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Tea Time
Tilting the delicate teacup he's holding to let the seeping sunlight glides on the liquid surface of the fragrant tea it contained, Turgon sighed, and sighed loudly again. There were no responses coming from his two other companions sitting next to the window, who were quietly observing the blooming scenery outside the ornate but tasteful windowpanes – not even a raised eyebrow. He's blatantly being ignored. This did not bode well for him.
He threw a bread roll from his plate towards the two elves; it hit the blonde's hair and bounced off to the floor in 2 flops. The casualty of his assault turned to glare at him ferociously, Turgon's heart quickened, his body tensed for action, except there were none to be had, to his great disappointment.
"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. That's extremely childish of you to do that, oh King of Gondolin the 'Wise', I'd expected better from you." Celegorm admonished, shaking his glorious fair hair to express his displeasure. The other elf, Curufin, took an elegant sip from his teacup, merely curled his lips to sneer, and straightening his spine to demonstrate his superiority and exceedingly good breeding.
Gaping, Turgon spluttered, "What, you're going to let this slide? Not coming over to kick me within an inch of my life, gut my entrails out to decorate the dinner table? You two are turning into big softies." His face is a mask of shocking disbelief.
"Quite frankly, that's pretty lame." The blonde scoffed, placing his teacup properly down on the table to take no chance of breaking the fragile porcelain, his eyes focused decisively on the towering sweets next to the teacup, refused to grant his cousin the acknowledgement he so craved.
Shrugging, Curufin dispassionately echoed his brother's sentiment, "Yeah, I am not touching a moron, your idiocy might be infectious." With prim gracefulness, he moved his chair a few inches further away from his deranged cousin, who had the look of an elfling who got his Yuletide day stolen. However, Turgon refused to curl up and diminish so easily, persistently he tried again.
"But you're adept at instigating riots, oh please, please, do something. Insult the Valar or dye Ingwe's hair black. I'm bored with all these peace and quiet. Where is that infamous fire and fiery temperament of yours?" his climbing high pitched voice dripped with hysterics, "The bottomless hatred against Indis' line, the bitterness of being robbed of your birthrights. " seeing his cousins remained impassive, Turgon hissed, "Atarinke…guess who got to be the High King and you never did naynana! And Ecthelion is wayyy prettier than you." Curufin merely rolled his eyes and languidly waved his well-formed hand to tell Turgon his antics to rile him up weren't working.
"The quest for Silmarils gave me enough excitements to last my multiple lifetimes already, I have no need for other stimulations. I appreciate the leisure of sitting and counting the fallen leaves."
Celegorm said with much relish and animation, "I do greatly enjoy my fearsome reputation. It's quite lovely to see elves quaking in fear upon seeing me entering a party I was forced to attend, scuffling away to give me a nice personal space and fresh air. Honestly Grandmother always inviting these flouncy, crazed elves who ate too much weird mushrooms to her garden parties, and she always guilt-tripping us to attend!"
His brother nodded feverishly in agreement, "Pity that poor Finrod, who's too sickening nice to say no, he's constantly harassed by the younger generations. People just come up to him to beg for autographs and shake his hands."
Being resourceful, Turgon poised his now emptied teacup – some supposed Feanorian heirloom, maybe Nerdanel's wedding china, seriously who could keep track of all the treasures propping up given how fast these Feanorians are cranking them out? – Readied to smash it down to the ground into pieces, but his action was woefully intercepted by the eerily calm, collected voice of Curufin, who'd read his mind too easily.
"Cease your obnoxious posturing and boorish in manners, or we'll never invite you to another tea party. Then you have no place to hide from your nagging wife save going to Elrond's hall to listen to him babbling about halflings loves and scruffy rangers who somehow were related to him." Curufin warned dangerously, going for the kill.
Turgon pouted, weighing his options. Fraternizing with Feanorians really is more palatable than putting up with the quaintness of his other relatives, such as Orodreth with his compulsive self-laceration of losing his island and his brother's cave kingdom, Angrod with his fishing obsessions bordering on madness, Elrond's incessant droning…being ostracized from Curufin and Celegorm means he's to hang with oh no Eru save me his sister Aredhel and Galadriel doing some sort of girly pastimes such as embroidery and husband bashing. Shuddering, he put down his teacup nicely. Celegorm nodded in approval and beckoned him to join the therapeutic exercise of nature observations.
The three of them looked out to the window started counting the fallen leaves to kill their ample time. 10,11,12, 13…