Nolofinwë - Fingolfin
Macalaurë - Maglor
Fëanaró - Feanor
Nelyafinwë - Maedhros
He was in the stables, tending to his horse, when a servant walked up to him.
"Highking Nolofinwë", the servant adressed him formally, "Lord Macalaurë has arrived."
Fingolfin sighed, wishing his short hours of solace wouldn't have been interrupted so soon. With anyone else, he might have invoked to right to determine the time and the place of the meeting himself. His own children would understand, Finrod and his siblings had the grace to entertain themselves in patience, unless it was urgent ... and the rest of the Feanorians he would make wait. Just to show them, the Highking answered to no one but himself.
His servant notices the reluctance in his white knuckled grip on the wood.
"Shall I redirect Lord Macalaurë to the entrance hall?", he was asked.
"No, it will be just cause for unnecessary grief", Fingolfin said, resisting the temptation.
Putting up with Maglor was exhausting. Delaying the encounter wouldn't help. When he followed his servant, Fingolfin entertained the thought that at least Maedhros wouldn't demand his presence at once. But he and Maedhros had agreed not to meet to often in person. To many people relished in the growing devide between the Noldor, while others saw it as their personal duty to set their lord against the traitors.
By now it took less effort to write Maedhros an extensive and detailed letter every month, than meeting him in person. Nolofinwë refused to turn a war council into a stage performance.
As result he had to put up with Maglor.
Many Noldor from various fractions and houses held him in respect. Fëanaró's second son was rumored to be the most reasonable and rather pleasant-natured.
"They just don't know him as well as I do", Fingolfin mumbled under his breath.
Already he could see Maglor's sharp smile from afar. A few nissi were surrounding the prized singer, hoping to hear his marvellous voice. Fingolfin had the urge to chase them away, since Macalaurë would usually indulge his admirers first and compose a song about a fold of stupid cows later. Of course no one would notice, again. People tended to be blinded by Maglor's voice.
If Fingolfin had his way, he wouldn't allow him to speak it all. He had been witness often enough to know that Maglor could reduce any hardened soul to tears, if the Feanorian set his mind to it.
While Curufin was prized to have all of his father's crafting skills, it was Maglor heritage to be the most subtle in mind. No doubt Maedhros knew exactly that Fingolfin feared this most, when he send his younger brother to Mithrim. In the end he and Nelyafinwë were the same age and had adjusted to it, but Macalaurë always possessed the young genius mind, he never knew how to deal with.
I would feel better, if I had never learned that Macalaurë's favourite past-time was arguing with his father, Fingolfin thought. Singing is just his chosen profession of telling us how stupid we are.
"Nephew." Fingolfin mustered his best smile and opened his arms as symbolic gesture. "Please, tell me of the tidings you bring from the East to us."
It really didn't help at all that Macalaurë resembled his father in appearance. In Tirion the similarity of father and son had just been a side comment. After Fëanaró's death it grew into something Fingolfin fought hard to ignore.