more to drink and he’d be acquitted of his social obligation to talk to Beren. 

“So,” Beren started in immediately, “your dog sure seems to like my girlfriend, huh?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Celegorm snapped.

“Oh–” Beren looked at him with wide-eyed surprise, “nothing, just thought it was sweet. Nice dog.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice dog,” Celegorm said.

“Hey, man,” Beren pivoted the conversation, “you like weed?”

That got Celegorm’s head to turn. He’d been curious about the widespread Belerian habit since moving there last year but none of his family seemed interested. “I’ve, uh, I’ve actually never tried it. It wasn’t really a thing in Valin.”

“Oohh, shit! No way!” Beren exclaimed. “You’ve got to try it! We’ve got the best stuff. You’ll love it. Take a seat.” He waved his head to the left, inviting Celegorm to sit, and pulled a tube of dried leaves and rolling papers out of his back pocket. 

Celegorm was careful not to show too much enthusiasm as he crossed in front of Beren and sat down a good distance away. He watched Beren out the corner of his eyes as he ceremoniously prepared a joint with practised precision, though Celegorm could not help but notice that he didn’t seem to be able to bend two of the fingers on his right hand.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked, registering only after he said it how rude it was.

“Oh,” Beren said, holding it out for him to see. “Nerve damage. I got bit pretty bad by a dog when I was a kid.”

“I see,” was all Celegorm could think to say.

“Don’t worry, I’m not scared of dogs. Daeron is, though.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Celegorm paused. “My oldest brother has that in his wrist. Rock climbing injury.”

“Oh yeah? That sucks,” Beren said, then held up the completed joint for Celegorm to admire and pulled out a lighter. “That should do us!” 

Celegorm studied how Beren took the first drag: deep inhale, hold, exhale. It seemed easy enough. He took it from him: deep inhale, hold… then tears welled in his eyes and he was choking. And crying, and coughing, and doubled over, and Beren was laughing and laughing. 

“Wow!” Beren said with two emphatic claps of his hands. “You really went for it!”

When he was finally recovered, Celegorm stared at Beren, blinking through the water in his eyes. “What the hell! Why didn’t you warn me!”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s the best way to do it, really.”

Celegorm leaned back against the log and stared out at the ocean, humiliated and still in a considerable amount of pain. Beren continued to take several more drags and Celegorm could not understand how he was remaining so composed. He took a few sips of his beer to ease the burning in his throat. 

Then he stared at the sand. He could not stop staring at the sand. 

“Beren,” he was saying, though he hadn’t planned to, “have you ever thought how amazing it is that every grain of sand is just a tiny rock?”

“Ha ha!” Beren laughed. Celegorm thought the sound he made was very funny, so he laughed.  He could not stop laughing. Beren could not stop laughing.

“Yeah, man,” Beren wheezed, “I have thought of that.” 

Abruptly, they stopped laughing. Beren passed him the joint and Celegorm took another drag, this time much less painfully.

“You’re an okay guy,” Celegorm was saying to Beren as he handed it back.

“Yeah?” Beren said. “You seem okay, too.”

“Those mushrooms you foraged, is this a good place for that?”

“Oh, definitely!” Beren said, snuffing out the joint and carefully placing the remainder back in the plastic tube. “One of the best. You should definitely come with me next time.”

“Hey,” Celegorm said, “I’m hungry. Let’s cook some of them up.”

They went about preparing the most delicious wild mushroom sauté Celegorm had ever tasted in his life and were bent over the picnic table shovelling spoonfuls of it into their mouths directly from the pot when the others returned with the ice and various provisions.

“Did you get bread?” Celegorm shouted the minute Maglor stepped out of the backseat, Huan charging out behind him and eagerly licking at Celegorm’s face. He gave the dog a spoonful of the mushrooms. “Please tell me you got bread.”

Maglor just stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and Celegorm laughed at how funny his face looked like that.

“You’re eating already?” Lúthien exclaimed as she and Daeron emerged from the car. “Gee, thanks for waiting!”

“We were hungry!” Beren shouted around a mouthful. “Where’s the bread?”

“We already have bread!” Lúthien returned. “In the tote.”

“ What .” Beren looked stunned. “Are you serious? We’ve had bread this whole time?”

Maglor was still staring at Celegorm. “What is going on with you?”

“They’re high,” Daeron said, rummaging through the tote and throwing the bread on the table, none too impressed. 

Beren ripped it open and Celegorm plunged his hand in and urgently shoved half a slice into his mouth. 

“You’re high?” Maglor stammered. “On what?”

“Weed!” Celegorm shouted. “You should have some.”

“No!” Maglor looked absolutely astonished. “I will not be smoking anything. Do you know how bad that is for your voice?”

Beren went into hysterics. “You and Daeron both! Hey, we should get some edibles for you two!”

“Good idea,” Lúthien said, taking a seat at the table. “I’d like to see that.” She winked at her brother and Maglor, who were now standing side by side with an identical scowl on their faces, and she started piling some of the sautéed mushrooms on a slice of bread. “Mm!” she exclaimed, taking a bite. “You two better get some of this before these boys devour it all!”

Maglor

Read Maglor

Once the initial shock of finding his brother and Beren stoned had worn off, Maglor decided Celegorm was rather more tolerable when he was high. Just now he could hear him and Beren conversing lightly about – he strained to hear – the best way to place kindling for the campfire? Remarkable. He had never heard Celegorm discuss something he had expertise in with such levity.

Daeron had pulled out his guitar and was sitting with Lúthien, working out a melody that Maglor thought he recognised but couldn’t quite place. Probably one of his acoustic covers of some pop song that he would no doubt be hearing around the campfire later. They were at least relatively pleasant when stripped of the artifice of overproduction. 

When Maglor emerged from his tent with laptop in hand, Daeron hit the guitar strings emphatically and groaned.

“Come on!” he said, pointing to the laptop with his pick. “You’re not going to work, are you?”

Lúthien also looked utterly appalled. “You brought your computer camping?”

Maglor sighed at their joint disdain and sat himself down at the picnic table. Daeron’s lack of understanding was excusable, what with his comfortable municipal job at the City Archives (“It’s not nepotism if I’m qualified,” he’d say), but surely Lúthien knew how it was in the arts. At 34, she was already the Director of Neldoreth Dance Company! 

“How are you going to get internet here?” Daeron said.

“I’ll use my phone as a hotspot." He looked at his phone. "I have... one bar. I just need to the see if anyone on the Board got back to us about the youth musical theatre performance–”

Daeron rolled his eyes. “Stop bending over backwards for those rich assholes. They don’t care about anything but a pat on the back.”

“It’s a new program for the School, it needs their support. And they hired me and determine what I get paid, so–”

“Yeah, and it’s shit pay, for way too much work. What are you supposed to be again?”

“Associate Artistic Director.” 

“Director! And they barely pay you a living wage – less, if you count all the overtime.”

“Please, you two,” Lúthien chided. “You sound like an old married couple.” Maglor stiffened and looked away. “He’s not wrong though,” she added. “You need to get out of the theatre.”

As Maglor opened the computer to check his email, a Parks truck pulled up to the campsite and Lúthien leapt out of her chair to greet the driver. Maglor covered his ears under his headphones but her clear voice was difficult to drown out.

“Círdan!” she said, as a silver-haired man with a wispy beard practically to his waist stepped out of the truck. He looked more like a surfer who’d forgotten to grow up than a Park Ranger. 

“If it isn’t the Singh-Goels!” Círdan said. “And nice to see some new faces at Eglarest Beach.” He waved at Maglor, who nodded. “How is your dad doing?” he asked Lúthien. “The Councillors treating him okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Lúthien replied. “He’s got a good majority of supporters on Council after the last election.”

“What about those developers? I can’t believe what they’re doing to the city, it’s nothing like it was when I was there in the 90s. First that Finvesen, now the, what is it – Hithlum Holdings? – are in there competing and driving up prices. Who’s behind that one?”

Maglor and Daeron exchanged a glance.

“Uh, not sure!” Lúthien said hurriedly. “Well, how’s the summer been so far?”

“And did you hear that Finvesen bought the public ferry service from Alquin? Cut pay and laid off a bunch of people from secure government jobs. Some good friends of mine among them.” Círdan tsked and shook his head, jotting something on his clipboard. “Alright, I’ll need the names of everyone who’s staying.”

Maglor looked up, wide-eyed.

“Oh, of course,” Lúthien said, turning to face the rest of them and pointing. “That’s Beren, Celegorm, and Maglor.”

“Last names?” Círdan asked.

“Um. Beren Escarra* and Celegorm and Maglor… Finvesen.” She flashed him a grin. 

Círdan’s pen paused and he looked between the two brothers. Fortunately, Celegorm hadn’t been paying attention to any of the interaction. “Oh dear, I should watch my prattling mouth!”

“It’s fine,” Maglor said, removing his headphones, which he had muted a while ago anyway. “We’re not really impressed, either.” Which wasn’t entirely true, given they were all named as shareholders whether they liked it or not, and Maglor, with no small degree of shame, depended on the investment income to support his arts career. 

Huan had been conveniently sleeping in Celegorm’s tent all afternoon but of course the dog decided now was a good time to emerge, yawning and stretching before excitedly padding over to greet the new face.

“Ah ha ha,” Círdan laughed nervously. “A dog.”

Lúthien lovingly stroked Huan’s neck and patted his side. “I’m so sorry, Círdan. He’s Celegorm’s dog, he didn’t know they weren’t allowed. He’s a very good dog.” She took Huan’s face in her hands and he panted happily. “Aren’t you Huan, you’re a good boy? Yes you are, yes you are!”

Círdan hummed sceptically. “Very well. But if that dog creates any trouble he’ll have to leave.”

After thanking him profusely, Lúthien handed him a wad of cash for the three nights they would be staying and he drove off smiling and waving. The campfire was now blazing and blowing smoke in Maglor’s face. He closed his laptop and resigned himself to getting no work done. 

They cooked over the fire, beers in hand, and exchanged light banter. Lúthien was bragging about Daeron’s latest local history video going viral, which seemed to be news to Daeron. 

“You don’t even check if they’re popular?” Celegorm asked, incredulous.

“No.” Daeron shrugged. “I do them for fun. Nice if people like them, but it doesn’t matter.”

Celegorm exhaled through his mouth in disbelief, drawing out a slow motoring sound as his lips flapped against each other. “I doubt that.” 

Maglor knew it was true, though. Daeron really had no idea how good he was. At everything. He seemed to absorb knowledge at an inhuman rate. He could compose the most original songs entirely in his head. He’d listened to him recording those videos, and knew he improvised all of them on the spot, and yet they were always funny and articulate and… Maglor took a long sip of his beer and blinked. Hadn’t he gotten over this months ago? It was not appropriate. Daeron was his roommate. Daeron was straight. Not that he had ever seen him with a woman, but he talked about them, he had been with them, so he was definitely, one hundred percent straight. No question about it. 

He had started playing the peppy melody he and Lúthien were rehearsing earlier, and she lent it a slightly melancholic tone with her expressive voice. Like her brother, Lúthien had a talent for languages and knew all the Korean lyrics. Beren was staring at her with adoration and… so was Celegorm? Maglor kicked his brother’s foot and glared. ‘What?’ Celegorm mouthed. 'No.' Maglor mouthed back and Celegorm huffed and crossed his arms. 

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered audibly. Perplexed, Maglor didn’t engage further. 

'I wanna know know know know,’** Daeron joined in for the English refrain, and Maglor realised what Celegorm was referring to when Daeron caught him staring and winked. He slumped into his chair and looked away. Dammit, he thought, what is the matter with you? It was the setting, being in a different context – it was throwing him off. 

‘What is love? What is love?’ they repeated in harmony while Maglor continued to stare into the fire. 

"I wanna know,” Daeron finished with a final flourish of notes. Maglor glanced up and briefly caught his smile before Beren leaned over him and grabbed Lúthien by the chin to give her a long kiss right over her brother’s lap. When he pulled away Daeron was grimacing in disgust.

“Could you not?" he protested. “I am right here!”

“Aw, come on, Daeron.” Beren nudged his elbow. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Fuck, Beren.” Daeron slammed his guitar and the whole circle tensed. “I’m not jealous. You’re just a selfish prick!”

Beren drew back in surprise. Celegorm was very inappropriately laughing quietly to himself.

“Wow. Okay,” Beren said. “This is new.”

“Daeron…” Lúthien consoled.

“No, I’m sick of his shit. He thinks he can just come into your life and change everything.” Maglor couldn’t be sure in the darkness but by the crack in his voice he might have been about to cry.

“Is this about going to live on the island?” Lúthien asked gently. 

“Yes, yes, it’s about that!” Daeron sputtered, and he was hurriedly brushing tears out of his eyes. “You’re both so selfish. You can’t just run away from our problems. There are eight billion people in the world, why do you get to give up and go have your perfect little off-grid utopia? Just go vegan and wash your hands of social collapse? This is everyone’s problem. Do you know how many people don’t have the privilege to make those lifestyle choices?” 

This was very much no longer about Beren. Maglor had seen Daeron go down this path only once before, and it hadn’t been pretty. He’d ended up on the floor, clutching at his knees and mumbling through choked sobs about the end of the world and how nobody cared.

“Well, what do you want us to do?” Celegorm piped up, and Maglor felt his stomach coil into knots. This was not at all what was needed.

“Put yourselves in the way! Disruption!” Daeron shouted. “No major social shift has ever come about because a few people decided to change their habits.” 

“Oh, and I suppose you’re disrupting?" Celegorm sneered. 

“Celegorm…” Maglor pleaded.

“No,” Celegorm said, “I want to know if he’s putting his money where his mouth is.”

“Yes,” Daeron said, rubbing an arm across his face. “Yes, I have been arrested if that’s what you’re asking.”

Celegorm laughed derisively. “Yeah, so? Me too.”

“Celegorm.” Maglor had had enough. “He’s not talking about being thrown in the drunk tank. Just drop it.”

“Ugh,” Daeron stood and set his guitar down with a clang of vibrating strings. “That’s just it. It’s always ‘just drop it’, ‘just let it go’. You’re no better,” he turned on Maglor accusingly. “How do you live with what your dad is doing? The ferries from Alquin! So he’s privatising public transport now, too? Were you going to just keep that one quiet? Where does your family’s ruthlessness end?” 

Lúthien started to say something but he’d already stalked off and disappeared into the darkness. Other than a long whistle from Celegorm to punctuate the tension, no one said anything for a long while. 

“Is he going to come back?” Maglor asked tentatively.

“Yeah, he will,” Lúthien said, though the concern in her voice was evident. “He just does this sometimes.”

It was totally dark and Daeron hadn’t even taken a flashlight. 

“I’m going to look for him,” Maglor announced, grabbing his phone and a headlamp.

“He probably won’t want–” Lúthien started, but he was already on his way.

---

Chapter End Notes

* Escarra is a Spanish last name that might mean 'left-handed', and also sounds vaguely like Erchamion.

** The song is What Is Love by TWICE. Acoustic cover here.

Beren

Read Beren

The shrill sound of the tent zipper tore through the silence of the night and Beren winced.

“Mmm,” Lúthien hummed and shifted against the air mattress. “Where are you going?”

“Sorry, birdie,” he whispered.

“Did you have another nightmare?” she mumbled.

“No, no. I just gotta pee.”

Feet out first, he slipped on his sandals and shuffled out of the tent, zipping the door shut behind him. Moving a little ways from the campsite, he found a tree to relieve himself behind and tilted his head back to gape at the glittering smear of stars across the night sky. He never ceased to be awestruck by the sight of the stars undiluted by city lights. It was something he missed about working in the oil sands, much as he was glad to be free of the industry and the monsters he had to work for – the remoteness, the silent nights, and expansive skies. Well, he thought, tucking himself back into his pyjamas, he was doing better work now with the conservation society, even if was stuck in the city most of the time. And soon they’d be living on Dead Man’s Island full-time.

He spotted a light trailing along the ground on the road ahead and blinked, straining to make out the two figures approaching.

“Daeron?” he said when they were near enough to distinguish. “Maglor, hey. Are you just getting back now?”

“Uh…” Daeron glanced at Maglor, who pulled out his phone to check the time.

“It’s dead,” Maglor said, stuffing it back in his pocket. “Is it really late?”

“Yeah…” Beren said, “It’s like 3 a.m.”

They stared at each other and Daeron shrugged.

“Ah ha, well,” Maglor laughed a little awkwardly, “I guess we better go to bed, then!”

“We were just talking,” Daeron said, looking intently at Beren.

“Yeah, it’s a nice night,” Beren said. “Hey, I’m sorry about, uh… I mean, you’re right about what you said. I agree with you, you know. And I really love your sister, and I know she means a lot to you, I couldn’t stand it if you felt–”

“It’s fine,” Daeron replied, rubbing his hands over his bare arms, “I’m sorry. Who knows what’s right any more.”

“Alright,” Beren said with a smile. “Good night, you two.”

He crawled back into the tent and listened to them return to theirs. Lúthien nudged his calf with a foot.

“Was that my brother?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Beren replied, “and Maglor. Hey, birdie?”

“Mhm?”

“Is Maglor gay?”

Lúthien exhaled a little laugh and turned to face him. “Well, he was married to a guy in Valin.”

“Really? He’s divorced?”

“Yeah, I guess. It happens.” She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Is your brother… into guys also?”

“He claims he isn’t,” she said through a yawn. “I’ve never believed it.”

“Hm." Beren pursed his lips. "I think him and Maglor–”

“Yeah, I know, babe. It’s pretty obvious. They'll figure it out – now, go to sleep.”

 

*

“Good morning!” Maglor said with nervous joviality. “How did you sleep?”

Beren dragged his feet over to the picnic table where Maglor was flipping pancakes. He already had a large stack piled up on a plate, and there were dribbles of batter all over the table and camp stove.

“Um,” Beren said, uncertain what to say about the scene before him. “Good, yeah. Did you sleep at all?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, I don’t need much sleep.” Maglor flashed him an exaggerated grin before turning back to flip a pancake. It stuck to the pan and folded over on itself, creating a sloppy sort of calzone-cake. “Dammit,” Maglor said.

“Do you want some help?” Beren asked, scratching at his head. He was supposed to be making breakfast this morning and had planned a veggie hash with the rest of the mushrooms. Celegorm was going to forage some stinging nettle for it.

A flash of desperation passed over Maglor’s face before he began to answer, “No, I’m okay–” but he was cut off by Huan bounding back into the campsite, soaking wet. He leapt up and pawed at Beren, barking excitedly.

“Huan! Quiet!” Celegorm shouted, running up behind him and laughing. He drew up beside Maglor and raised his brows as he surveyed the scene.

“Oh god,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Maglor said, not looking at his brother and still trying vainly to salvage the folded pancake. “Nothing. I’m making breakfast.”

“You hate cooking.”

“This is barely cooking,” Maglor replied, followed by a groan as he flipped the blob-cake at Huan, who leapt to catch it mid-air.

Celegorm grinned and turned to Beren. “When my brother gets upset he copes by mothering everyone.” Maglor glared at him but he carried on. “Does this mean you are up for Meltdown Act 2?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Maglor said, sliding his eyes past Beren as he clamped down on his jaw.

“Hey, well,” Beren said, patting Maglor on the shoulder, “that’s lucky for us! Pancakes are great! And we can still make the veggies to go with them, eh Celegorm?”

“Yeah, sure,” Celegorm said, patting Huan’s side, apparently having already moved on from the tense interaction. He wasn’t particularly good at picking up on the vibe, Beren observed, while his brother seemed a little too good at it for his own well-being. He wondered if the other Finvesens were as badly-matched and dysfunctional as these two.

“Did you want to go find some nettles still?” Beren asked Celegorm.

“Huh?” Celegorm said, tossing a ball for Huan. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Come on, Huan boy! Let’s go find some nettles!” He ran off into the forest with the dog bouncing over tree roots and shrubs behind him.

“So, uh,” Beren said, coming to stand by Maglor, whose cheerful expression had completely faded. “I can make the rest, if you want?”

Maglor didn’t reply, so Beren went about wiping up the splattered batter.

“Have you ever…” Maglor started to speak and trailed off.

“Ever what?” Beren asked.

“Nevermind, it’s stupid to ask you. No offence.”

“Well, okay,” Beren said. “If you say so.”

“Okay,” Maglor said, pointing with the spatula for emphasis. “I just… so, this is stupid. I’ve been married, you know. I should know how this works. And I’m like... eight? nine? years older than you. No offence.”

“I get it,” Beren said, “you’re not trying to offend me. You’re not doing a great job of it but I’ll let it slide given your apparent distress.”

Maglor smiled weakly. “Sorry. It’s just the, uh, the guy I was married to, he was my first boyfriend, from highschool, and then I was just with him until I moved here.”

“Sorry to hear, man,” Beren said, pulling some veggies from the cooler and laying them out on the table.

“No, it’s fine, it was a stupid idea to get married anyway. We were barely 20, it was really just because we could. It was legalised, I mean. Me leaving was just a convenient way to get out of it. Anyway – agh, not again!” He sighed loudly over the pancakes. “Well, whatever there are probably enough now.” He dumped the last ruined pancake on the ground and put a pot of water on the stove. “Anyway, I don’t really know what the hell I am doing.”

“You mean… romantically?”

“Yeah,” Maglor said, landing the heels of his palms on the table to prop himself up and meeting his eyes hopefully. “Like, if you think someone might be interested… in you.. how do you just – ask them?”

“Well,” Beren said, slicing through a red pepper, “when I decided I wanted to be with Lúthien I just went to one of her shows and asked her out after and she said yes.”

“Not true!” came Lúthien’s voice from their tent. “Absolutely not true!”

Maglor looked horrified that she’d been listening to their conversation. Beren gave him a reassuring smile.

“He’s full of shit.” Lúthien rustled around in the tent. “The first show he came to he just stared at me and Daeron in the lobby for like half an hour, until we left. Totally freaked Daeron out. Lucky for Beren I thought it was kind of cute.” She emerged from the tent and joined them at the table. “Then the second time he just came over, said, ‘Hi. I love your dance,’ and walked away. It must have been at least the fourth or fifth show before he got up the nerve to carry on a conversation. I asked him out for drinks that night.”

God, she was beautiful when she put him in his place, Beren thought.

“Anyway,” she said, grabbing a pancake from the top of the pile and tearing off a bite, “if you like my brother you should just tell him. Personally, I’m bored of listening to you two flargue”

Maglor’s jaw dropped open and his ears flushed red. “I…” he breathed, “I… flargue?”

“Flirt-arguing.”

“Oh,” Maglor said. “But – I live with him. And he’s not even… been with… Wait, has he?”

Lúthien smiled around a bite of pancake and shrugged. “Do you think I’d suggest this if I didn’t think you had a high chance of success?”

“I’m…” Maglor backed away from the stove as if it was a rabid animal. “I’m going to go for a walk.” He spun on his heels and stalked off towards the beach, cupping his hands over his bright pink ears.

“Good morning, babe.” Lúthien planted a kiss on Beren’s cheek and took over the coffee preparation.

“I think you broke him,” Beren said with a shake of his head. “You could have been more subtle.”

“Why?” Lúthien asked. “Life is too short for subtlety.”

“Well, you know…” Beren said, “I mean, are you sure it’s a good idea? They do live together, it could be awkward.”

“Oh, listen to you,” Lúthien teased. “Mister Subtlety himself. Need I remind you? ‘Nice to meet you, Mayor Singh, Ms. Goel. Thank you for having me for dinner. You must want me to marry your daughter.’”

Beren grimaced. “You know that I meant to say, ‘You must be so proud of your daughter.’”

“Yeah, sure,” Lúthien laughed. “But that’s not what you did say.”

“Oh, come on, birdie. I was just thinking how beautiful you were, and how you seemed so happy with your family, and I wanted to be part of it right away. Anyway, it all worked out, didn’t it?”

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head. “Yeah, it did.” She straightened and her grip tightened. “Is my brother seriously still sleeping? DAE!!” she shouted, and Beren flinched. “GET UP!”

Silence followed, and she opened her mouth to shout again, “DA–” but mercifully a loud groan resounded from Daeron’s tent.

“We’re going paddleboarding today, remember?” Lúthien said. “Reservation is for 10 a.m.”

There was a long, drawn-out sigh that might have been the first syllable of a curse. Daeron crawled out of his tent, his normally-straight dark hair kinked in three directions. He stood there with his mouth slightly open and squinted at them.

“Ugh,” he said, dragging a camping chair over to the table and collapsing into it, “I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up until 3 a.m., hey?” She poured some water over a coffee cone. “What were you doing anyway?”

“Just talking.” Daeron scowled at her.

“For four hours?” she said. “That’s a long-ass time to talk to someone you live with.” She winked at Beren.

“Yeah, well,” Daeron said lamely, “at least he cared enough to follow me.”

“You hate it when I follow you.” She handed him the mug of coffee and he gave a grateful half-smile.

“Got some nettles!” Celegorm announced, traipsing through the underbrush behind the site. “And some huckleberries for the pancakes!”

 

*

After breakfast they all piled into Lúthien’s car – even Huan, who sat awkwardly on her lap the whole way to the rental shop so that she could barely see the road ahead. Daeron, whose mood had shot steeply upwards after he had been fed and filled with coffee, called shotgun and insisted on putting on some album of hip hop covers of traditional tiki songs (how did he find these things?) to ‘set the right vibe’ for the day. Beren was not sure what sort of vibe this was supposed to set, but at least it was mostly keeping everyone quiet. That is, until they hit an area with cell reception and Celegorm added to the cacophony by calling his brother and yammering loudly over the music.

“What do you mean he kicked you out? Yeah, but Tyelpe is like 11, just tell him to screw off. So? Listen, I don’t care about Finde’s sketchy debts or whatever, that’s a dumbass thing to do. Curvo, you’re an idiot – I can’t believe you have an eleven-year-old kid who bosses you around. Well, I guess that’s what you get for knocking her up. Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious, you should’ve come. Maglor is upset about something. I don’t know what, do you think I have the time to ask him every time – ugh, okay, one sec. Hey, Maglor,” Celegorm leaned over Beren, who had somehow ended up in the middle seat, “what are you upset about?” Maglor just glared at him, mouth open in disbelief. “No idea, he’s just making that face like mom. Okay. Well, tell Finde ‘fuck off’ for me when he comes back. If he comes back. Bye, love you.”

Beren straightened against the back seat and cleared his throat. That was at least one more dysfunctional Finvesen, then. Maglor was leaning against the window frame with his head in his hand and Beren could feel the rage emanating from him, though once again apparently Celegorm could not. Lúthien glanced at them in the rearview mirror.

“Dae,” she said. “I don’t think your vibe-setting is working.”

“Okay, fine,” Daeron said, turning off the music. “Next time we can take both cars. Even if we don’t need them.”

“Oh, I think we need them,” Lúthien replied, finally pulling up to the parking lot.

They all clambered out and, after some fussing with finding a board big enough to hold Huan and Celegorm, they were ready to launch.

The thing is, Beren had never been on the water. He didn’t even know how to swim. He hadn’t thought that would be a big deal but now that they were about to go, he was wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He slipped his arms into the life jacket and took a deep breath.

“Babe.” Lúthien, sensing his distress, came up beside him and spoke softly. “You know how to swim, right?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I get the idea of it. I’m sure I’d figure it out.”

Her eyes twinkled with repressed amusement as she pinched her lips shut and smiled sweetly. “I have no doubt you would,” she said, running her hand down his arm reassuringly, “but why don’t we get a tandem board to start?”

Once settled on the tandem board, Beren quickly got the hang of it and enjoyed the gentle rocking of the waves and the beautiful scenery while Lúthien sang quietly in front of him. Daeron had gone off by himself and was lying stomach-down on his board, floating over a bed of sea kelp and apparently talking to whatever he saw down there. He was a strange person… but so was Lúthien, and Beren loved her for it. He figured they got it from their mother, whom Beren had rarely met. When Melian Goel did appear, she would silently scrutinise him with her hauntingly pale eyes before warning him that Mars was in retrograde, or that Venus was entering Cancer and he ought to guard his emotions closely. More often he would hear her rather than see her, chanting over singing bowls from her ‘House of Prophecy’ – a converted shed in their backyard perpetually surrounded by a cloud of incense smoke.

Celegorm and Maglor, who seemed to be enjoying each other’s company for a change, were paddling back in their direction.

“Hey!” Celegorm called to them. “Mags and I need your help settling a disagreement.” Oh great, Beren thought. “Is Uncle Bór’s or Papa Uldor’s better pizza?”

“Obviously Bór’s,” Lúthien replied without missing a beat. “Pretty sure whatever Uldor’s calls pepperoni is something else.”

“Okay, okay, fine. What about ice cream –”

Just then a seal head popped up between their two boards and Huan started to bark frantically. The seal stared the dog down a moment longer and then dipped beneath the surface. Huan launched himself after the animal, striking the side of Beren and Lúthien’s board and sending it spinning towards Maglor’s, who was knocked off into the water with a shriek.

“Sorry!” Beren shouted, as Maglor emerged, gasping, from the cold water and clung to the board. Celegorm was laughing as he hoisted his dog out of the ocean. In a panic, Huan started yelping in his face and struggling, eventually freeing himself and swimming straight towards Beren instead.

“No, Huan!” Lúthien ordered. “There’s no room for you here, go back to Celegorm!” The dog ignored her, grabbing hold of a rope dangling from the back of the board with his jaw and tugging them towards the shore.

“What the fuck!” Celegorm shouted, followed moments later by Maglor yelling, “Shit!”

As Beren and Lúthien continued to drift away from them, Maglor had gotten himself back up onto the board and was laying on his back dramatically clutching at his neck.

“You lost it?” Beren could hear Celegorm scream. Maglor shouted something back that he couldn’t quite make out, then Celegorm said something about their dad.

Relenting to Huan’s urgent need to return to shore, they paddled back. Beren watched the scene unfold as Maglor repeatedly dove down looking for whatever it was he had lost and Celegorm shouted at him each time his head popped above the surface. Daeron had taken notice and paddled hurriedly over to see what was going on. They were now both urging him to stop – Celegorm with flailing arms and curses, Daeron kneeling on the edge of his board and gently pleading – and by the time he finally gave up he was curled up on his board, shaking with cold. Celegorm towed him back and Daeron paddled alongside him.

When they got to shore, Daeron lifted Maglor up and wrapped him in towels higher up the beach. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“My dad…” Maglor said through chattering teeth, “gave…”

“He lost a necklace our dad gave him.” Celegorm said, exasperated. “A really expensive one, opal from a meteorite from Mars or something. Probably cost as much as a house. We used to have three, that was the last one.” Maglor groaned and clasped his temples. “You shouldn’t have worn it out in the water!”

“I didn’t… know…” Maglor said, “I was… going to… fall in.” He glared up at Beren.

“Sorry,” Beren said, wondering how exactly he was to blame but having the wits not to get into it. “Are you sure you were wearing it?”

“Yes!” Maglor snapped. “... I think. I don’t know.”

“Should we look for it on the beach?” Beren offered. “Maybe you took it off.”

“We should go back,” Daeron said. “I think he has hypothermia.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Celegorm said, pacing the beach. “The water isn’t even that cold. He’s just panicking.”

“Well, if he’s panicking, that’s also a reason to go!” Daeron replied.

“Shut up!” Maglor spat. “Let’s just go. Forget it. Do you know how anxious it made me having something that expensive around my neck all the time? Good riddance, you shitty opal of unattainable paternal expectations!” he shouted out to the sea and coughed.

Lúthien

Read Lúthien

“I think we should look for it,” Beren said, propping himself up with his elbows in the sand.

“What?” Lúthien turned and peered at him from under the arm she held over her eyes to block out the sun.

“Maglor’s necklace.”

“Are you insane? You can’t swim and I’m certainly not going down there for it.”

“No, I mean, maybe it’s on the beach somewhere. It sounds like it was pretty unique, it’d be a shame to just abandon it.”

She scrunched up her face and considered it. It would be something to do, at least. She’d been looking forward to relaxing on the beach after the others decided to take the car and come back for them later. As hesitant as she was to let Celegorm drive (and in his present condition, she trusted Maglor even less) the idea of spending a few hours without them was too enticing to pass up. What had she been thinking, opening the invitation to the Finvesens? She was altogether too nice.

Be that as it may, lying on the sand quickly became boring and Beren was obviously vibrating with restlessness. She did love that about him – never a dull moment.

“All right,” she agreed, sitting up and dusting the sand off her calves. “Let’s look for it. But if we find it, I’m keeping it. Maglor made it quite clear he does not want it back and by the sounds of it we could retire on it. Maybe we could use it as ransom to get a house from Finvesen.”

Beren gave an amused grunt. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think I want to get tangled up in that family’s mess.”

They put some clothes on over their swimsuits and started scanning the beach for any signs of a shiny opal. They got a nice collection of pretty shells and rocks but after a good forty minutes of searching there was no necklace to be seen.

“He must have actually lost it in the water,” Lúthien said. When no one replied, she straightened and looked around. There was no sign of Beren.

“Beren!” she shouted. “Where’d you go?”

Nothing. What had he gotten himself up to now? Wondering how long she’d been attentively searching while he was off doing something else, she let out an exasperated huff and started walking down the beach in search of him.

“BEREN!” she shouted again. “Where the hell are you?!”

“Here!” came a faint voice from somewhere along the rocky ledge where the forest dropped off towards the sea. She stumbled over the rocks towards it and a few metres on she came upon an opening in the rock, leading back to a dark cave. Of course he was in there.

“Babe,” she said, somewhat curtly, “don’t just disappear on me like that.”

“Sorry, birdie, but isn’t this cool?”

It was pretty cool. Dark moss, occasionally glistening green under a ray of sunlight, clung to the damp cave ceiling and walls.

“You could live in here!” Beren said, wandering further into the cave. He almost disappeared in the darkness. “Oh, check it out! Someone does live here! Looks like a little fire and stumps for sitting back here.”

Oh great, she thought – a creepy dark cave with an unknown inhabitant. “Maybe we should leave then?”

“No, come on, let’s explore just a little further.”

Against her better judgement, Lúthien followed him deeper into the cave. Sure enough as her eyes adjusted she could make out a little sitting area and few pots and pans piled by the cave wall. Her foot struck something soft and heavy.

“Who’s there?!” A gruff voice sounded from her feet and she gasped, her heart racing. Beren screamed and stumbled over to where she was.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “we didn’t know–”

“Get out of here!” the voice replied, and she could just make out a body swaddled in a sleeping bag sitting up beneath her.

“So sorry to disturb you, sir,” Beren addressed the human form in the same tone as one would address a potential employer at a networking event. It was a quirk of his that she both loved and couldn’t stand, depending on her mood. Right now, in a dark cave with a grumpy stranger, she was leaning towards the latter.

“We were just admiring this very cool home you have,” Beren said.

“Very cool. Hah,” the man grunted. “Yeah, it is damn cold, that’s for sure.” He threw off his blanket and stood, leaning back against his hands. Lúthien could hear the crack of his spine. “Well, kids. Why don’t you let me see your faces in the light before I decide what to do with you.”

He stalked towards the entrance of the cave with them following behind, pausing at the opening and squinting. “Ah, must be late afternoon already, eh? I lose track, y’know, dozing away my life, scuttling out now and then in search of a morsel like a miserable old crab. It’s not such a bad thing to have a couple visitors.”

In the light, Lúthien surveyed the scruffy old man. Long grey beard and hair wafted over a threadbare 70s band t-shirt. He wore salt-encrusted, loose trousers and his bare feet were blackened with dirt. Lúthien glared at Beren, mouthing ‘Let’s go,’ but she knew her fiancé was far too curious to walk away now.

“Where are you kids from?” the man asked.

“Beleria,” Beren said, “though I grew up in Dorthon.”

“Dorthon, eh? They’ve got nice mountains there. And oil up north – used to be beautiful plains before they dug it all up for some dinosaur juice. You an oil man?”

“Uh,” Beren replied sheepishly. “I used to be.” The man scowled and tugged on his beard.

“He came from nothing,” Lúthien said, coming to his defence. “Family of refugees, he lost his parents when he was in highschool… he had to do something for money.”

“Nah, don’t worry, kid,” the man said to Beren. “A necessary evil, eh? Good on you for leaving.” He gave Beren a pat on the back. “And you found a nice woman. Smart. Saving that money, I hope?”

“Yes, sir,” Beren replied. “My girlfriend and I have been working hard – we’re going to move to Dead Man’s next spring, actually. Live off the land.”

“Har har har!” the man cackled dryly. “Imagine that. You kids, choosing to rough it. You seem like nice folk, though, I wish ya luck.”

“How did, uh…” Beren started.

The man looked at Beren and nodded slowly. “Hmmmm,” he hummed, “yes. You were gonna ask: how did an old fart like me end up living on the beach?”

“Well, uh, not in those terms,” Beren answered. “Just, I figure you probably have an interesting story.”

The man hummed again and lowered himself onto a log. “I made mistakes. Many mistakes.”

They sat cross-legged in the sand and listened. He’d come from a wealthy family, had been Maestro of the Beleria Symphony, but seemed to have had a rough life despite his good birth and success. He’d lost every single one of his family who’d moved to Beleria to various bad life choices, then he’d spiralled, gotten himself arrested (for reasons he wasn’t totally forthcoming about, though it seemed theft-related), which got him laid off from the Symphony, only to lose all his property in the recession as soon as he’d served his sentence. That’s when he’d given up and resigned himself to living out the rest of his life on the beach.

“It’s not such a bad place,” he said, but there was a sparkle of tears in his eyes. “Beautiful scenery. If only…” he trailed off.

“What?” Lúthien asked eagerly. The old man’s tale had completely won her over.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said. “Just would have loved to end my days back home. Still got some family there, far as I know.”

“Where’s home?” Beren asked.

“Valin,” the old man replied. “Yep, came from there when I was still a young man, ambitious and full of vigour.”

“Hey.” Lúthien had a thought. “What if we could help you get sorted and get home?” Beren looked at her with equal parts adoration and confusion.

“You kids?” the man asked. “Nah, don’t give up what you’ve worked for for a sad old crab like me.”

“No,” Lúthien said. “I think there’s something else we could do to help. I’m not sure we can pull it off, but we’ll give it a go. Beren,” she turned to him and grabbed his arm, “come on, I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Beren said with excited, wide eyes as she pulled him up. “All right!" He looked back at the old man. "Nice to meet you, sir! We’ll be back – I think?”

“Ha ha ha!” he laughed. “See you, kids!”

Lúthien dragged Beren all the way back to the rental shop, keeping him guessing at her plans. They loved trying to outdo each other like this, keeping their design a secret as long as possible.

“Okay, birdie, you gotta tell me what you’re up to!” Beren insisted.

Lúthien grinned and smacked her lips to his. “Oh, this is going to be fun!” She turned to greet the shop attendant. “Hi, good afternoon! I was wondering if I could rent some scuba equipment?”

It had been a while since Lúthien had been diving, but she had been an instructor in her 20s and her licence was still valid.

Beren looked at her, stunned and in love. “You’re gonna… dive for it?”

“Yep! We’ll give it to the Maestro!” She winked, still grinning.

After some pleading with the shop staff, Lúthien managed to convince them to take her out for a last-minute dive with an offer of dress circle tickets to Neldoreth Dance Company’s upcoming season. Suited up in a full-body wetsuit with a tank strapped to her back, one of the staff motored her and Beren out to the spot where Maglor lost his necklace.

“I’d never recognise you,” Beren said when they’d turned off the motor and the boat drifted forwards silently, “but you sure look cute like that.”

She slipped on her flippers and mask and tipped backwards off the boat. Even with her headlamp she could barely see the bottom and her bare hands stung in the cold water. Maglor was nuts, she thought, diving down there in nothing but his skin! She kicked herself down deeper, peering between the rocks at the bottom. The necklace could be anywhere, if it was even down here at all. After a few minutes searching, she popped her head back above the surface. Beren was leaning back on his arms, peacefully drifting off to sleep in the back of the boat.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, pulling her mouthpiece out. “Babe, looking for this thing was your idea, the least you can do is watch me do it!”

He sat up. “Eh? Sorry, birdie, it’s just so relaxing up here. Did you find it?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But I’m going to keep looking.” She plunged back beneath the surface.

A large crab scuttled along a sandy patch of the seafloor and her eyes followed it under a rock. Something glistened in the light of her lamp as the crab disappeared and she dove down to investigate – there it was! She’d barely noticed the pendant when he was wearing it – other than to repress her personal opinions on wearing jewellery camping – but staring at it now she was mesmerised by the way the stone’s colours shifted in the light of the lamp, accentuated by the rippling water. She stretched her fingers beneath the rock to grasp the chain and felt a firm pinch come down around her hand. Still clasping the necklace, she quickly kicked herself to the surface, tearing her mouthpiece out with her free hand and finally releasing a cry of pain as she lifted the other hand to see the crab still dangling from it.

“Whoa!” their driver exclaimed, while Beren leaned on the edge of the boat and shouted, “Are you okay?!”

“No!” Lúthien replied. “Get it off me!”

Half-distressed and half-laughing, Beren pried the powerful pincer off of her and made to throw the crab back in the water.

“Wait!” Lúthien said. “We can take that to the Maestro also. It’s plenty big enough to eat.” Beren scowled a little. “Oh come on, you’ll have to get used to eating animals eventually. Even you’ve said it’s not the same if you catch it yourself, and that bastard hurt me!”

“All right, fine.” Beren found a bucket for the crab and they both helped Lúthien back into the boat.

“I can’t believe you found the necklace!” Beren said as the motored back, wrapping an arm around her and giving her an excited shake.

*

Once Lúthien had returned all of her equipment and dressed, they walked down the beach to bring the opal – and crab – to the Maestro.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t return it to Maglor?” Beren asked.

“No,” Lúthien said. “You saw how upset it made him, he practically lost his mind over a silly heirloom! He’s better off without it.”

Beren rubbed his thumb over the stone. “It’s pretty beautiful…” he mused, “maybe you should keep it?”

“No!” Lúthien replied, remembering the awe that had possessed her when she'd gazed at it it under the water. That space gem had weird vibes. In fact, she was a little worried about giving it to the Maestro… no, that was ridiculous. It was just a rock.

“Oh ho!” The old man turned to them as they approached. He was still seated on the log where they’d left him, staring blankly out at the ocean. “My saviours!”

Lúthien handed him the necklace, explaining its value, and he nodded sagely. “Yes, yes…” His eyes seemed to sink into the stone as he studied it. “I think I have seen one of these before…”

The story he told about ending up in prison suddenly surfaced in her mind. Maglor said there had been three of the pendants. What if…? No – again, she was letting her imagination run too wild, making connections that weren’t there. She blamed her mother’s constant attempts to weave meaning into everything for that habit.

“Thank you,” he said, clutching the gift to his chest and closing his eyes. “You have no idea what this means…” The wind swept back his long beard and hair and he held the necklace out towards the sea like an offering. “Father,” he rasped in a deep voice. “You are avenged. Be at rest.”

He remained motionless as Lúthien exchanged a worried glance with Beren.

“Sir?” Beren said. The man lowered his arm and looked at him, all heaviness gone from his expression.

“Yes, boy?”

“Uh, we also brought you a crab.” Beren held out the bucket and the man peered in.

“Oh, hi there, little friend!”

*

Celegorm was late picking them up and he came on his bike. He’d taken off Huan’s rack but there still definitely wasn’t room for three people to ride back on it, nor did Lúthien have any interest in being escorted back to the campsite in this manner.

“How are you going to get both of us on that?” She put her hands on her hips and glared.

“Oh, both of you?” Celegorm grinned – no, more like leered. She really wanted to find something to like about him, but he truly was the most insufferable person she’d met. “I was thinking I’d just take you, sweetie.”

Beren lunged towards him, fist raised, but Lúthien extended her left arm to hold her boyfriend back and lifted her right hand to slap Celegorm across the face as hard as she could. He leaned back, reeling.

“It was a joke!” he said, holding a hand to his already-swelling cheek.

“No, it wasn’t,” Lúthien replied. “Jokes are funny. Now, get off that bike. I’ll be driving us back on it. You can walk.”

He stared at her open-mouthed for a long moment. When she showed no signs of backing down, he slowly dismounted from the bike and backed away. Lúthien straddled the saddle and waited for Beren to get on the back, staring Celegorm down the whole while.

“Wait–” Celegorm started, grabbing hold of a handlebar. Lúthien didn’t let him finish. She just leaned close to his ear and screamed as loudly as she could – that got rid of him – then she started up the engine and they roared off down the road.

*

When they got back to the site, Daeron and Maglor both spun away from each other – clearly mid-argument – and looked at them with identical apologetic expressions.

“I’m sorry,” they said together.

Maglor offered his excuses first. “I told Daeron I was fine to drive, he wouldn’t let me go.”

“He’s not fine!” Daeron said. “Look at him, he’s still shivering!”

“Because it’s windy,” Maglor responded.

Lúthien rolled her eyes. “And why, pray tell, did you both let Celegorm leave on the bike in the first place?”

“Oh, um,” Daeron lifted a finger to his lips, “we weren’t here.”

“What are you talking about?” Maglor waved an arm in his direction. “We were here, playing backgammon–”

“Backgammon?” Lúthien said. “How old are you?” They stared at her blankly. “Ugh, nevermind. So you were so wrapped up in your backgammon that you didn’t notice. Well, okay…” She looked around the site, becoming aware of something missing. “Wait, where’s Huan?”

“He, uh… ran away.” Daeron winced. “There’s some really big dog here, he was howling and running around and Huan just tore after him.”

“Ugh!” Lúthien stamped her foot in frustration. “Great! Now we have to go find the dog! Much as I’d love to see the look on Celegorm’s face when he finds out he’s missing – well, he’s an asshole, but Huan is a great dog. Somehow.”

“Hey, hey,” Beren came up behind her and put an arm on her back. “I’ll go look for Huan. You’ve done enough for today, birdie.”

“So…” Daeron said as Beren walked off. “Did you at least have a nice time without us?”

Lúthien glared at her brother and slumped into a camping chair. “We did.”

“What… did you do?” Daeron asked.

She gave Maglor a long look, wondering if she should tell him. He met her eyes nervously, reminding her eerily of the way the Maestro had gazed into the opal. No, she definitely would not tell him.

“We met an interesting guy who lives on the beach,” she said.

“Oh?” Maglor asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “He’s had a rough life. Been living there since the recession, lost everything. He said he used to be the Maestro for the Symphony.”

“Seriously?” Maglor’s eyes widened and his brows pinched anxiously. “That’s so sad.”

“Did he tell you his name?” Daeron asked, looking equally distressed. What was the matter with them?

“Yeah,” Lúthien said, recalling their last words with him. “He just said to call him Maestro Harper.”

“Fuck,” Daeron said. “What a terrible fate. He was incredible. And then he just disappeared. It freaks me out, you know? It could happen to any of us.”

Lúthien leaned back into her chair, propping her elbows on the arm rests, and looked between the two of them. She couldn’t believe her brother had managed to move in with the one person who shared his exact brand of weird. They were perfect for each other – now, if only they’d both stop futzing around playing ancient boardgames.

Looking like some tragic hero out of Shakespeare preparing for his soliloquy, Maglor strode towards the picnic table, lowered himself down gravely, and sank his forearms down onto his thighs.

“Oh god,” he sighed meaningfully. “I hope I never end up like that.”

Daeron

Read Daeron

The wholly unwelcome sound of rain falling on the tent greeted Daeron as he drifted out of a heavy sleep. He pulled his sleeping bag over his head and pinched his eyes shut, desperate to return to a state of blissful ignorance. Oh, to be lost in the realm of the subconscious, unaware of the weather, of inevitable social collapse, of a mid-life sexual orientation crisis (yes, he would die at 60, just look at the way things are going), of the hunger cramps in his stomach and the insistent press of his bladder. He sunk deeper into his cocoon, preparing for the extreme but now unavoidable discomfort of emerging and scrambling for his sweater, his socks, his boots, his raincoat. Who could say where that was, if he’d even packed it.

He drew a long, gasping breath like someone about to dive underwater and squirmed out of the sleeping bag, frantically dressing himself.

Then he was out, umbrella-first, cataloguing his basic needs in order of priority: bathroom, food, Maglor. No, he thought as he sloshed through mud towards the outhouse, that was definitely not a basic need. It was extremely irritating, then, that for the last forty-eight hours he had thought about it – him – as often if not more often than the other two. ‘Ridiculous,’ he mouthed as he hooked his umbrella around the outhouse door handle and yanked it open.

He’d never been like this with a girl. Women were easy to talk to, women made him feel comfortable, women were… boring. Not as people, no he didn’t mean that, he corrected his own train of thought as he finished and lowered the toilet seat, turning to poke the door open with the tip of his umbrella. They were boring as girlfriends. Not that he’d had many of those. Actually, only two, really. The first one hardly counted –

“Good morning,” said the voice belonging to his third-most-basic need. Daeron looked up to see him emptying his second-most-basic need from a tiny cereal box into a silver bowl and froze.

“Hi,” he said, suddenly feeling grateful for the rain because it meant he could say, “Shit weather, hey?”

“I don’t mind it, it’s just a bit of water.” Maglor shrugged as he splashed milk over his cereal.

“No, yeah. Me neither. I love rain.”

Maglor looked Daeron over and smirked. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I hate it.” Daeron said lamely, before he completed the journey to the picnic table, casting aside his umbrella and tossing back his hood under the protection of the tarp.

“Have you had breakfast?” Maglor asked.

“No,” Daeron answered, already rummaging through the box of food.

Maglor produced a tiny box of frosted flakes from behind the camp stove and set it on the table in front of him. “I saved the last box from Celegorm.”

Daeron drew back and furrowed his brows. “How did you know–”

“I live with you?”

“But I never buy it.”

“You did one time.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, it was just after you moved in. I only remember because I thought it was cu– curious.”

This made Daeron think to look at what cereal Maglor had chosen. If Maglor knew his favourite, he’d not be much of a friend if he didn’t know–

“Raisin bran?” he said aloud. “Really?”

“What?” he said defensively. “The raisins are coated in sugar.” Daeron puckered his lips in distaste and Maglor shoved the bowl towards him. “Here. Have you even tried them before?”

“I’m not eating your food!” Daeron said. “Your mouth was on that spoon.”

“Are you seriously bickering about cereal?” Lúthien asked, coming up to the site with Huan padding happily behind her. Both of them were wet and dusted with sand.

“Oh, great,” Daeron grumbled and stooped protectively over his bowl of frosted flakes. He was just starting to think he could like the loud, slobbery animal when Huan had decided to make a scene and tear around after some sleek black, pointy-eared thing with a horrible howl. It turned out the black dog had been terrorizing the whole campground and was now cowering in the owner’s trailer after Huan’s assertion of dominance, but still – none of it would have happened with no dogs at all.

“You know, Daeron,” Lúthien addressed him using his full name in that way that made every muscle in his neck tense at once, “I was thinking you should learn to drive.”

A spray of milk droplets flew out of Daeron’s bowl as he threw his spoon down. “No!”

“Why not?” she persisted, taking a seat beside him and leaning against the tabletop. “It’s a skill you should have. You could have saved us from that whole incident with Celegorm yesterday.”

Daeron groaned. “That was an exceptional circumstance!”

She ignored his protest. “This is the perfect place to try. The roads are quiet, no traffic lights.”

Daeron caught Maglor looking between them, smiling around pinched lips with a lump of cereal coagulating on his spoon.

“What’s funny?” Daeron snapped at him.

“Oh, no, I just think it’s not a bad idea.” He slipped the bite of soggy bran between his lips.

“Great!” Lúthien clapped a hand around Daeron’s shoulder. “We need more ice, so you and Maglor can drive to the store to get some, and squeeze in a little driving lesson.”

She flashed an exaggerated grin at Maglor and his expression fell completely flat while his eyes widened into two huge circles.

“Oh, come on!” Daeron defended against what could only be unmasked terror about the prospect of him operating a motor vehicle. “Thanks for your confidence. I know how cars work. Better than most drivers, I bet.”

Maglor’s expression now flipped, eyes narrow and mouth curled in confusion. “What? No, no, I mean, I am sure you would be a safe driver.”

“Then why did you make that face?” Daeron asked.

“What face?”

“Oh, please.” Lúthien kicked at the ground. “Stop it! Just… go get ice. I don’t care who drives, as long as you’ve worked out your shit by the time you’re back.”

She stood up with a huff and headed for her tent.

“What does that mean, ‘work out our shit’?” Daeron said, and she waved her hand at him. “We don’t have any shit.” He looked at Maglor and the next words came out far more hopefully than he’d intended: “Do we?”

“Uh…” Maglor moved his now fully saturated cereal around the bowl, grimaced, and put it down on the ground for Huan to finish.

“See?” Daeron said. “You don’t even like it.”

Maglor folded his arms on the table. “No, not really. I like frosted flakes.”

*

In the time it took them to clean up their dishes – about double the time it took them to eat the food, of course – and for Maglor to change (Daeron’s insistence that no one cares if you wear pyjamas to the store here had been met with a glare), the rain had mostly let up. Celegorm was also back from the beach or the woods or wherever he went at the crack of dawn and hanging from a tree branch doing chin-ups, so Daeron was anxious to go. Actually, just all-around anxious, he noted, with a keen awareness of the swollen feeling in his throat.

“God, I’m such a mess,” he muttered to himself.

“So, you want to take us out of the campground?” Maglor made him jump, suddenly in front of him, dangling a set of keys.

“Uh, um,” Daeron stammered, “I, uh, I guess.” He reached for the keys so tentatively that they fell to the ground when Maglor released them.

“Crap, sorry,” they both said at once, simultaneously bending to pick them up.

“That doesn’t bode well, huh?” Celegorm smirked as he strolled by, shirtless in the drizzle. “Good luck.”

Daeron marched over to the driver’s side with a huff and plopped himself into the seat as Maglor slid into the passenger seat.

“Okay,” Maglor said. “This is where the key goes–”

“I know what a key hole looks like!”

“Right, sorry. But I thought maybe you wouldn’t know, because it’s a slot.”

Daeron looked down at the keyhole. It was indeed just a slot. How had he not noticed this before?

“Yes, I have been in your car. I know where the key goes.”

They proceeded to talk through the process of starting the car, which in Daeron’s opinion involved an excessive number of steps, and then panic struck as he realised he’d have to begin by backing up. Bicycles do not go backwards, he lamented, gritting his teeth and shifting into reverse.

“No, no, turn the wheel the other way,” Maglor instructed.

“What!” Daeron said, hitting the brakes too hard. “That makes no sense! Ugh, I hate this.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” Maglor was being unusually compassionate. Or maybe he was always this nice, maybe Daeron was just a jerk to him for no reason. Honestly, why did Maglor even talk to him?

With a few deep breaths and after Maglor gently reminded him that side mirrors existed for this very thing, Daeron managed to get them out of the campground. A harrowing left turn onto the main road – empty of traffic but no less intimidating – and Daeron was finally feeling reasonably comfortable.

“So,” Maglor said, “is there anywhere to get a coffee around here?”

“What?” Daeron said, not daring to take his eyes off the road for a second. “If you wanted coffee there was still some at the site.”

“No.” Maglor sighed. “I mean, just somewhere to go and chill. Talk.”

Daeron was immediately no longer comfortable. He started to rifle through a dozen reasons Maglor would want to talk. First, of course, was that he knew that Daeron had been thinking about him nonstop for two days straight and was going to reject him before he’d even had a chance to figure out for himself what was going on. Or the dream he had – no, he could not think of that dream now. Maglor couldn’t know his dreams, obviously not. But maybe he’d said something in his sleep? That would be extremely humiliating.

Maybe he was just going to tell him his dad was kicking them out and they had to find a new place. That would be for the best, really. He could live with someone else. Maybe Maglor was even leaving Beleria, Daeron thought, swallowing down on the lump in his throat. Or what if it was something with his family? There was always something wrong with one of them. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to about them – yes, it was probably about his family.

“Um, I don’t know,” Daeron said. “I think there’s a new little café just past the store. I haven’t been.”

“Great, we’ll go there. And you can slow down a bit, no rush.”

Daeron glanced at the speedometer, reading 60 kph. How? he thought. It did not feel that fast.

“You’re actually a pretty good teacher,” he admitted.

“I do work for a school, if you’d forgotten.”

Right, he did do that. Though Daeron wasn’t sure he’d realised that Maglor actually taught at the school. He filed that information in a rapidly expanding database of Facts about Maglor. Why was it that suddenly everything he did, or liked, or said was utterly fascinating?

*

The café – Foam Riders – also served breakfast, which was a relief, because Daeron was already starving again. He ordered scrambled eggs for protein, but couldn’t resist the icing-slathered cinnamon buns, and also felt he deserved a large mocha as a reward for not dying on his first driving lesson.

“I’ll get it,” Maglor said as the cashier rang up the order.

“What? Why? No, I ordered too much, don’t pay for it.”

“I want to.”

Daeron was too flustered to protest, and he supposed he could justify accepting the charity based on the uneven distribution of wealth between them, even if it had just been an accident of birth that they ended up that way.

Maglor fiddled with his cutlery while they waited for the food to arrive, and Daeron picked at his cinnamon bun, thinking he should leave it until after the eggs, but battling with the hollow feeling in his stomach and the intoxicating smell of hot, dripping sugar.

“So,” Maglor began in the same tone he’d used to first introduce his desire to Talk. Daeron snapped to attention. “I hope this doesn’t change anything – well, I guess that’s inevitable… between us.”

So it was about them. But it could still be something else, right?

“I guess, actually,” Maglor continued, “I guess, really, I want it to change things. But it’s also okay if you don’t want to, um, change anything. Obviously, whatever you feel is okay. I’m not going to pressure you to be something you’re not, or even if you are, but you’re not… like, just because you are – if you are – obviously doesn’t mean that you would be for just anyone. I won’t be offended if it’s just me, personally, that you’re not–”

It wasn’t something else.

“For Maelor?”* The server approached their table with two plates of food.

“Uh, yes, that’s me. Thanks so much.”

“Maglor,” Daeron corrected, and Maglor glared at him.

“And Tifanto?”* She held a plate heaped with bacon and potatoes.

“No, that’s not me,” Daeron said, anxious for her to leave so Maglor could finish what he’d been saying, and equally anxious to get his actual order.

“Why are you so rude?” Maglor asked when she’d left.

“What? It’s not rude. I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, but your tone.”

Daeron scowled and tried to change the subject. “What kind of name is Tifanto any way?” No, that was also rude. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Nevermind,” Maglor said, slicing his avocado toast into strips with a fork and knife.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an ass when I’m hungry. I want to hear.” Daeron heard the desperation in his own voice and winced.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to apologise. I just don’t think now is a great time, after all.”

“Oh my god!” An enthusiastic, shrill voice cut through the buzz of the café and Daeron and Maglor turned towards it together.

“Are you Daeron?” The speaker was a lanky person in thick-rimmed glasses, ankle-length plaid pants, and combat boots.

“Yes?” Daeron said.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m running into you here.” They held out a hand for Daeron to shake. “I’m Pengolodh. Penny.”

“Hey, Penny,” Daeron said. “Are you, uh, a music fan?” Daeron both hated and loved being recognised for his music. Hated, because he didn’t like attention, but loved because he craved validation more than he craved sugar. Despite what Celegorm seemed to think, he only had a handful of fans and one crappy 5-track ‘album’ that was only available digitally and which no one except his parents paid for.

“Oh, um, no,” Pengolodh said apologetically. “I mean, yes, I do like music, but I watch your history videos. I’m a student at Ondolind University. I don’t get out much, actually, too much studying, ha ha ha – but I love your videos! I actually have my own channel, I’m trying to put together a series on all the neighbourhoods of Beleria. It's called ‘Of Beleria and its Communities’.”

That sounded extremely dull, Daeron thought, and then chided himself for once again being a judgemental ass.

“Oh, that’s cool,” he said flatly.

“That is cool!” Maglor contributed with masterfully-feigned excitement. Or maybe it was genuine.

“Thanks!” Pengolodh said. “So sorry, that was rude of me! Penny.” They held out a hand for him.

“Maglor Finvesen.”

“Oh, what, seriously? I listen to the recording of your musical all the time.”

“Really?” Maglor’s musical – a satire about the futility of millennial ambition, or at least that’s what Daeron interpreted it as – was admittedly good. But he had no idea anyone outside of the few people who’d seen it live knew about it, or even that there was a studio recording of it.

He instinctively filed that bit of information, though he was currently mired in confusion and despair over the Maglor File.

“Yes, I saw it when it premiered!” Pengolodh looked sheepishly back to Daeron. “That was when I first moved here, before everything was so busy–”

“It’s fine,” Daeron said, trying his best not to look totally despondent, “if you like his music and not mine.”

Pengolodh beamed with evident enthusiasm at having met two of their idols in a single stroke. “I didn’t know you were friends! That’s so cool.”

“We’re roommates,” Daeron said, suddenly uncomfortable with the word ‘friend’ applied to Maglor, but finding he liked ‘roommate’ even less.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Pengolodh asked, already pulling up a chair. “I have so many questions. For both of you!” They took out a notebook and Daeron and Maglor shared a moment of surprise and amusement across the table.

*

It was at least an hour before they managed to get rid of Pengolodh, though the young student’s eagerness did seem to have lifted both their moods. Daeron nearly forgot about the aborted Talk until they were outside joking about Pengolodh thinking Lúthien, who occasionally appeared in his videos, was Daeron’s girlfriend, and his stomach flipped over at the sound of Maglor’s laughter. He fell immediately silent, his brain like a hot tub of roiling emotions with all the jets at full pressure, which could in theory be a relaxing experience, but some old guy in a speedo was doing lunges at one end, making the whole thing extremely awkward.

“You want to keep driving for a bit?” Maglor asked, apparently not drowning in a jacuzzi of feelings.

“Sure,” Daeron said against his better judgement – then he was struck with inspiration. “Actually, there’s another place I want to go.”

Just like that, the lunging old man of crippling insecurity had left the building! He blew out a long breath and grinned. Daeron didn’t often take decisive action, but once he got it in his head that he would, there was no stopping him.

“Oh?” Maglor asked while they both hopped into the car.

“Yeah,” Daeron said, “just a nice spot we used to go to when we were kids. A little island you can walk to at low tide.”

Daeron didn’t know if it was currently low tide or not, but that was a minor detail. He’d fantasised about kissing someone on those ragged, wave-beaten rocks since he was a teenager. This was it, this was his chance. It would be perfect.

---

Chapter End Notes

Maelor = an alternate version of Maglor in some of Tolkien's writings.
Tifanto = an early name for Daeron's character in the Tale of Tinúviel.

Celegorm

Read Celegorm

From his chair at the corner of the site, Celegorm chucked a ball for Huan. His dog tossed his head and bolted after it, returning seconds later and dropping it at his feet. He looked up at him with expectant eyes, swallowing before he let his long, pink tongue fall out.

“You’re not bored yet?” Celegorm picked up the ball and scratched behind Huan’s ears. The dog barked and stamped his front paws. “I bet you would rather have gone to beach yoga with Lúthien.”

Huan whined.

Celegorm tossed the ball again. “Fucking beach yoga.” He slumped back in the chair and dragged a finger across his chin. His frown stretched into a smirk as he recalled how awkward Beren – the man from the sticks with his much older, much more gorgeous girlfriend – had looked in his green elephant-print pants and purple sleeveless shirt, printed with a giant lotus flower. Underneath all that, Celegorm knew, they weren’t so different. At the very least, he had the right ideas about beer and women.

He chuckled wryly to himself as he instinctively responded to the ball at his feet and threw it. There was a time he would have followed Aredhel to beach yoga in a heartbeat if she’d asked. Probably still would, he thought with a sigh, and squinted the thought away. No use going down that path.

Huan had become distracted sniffing at the ground outside Beren and Lúthien’s tent.

“Come on, boy!” he called. “I need to get out of here. Let’s go for a ride.”

Huan gave an excited yap and padded over. He set his paws on Celegorm’s knees and sniffed, big round eyes scanning his face.

“Oh, you want a kiss, do you?” Celegorm laughed, leaning forward to let the dog wipe his wet tongue over his face. “Okay, up!” Celegorm pointed to the back of his bike. Huan bounded off and assumed his usual co-pilot position in the rear rack: sitting straight up, ears perked so high they touched in the middle.

Celegorm threw on his jacket and straddled the seat, turning to give the dog a pat before taking off.

*

Despite his status as a fifth wheel (soon to be made official, he was rather sure of that), Celegorm was glad he came on the trip. Glad Curufin didn’t come, too. Beren and Lúthien’s shameless love would have made his younger brother homicidal.

But the company was at the very least amusing, and the setting was stunning. Ancient forests brimming with life that hugged long, quiet stretches of road. Expansive coastlines and a horizon that went on forever. It was hard to believe it was his first time getting out of the city since moving to Beleria. There just wasn’t time. Maybe if Dad paid his tuition like he floated Maglor’s useless career. How was teaching a whole new generation of children to prance around and sing at the tops of their lungs, terrorizing the whole community with their little ‘shows’ – in other words, unleashing copies of himself on the world – more important than becoming a vet? But they all knew Fëanor doted on Maglor for being the only one of his sons with any innate talent.

Celegorm had to pay for veterinary college out of his own pocket. “Congratulations, son,” Fëanor had said, peering over the rims of his glasses, when he told him he’d been accepted. “But we paid for your first degree. You chose to major in philosophy, now you’ll have to live with that choice. And you may thank me that you have a place to live at all. Do you know how many of your generation can’t even afford rent?” Celegorm hadn’t pointed out at the time that Fëanor was the reason.

So he worked evening’s at Curufin’s stupid microbrewery on the opposite side of the city, leaving no time to get away, into the outdoors, where he thrived.

He pulled himself back to the present. The bike whizzed over smooth asphalt, lines of trees blurring in the corner of his vision. He rounded a corner, greeted by cooler air and a glimpse of sand and white-tipped waves through the trees. Must be the surfing beach Beren had been on about their first night. ‘I bet I’d be good at surfing,’ Celegorm thought.

He pulled into the parking lot and no sooner had he turned off the engine than Huan leapt off the back and barked, bouncing joyfully back on his hind legs at the irresistible prospect of chasing a stick along the sandbars.

“Let’s go, boy!” Celegorm beckoned, patting his thigh and running off down the path.

Huan quickly surpassed him, launching himself over heaps of logs and driftwood, sniffing out the perfect stick. With a great deal of struggling, he dragged something over that was at least half his size.

“That’s way too big!” Celegorm laughed, trying to tug the stripped branch, bleached white from the sun, from his dog’s jaw. They played tug-of-war a few moments before Celegorm gave up and tossed a smaller stick. Huan tore after it.

He strolled down the beach, chucking the stick ahead as they went, towards a long spit of land that jutted out into the ocean. The waves weren’t so big where it protected the water from the westerlies. The perfect place for Huan to get himself soaked and filthy and jubilant, Celegorm thought with a grin. He wished he’d brought his own swimsuit – it was cold, but a bracing dip seemed like just the thing he needed to take the edge of this persistent sense of vague agitation that had been nagging away at him all morning. Everything was just… annoying. He wished he’d also thought to rifle through Beren’s things for some more of that weed that made the world so much brighter and tastier and funnier.

Ah well, he’d have to live vicariously through his relentlessly happy dog. He tossed the stick into the waves, smiling as Huan bounded into the ocean and paddled out, only his head and pointed ears bobbing above the surface. But midway to the stick, something caught his eye and he made a left towards the spit.

“Where are you going?” Celegorm called.

Huan ignored him and started paddling faster to the shore of the spit. Celegorm sighed and followed his trajectory with his gaze. He was headed towards two people clambering along the rocks. Squinting into the afternoon sun, Celegorm recognised those exaggerated, well-nigh hazardous gesticulations and too-tight dark jeans. He also recognised the slightly shorter figure who abruptly stopped, narrowly avoiding being struck by Maglor’s hand as it swept through the air, to crouch down over a tidepool and point.

Celegorm unconsciously clenched his fists and felt a tingle of warmth climbing up the sides of his neck. He swallowed the little flicker of emotion down before giving a second thought to what it was.

“Huan!” he called, speaking softly in case his voice carried too far. “Leave them alone!”

With a last look towards Daeron and Maglor, both bent over the tidepool now, Huan paddled back to him. Part of him thought it would be funny to break up their little romantic walk, but he’d let them have their moment. Contrary to what Maglor no doubt thought, Celegorm did want his brother to be happy. So what if that was in large part because he was sick of enduring his theatrics of loneliness?

Celegorm slumped down onto a log and pulled out his phone. It was the first time he’d had reception in over 12 hours. He stared at it, waiting for a notification, any notification. Nothing. He woke it up to be sure, opened his email. Still the same 1094 unread messages. Still the same text he’d last received, from Curufin: ‘hey can you loan me $500? I’ll pay you back next month.’ ‘fuck you, ask Moryo,’ Celegorm had replied. He knew Caranthir would decline, too. Their hardest working brother was determined to retire on his trucker salary by 45.

A spray of water reached Celegorm as Huan violently shook off his wet coat. “Hey!” he said, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. Huan barked and Celegorm threw the stick down the beach, away from the spit. He glanced back.

Maglor and Daeron had resumed walking. Maglor stumbled and Daeron grabbed his hand – unnecessarily, he’d clearly already regained his balance. They were laughing hard enough that the sound carried over the water. Celegorm looked away and scoffed. Good to see they’d moved past bickering but did they have to be so damn cute about it? He instinctively pulled his phone out again, meaning to check the time. But he just started scrolling.

Huan barked. “Okay, okay,” Celegorm said. “I’m sorry. How could I forget this is about you?” He managed a smile for the dog and, once again, tossed the stick.

He couldn’t help but steal a glance over his shoulder. His stomach lurched at what he saw. “Good lord,” he said aloud. In the few seconds he’d been looking the other way, his brother had somehow managed to get himself tangled in Daeron's arms and they were vigorously kissing. “Get a room,” he mumbled under his breath.

Well, that was it then. Good for them. Celegorm decided it was time to withdraw to the other end of the beach.

*

January 1, 11:03am
Please don’t message me again.

Apr 4, 9:21am
hey Curvo told me you and Eöl ended things, sorry to hear. hope you’re okay.

May 10, 12:14pm
saw your brother and Idril at the university today. she’s gotten so big, hey?
how’s Lómion?

May 11, 1:34am
Aredhel, I know you don’t want to talk. I get it. Can you just tell me you’re okay? Then I’ll stop.

May 31, 3:30pm
happy birthday

Jun 6, 9:17pm
Ris, I haven’t stopped thinking about you for 5 years. I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry. Cheating on you was the worst mistake of my life. Worse than that time I let Pityo and Telvo borrow my bike. I’m not going to pretend anymore. I just want you to be in my life again. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll do it.

Celegorm chucked the phone unceremoniously onto the sand and rubbed his hands down his face. Huan, who had been curled up at his feet, raised his head and made a little squeak when he yawned. It almost sounded sympathetic. Without looking, Celegorm reached over and ruffled his still-damp fur.

“I should just delete those, shouldn’t I?” he said to the dog.

Huan sighed and set his chin back down on the ground.

“No,” Celegorm said. “You know what, I’m going to call her.” He looked to Huan for confirmation but the dog was dozing off again.

After a long and noisy exhale, Celegorm bent to pick up the phone and brushed it off on his thigh. He hovered over the number a moment before forcing his finger to tap down. It rang once. He exhaled again. It rang again and he thought about hanging up. No, too late for that, she’d see he called. It rang a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth.

“Hello?”

Celegorm’s tongue froze in his throat. It wasn’t too late to pretend it had been a butt dial.

“Hey,” he said to the soft but rich voice at the other end.

There was a long silence. Aredhel sighed impatiently. “Well, are you going to tell me why you called?”

“You never replied to my texts.” It came out more accusatory than Celegorm meant it to.

“You really expected me to hash everything out over text?” Aredhel snapped.

“Uh…” Off to a great start, Celegorm thought, and blinked hard to try and make words form in his brain.

“No, nevermind.” Aredhel huffed. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have answered if you’d called earlier. Fuck,” she spat into the phone. She used expletives the way most people used ‘um’.

Celegorm felt a smile reach his lips. He was warm with a surge of nervous affection.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Eglarest.”

“What? Really? Why are you… ? Nevermind. When are you back?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Okay, well, I don’t want to talk on the phone. Let’s meet up on Tuesday.”

Celegorm had classes all day on Tuesdays. He’d skip them, he quickly resolved. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is 1pm good? I’m living with Fingon now. He kept showing up at Turgon’s… anyway, nevermind. Fuck him. There’s this park, uh… fuck, what’s it called? – Finno!” She’d pulled the phone away from her face. “What’s that park with the pond and all the ducks called?” A voice in the background shouted something unintelligble. “Are you sure?” Aredhel shouted back. This time Celegorm could hear a distinct and slightly impatient ‘yes’. “Okay, he says it’s called Irvine Park.”

“Yeah. I know it.” Celegorm did not know it. Probably not great to start this off on a lie. “Actually, I don’t, but I’ll look it up. 1pm.”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Will you bring Huan?”

Celegorm’s nerves finally broke, manifesting as a full laugh. “Yeah, of course. He’ll be happy to see you."

---

Chapter End Notes

I know this isn't the tidiest place to end the story, but I ran out of ideas. The plot is rather incidental and we did get Daeron and Maglor to kiss, right?