But what are YOU doing here? by Rocky41_7

But what are YOU doing here?

Read But what are YOU doing here?

            Maglor was not unaccustomed to such exits at such early hours of the morn. He may not have done so well on the open forest floor, but in the solid wood and stone of the halls of Menegroth, he was able to noiselessly pick his way out of the bedroom, collecting bits of clothing and jewelry as he went, until he could let himself into the hall. With a soft, smug exhale of relief, he hurried barefoot towards the entrance of the royal apartments, content with his easy escape.

            That was, until he saw another hurrying towards that main entrance from the other side of the hall.

            That figure froze at the same time Maglor did, and for an uncomfortable length of time, they gaped in silence. For a moment, Maglor tensed to run, for Maedhros’ expression was of a man contemplating a quick murder to silence a witness.

            “Nelyo?” Maglor gasped.

            “Shh!”

            “What are you doing here?” Maglor whispered, slipping back into Quenya in his shock. Maedhros hesitated far too long for his usual responses.

            “I was seeing the king’s loremaster about something,” he said, which made Maglor’s jaw drop even further.

            “No you weren’t!” he exclaimed, stunned to have caught his adroit brother in a lie.

            “And how would you know?” Maedhros demanded.

            “Because I’ve just come from Daeron’s chambers!”

            “I told you not to sleep with him! We are here for diplomatic—” Maglor was already shrugging.

            “Forgive me, brother, but Daeron’s argument was far more convincing.” He flashed a toothy smile. “But what were you doing here? The princess is abroad visiting friends still.” Maedhros did not answer. Maglor’s eyes were growing wider still. He added: “You wore that same robe at dinner last night.” His hair was down, too. 

            “I do not have time for this conversation with you,” Maedhros said then, sweeping past him towards the door.

            Maglor was a fool, but he was no idiot: he recognized a tactical retreat.

            “Nelyo! Where were you!” he cried, spinning then at the sound of footsteps behind him and preparing to be chided for making a childish ruckus before the sun was fully above the horizon when he saw King Thingol coming down the hall towards him.

            “Hm.” Thingol paused in time to observe the door swinging shut on Maedhros’ heel. Then, pressing something into the pile of clothes and jewels in Maglor’s stupefied arms, he said: “He left his cloak clasp.”