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Maeglin Lómion thought himself a tolerant person.
He took years of abuse from his deadbit of a father. Watched him break his mother piece by piece until she couldn't take it anymore and left and took him with herself.
He tolerated and would continue to tolerate the suspicious and often distasteful glances of Gondolihrim for his unusually pale appearance and dark elven blood.
It wasn't like he could leave this place, could he? Not alive, no. No matter if he was the nephew of the king who took him in out of pity and guilt for his parents’ demise.
All his life, Maeglin had been subjected to things he never had any say in, and it wasn't going to change just because he was a lord now and had some say over some things.
Eru was set on punishing him for something he couldn't begin to understand, for there could not be any other reason as to why he was set bw tortured by the presence of this ball of sunshine and rainbows.
You and Lord Glorfindel are to oversee the preparation for the festivities of this year's spring celebrations, nephew. I trust you to not let me down.
Maeglin could feel a vein (somewhere on his temple to be exact) throbbing from annoyance and frustration as Glorfindel talked and talked and talked.
“While I do like my golden flowers, I think pink and roses are more suitable for spring. What do you think, cousin?”
What did Maeglin think? Well, Maeglin thought he should legally be allowed to kinslay, but since when did anyone listen to him?
Of course, that was not what he said.
“I agree, my lord. Let's go with pink.”
If you're trying to make it look like you threw up sprinkles over everything, that is.
He didn't say that out loud either and just kept walking, head bowed so he didn't have to watch the people. He was having enough on his plate without them adding to it.
For they would be watching all right, even if not for the usual reasons.
Glorfindel and his eye-catching and bright…everything, and him with his dark clothes and expression were bound to draw attention.
Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea after all, he realized when he head-slammed to his cousin’s back, falling flat on his bottom.
Why, Uncle? Why? I don't even like New Year's celebrations. I don't like any celebrations.
“Oh my! I'm sorry, cousin! Are you all right?”
“I just fell, my lord. It's nothing to sweat over.”
At least my bruises will be in a place no one is going to see.
Glorfindel tsked and without warning, hurled him up to his feet. Maeglin totally did not squeak as he somehow ended up with his face smashed against the too tall blonde ellon, but his nose might be broken.
“Oh I'm so sorry! I…I get excited sometimes, you see, forget how strong I am. Though you are definitely way too light for your own good, Lómion. You should eat more. What is your favorite food? I'll have the cook make it regularly.”
Maeglin stumbled back as the rant began, blinking dazedly and poking his sore nose. Okay, not broken, but still painful.
Though perhaps no more than the aforementioned vein which looked like it was going to burst at some point. By Eru, did he ever stop?
“I'm good–” He wasn't. His clogged up nose was making his voice sound weird. “Let's just keep going. So, pink flowers? What else should we take care of?”
Perhaps it had been the wrong thing to ask, because Glorfindel looked excited at the prospect of it.
“Oh, elf.”
If Glorfindel heard him, he didn't seem to care.
_______
“So, what do you think? Cream pastries? Syrupy ones? Which one's your favorite? Oh my! I never asked what your favorite pastry is! I'm such a bad cousin. Here, try this one. It's my own favorite.”
Maeglin eyed the sweet with great suspicion. He had a mind to pass up on the offer just because it was from Glorfindel (Eru knew he didn't want to know what his favorite was), but since he had been urgently summoned to his King’s office just as he was retiring to bed after a night of progress on his secret project, he hadn't really had the time to grab any bite to eat, and his stomach was reminding him of it.
...Though you are definitely way too light for your own good, Lómion...
He scowled a little. He was not, thank you very much. And just to prove his point, he reached out for the pastry and took it before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.
That…was not a good idea. He was struggling to chew and swallow it, and he must have resembled a chipmunk greatly from the outside.
He also struggled with his previous statement. Perhaps this cousin of his did not have such a bad taste, after all. The pastry was good. It was excellent, actually. He couldn't quite pinpoint what made it special. It did taste nutty and creamy, and he could definitely taste some honey in there. Yes, he was going to make sure it was served on the High table, in particular.
Glorfindel, smug for having been proven right, was smiling ear to ear. Too much teeth, if you asked Maeglin’s humble opinion. Just…too much.
“It's good, right? Minda’s special, secret recipe.”
He glanced around, then, as if to make sure they were alone. Which they were, making the whole pretending null in Maeglin's eyes. He wished he could roll his eyes, but he was too busy swallowing this thing, which seemed like it preferred to stay. Yes, he definitely was going to be serving this at the celebrations. Less talking, more swallowing.
“It's not that secret though, because she told me. I'm going to tell you too, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”
If this was how these folks kept secrets, then Maeglin was quite understanding of his uncle’s rules. This ruined the whole point of a secret.
“It's dried, powdered honey, and the most important ingredient is …pistachio cream.”
Maeglin choked.
He sputtered, spitting out whatever remained of the abomination in his mouth. It did not clear out his airway and he kept choking.
Of course. Of course the first thing Maeglin was going to eat on this cursed day was the key to his (un)timely death.
Well, his uncle could claim to his mother that he tried and blame everything else on Glorfindel. He was their cousin, surely Mother would be understanding of the whole situation. Or they could just blame it on Maeglin's luck, or lack there of it. That, too, would be a plausible argument.
He could feel soothing hands on his back and tortuous voice speaking, asking him what was wrong.
A lot of things were wrong, but he had no time to explain any of it. Again, not like anybody cared.
Well, Maeglin was going to pass out anyway. Let it be someone else's problem.
_________
“Lord Laurëfindelë brought you in just in time, my Prince. A few minutes later and you would have left our side.”
“Any way to remedy that?”
“Lómion!”
His uncle glared at him viciously, like he had just spatted blasphemy. Maeglin merely rolled his eyes and leaned back against the pillow, lack of air leaving him out of breath, literally.
Behind him, the golden and white form of the culprit could be seen. Maeglin simply glanced at him and back at his uncle, eyebrows raised in question.
Do I still have to do this?
To which, his uncle simply glared and nodded firmly. Well, it was just great.
“He did just try to kill me, you know?”
“He didn't–”, “I didn't mean to–”
Turgon could only sigh in exhaustion before sitting by his bedside, expression gentler than it was before.
“It was just an accident, nephew. Your cousin would never do something like this. I want you both to do this together so you'd grow closer, as family should. Right, Lómion?”
Ah, there it was. The famous family card. Pulled out so many times it was starting to break at the edges.
But there was a reason it was used so much. It was effective, and his uncle knew it.
“Fine.”
Turgon smiled, and Glorfindel's head popped out from behind him, smiling hesitantly.
Well, that was as far as he was going to go. He wasn't going to smile. That would just be cringe.
“You seem fine enough to argue with me. Get up and back to work. Only ten days until the spring equinox. You're on a time limit.”
Maeglin was seriously considering to report this as child labour, but his grandfather happened to be too far, and he couldn't leave this place.
_________
“Are you trying to poison me again?”
“I never tried to–! That's not the point! How's this poisonous, though?”
Maeglin raised his head slowly, before turning a full one hundred and eighty degrees to the side just to stare at the golden ball of energy with incredulity.
“That's a nightshade plant.”
“...so?”
“It's poisonous, and you're planning to use it for decorations.”
Glorfindel simply laughed, shaking his head like Maeglin was a child he was speaking with.
“It's not! Why would they be growing here, if they were?”
“That is the most stupid argument I've ever heard. Besides, we're out of the city. Anything can grow over here. It's a free land.”
“Come on! I'll prove it to you.”
And he went to take one of the leaves with his bare hand.
The time seemed to be in slow motion as Maeglin did the only thing he could think of. He jumped.
It seemed like a good time to mention Maeglin's luck again. Or maybe not. Perhaps if he left his luck alone and didn't take chances with it, he wouldn't be suffering so much because of it.
He felt himself soar in the air like a miserable little crow and watched Glorfindel withdraw his hand in alarm at his sudden attack.
And he felt more than seeing himself crash into the pouch of nightshades.
If, hypothetically, someone were to ask him how being paralyzed for a short time felt like, Maeglin was ready.
__________
“I wonder how far I can snap this coin with just one finger.”
“Ow–”
“Oh my Eru! I'm so sorry–”
__________
“Personally, I think we should leave out any seafood dishes. Especially this fish. Such a hassle, removing all the bones–”
“Khhhhhh– augh!”
“Oh Eru! Let me help you with that!”
__________
“I told Ecthelion we should get rid of this fountain. He never listens.”
“Why?”
“Oh, just that the dampness causes the weeds to over grow, and they tend to become slipp–”
“Ow–!”
“Oh my! Here, take my hand!”
___________
“So glorious, cousin! You've certainly outdone yourself this year! The food is great, and so are the decorations! Don't you think so, daughter?”
“Of course, Atto. I personally love the pink flowers. Whose idea was it? Certainly not Lómion. He'd turn those black as well if he could.”
Maeglin heard Glorfindel chuckling sheepishly. He knew the words, especially coming out of Idril’s mouth, should have been considered insulting, but having been on his feet for so long was putting too much pain on his broken leg. He just couldn't care. Perhaps he even liked it. Maybe this way, his uncle wouldn't be coming up with such great ideas as to put him in charge of a celebration. If he wished to get rid of him, he'd gladly make a jump after his father. It would have hurt less.
“It was mine, yes. Though the Prince helped greatly. It was only due to his great sacrifice that I didn't get everyone poisoned with my choice in decorations.”
The King looked surprised and turned to him.
“Is that true? Well, who would have thought. Maybe I should put you in charge of these sorts of things more often. What do you think, nephew?”
“If you want me dead, Uncle, there are way more efficient ways to go on with.”