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

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Maglor

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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.

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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.