Salgant and Maeglin sat on the marble lip of the fountain, platter of cakes between them as the gentle breeze blew through the courtyard.
"Salgant?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"What exactly is it like to be in love?"
"Ah." He pondered for a moment, mulling sagely over the sugared pastry in his hands. "It's like falling," he said at last. "Everything seems normal, then suddenly it spins out of control."
Maeglin's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "How?"
"Well, first your stomach flips as if you are going to be ill, and your head feels curiously light. Then your mouth goes bone dry, so dry that it feels like the deserts of the east. Sometimes your hands shake."
Swallowing, Maeglin shifted his position on the bench, bringing one knee up to his chest and hugging it tightly with both arms. His eyes stared into the distance. "That's not very poetic."
Salgant glanced disapprovingly at the younger elf. "I was merely giving you the anatomical description of the emotion," he said, mustering as much dignity as possible as he put the cake back onto the plate and his fingers hovered over a different pastry. "I could give you a more glorious definition, if you wanted."
Maeglin said nothing. He smoothed his hands over the cloth of his tunic.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'. So; love. How to start?"
He selected a cake covered in frosted sugar and took a bite.
"Being in love is walking in springtime under the shade of trees in a garden, or plunging into a clear pool of water to wash away the grime and dirt of monotonous life. Being in love lifts your mind and your feet, so you walk lightly on a blanket of air to the soft music of harps and nightingales. The more you give, the more you receive; your heart overflows with goodwill and rays of golden light like honey spill upon those around you, and they are made more beautiful for the glow in your eyes."
He paused, cleared his throat, looking sidelong at Maeglin's vaguely unsettled expression.
"Go on," Maeglin said, catching sight of Salgant looking at him and shifting uncomfortably.
Salgant put the cake in his mouth and took another from the plate.
"Being in love is falling. It is burning, drowning, being ill; you are a victim of circumstance, incapable of containing your thoughts and actions because of the greedy fire in your stomach, the violent ocean of desire in your soul. Your mind is fevered and broken, captured in claws of steel by the beautiful, intoxicating poison that makes you dizzy and drunk with hunger the more you taste. Being in love is being lost in a nightshade of horror that draws you ever inward with cruel promises and sweet threats that seem to sate your tireless appetite, but only make it grow greater. Being in love-"
"Stop it!" Maeglin interrupted, voice slightly hoarse. His hands unclenched deliberately from his knee, and his voice took on a forced steadiness. "That's enough. I understand." There was a peculiar gleam in his dark eyes, like that of a trapped animal. He swallowed again.
Salgant inclined his head graciously. "Glad to be of service, my Lord."
"But how do you know when you are truly in love, and not just experiencing a passing fancy? Many elves court multiple ladies before selecting a wife, do they not?" There was an odd, hopeful lilt to the usual rigid control of his words.
Salgant bit the cake in his fingers. "You'll know when the time comes, Maeglin," he said, almost sadly. "Most of us love only once."
Neither of them spoke. The wind whispered through the trees in the courtyard, making the water of the fountain ripple.
"Any particular reason you wonder, my Lord?" Salgant asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Has one of the fair maidens of Gondolin caught the eye of the King's nephew?"
Maeglin sent a mournful look at the older elf, but his eyes flicked back down to his knee. "I was just curious," he said absently. "And you certainly seem to know a lot about the subject; have you ever been in love?"
"Hm? Me?" Salgant said casually, selecting another cake from the well-laden platter between them. "No. Never."
"I don't know if I believe you."
"Well, I don't believe you either."
Maeglin sat motionless for a moment, regarding his companion with an unfathomable gaze, before the tense muscles of his shoulders relaxed. "Suit yourself," he said coolly, with a shrug. "I assure you you are mistaken."
"Of course, Lord Maeglin." But there was a playful glint in Salgant's eyes.
"Here, have some of this," he added, offering a piece of the pastry. "Peaky little thing, you don't eat enough."
"And you eat too much."
"So I've been told," Salgant sighed, putting the proffered cake in his mouth and chewing meditatively. He brightened. "But I've always said, there's no point in living safely if you can't live comfortably. If you are denied the things you love, you get twisted inside."
He licked the sugar off his fingers, and took another pastry.