"We'll have to make some major changes around here." Turgon concludes.
The day has been dragging on painfully slow in the study of the king of Gondolin, and how on Middle-Earth Maeglin ends up in Turgon's study again, he isn't quite sure anymore, and who cares anyway. He has not the mind for rational thinking when for some reason the weather decides to pull a trick of some sort and thus makes itself unbreathably hot. The roots of his hair are already damp, and Turgon's face is glazed with a thin coat of sweat as he tries to focus on his paperwork. Maeglin is dead sure the king is cranky as heck now; yet cranky is but a wild understatement. He isn't new to the fact that any - and possibly every - object in this room might fall victim to his uncle's notorious temper once it has been triggered by the heat doubled by layers of brocade robes the king has to stuff himself in every single day.
He doesn't have to wait for long.
"Arrgh!" Turgon makes a disgusted moan, the most agonizing sound Maeglin has heard in a while. The king nearly spits the tea he has just sipped back into the porcelain cup his servant has placed on his table, "This tea is nothing more than hot leaf juice!"
Turgon has, it seems, forgotten that his nephew, because of the heat, has also been bottling in his desire to rage the shit out of him. And so, in response, he rages. But, out of respect for his elder and his king, the display of Maeglin's wrath in the end only consists of an irritated grumble, "Uncle, that's what all tea is."
The next thing the Lord of Mole knows is Turgon standing, looming over him as he said, "How could a member of my own family say something so horrible?" tiny tremors lace through his voice, his hand squeezing the empty tea cup almost to the point of crumbling. Maeglin rolls his dark eyes, not caring that he is very likely going to receive an almighty slap on his face for that, yeah, as if your other family members aren't weird enough anyway.
Much to the half-Moriquende's surprise and relief, Turgon doesn't slap him after all. Instead, he storms off in a regal fashion, cloak of turquoise and glimmering golden embroidery sweeping majestically behind him. "We'll have to make some major changes around here." Turgon concludes.