Thingol choked on his wine. He then dabbed his lips, set the cup down graciously, leaned back in his seat (trying to hide the red stain on his grey mantle), and pretended that all of that had not just happened. Given the stares of the court, he deemed that that approach was not working very well. 'Pardon me?' he said firmly.

'What is a marriage?' Turín mumbled to the floor, eyes low.

Thingol gave a slight sigh and began automatically. 'A marriage is when two people love each other very much and…'

'Begging your pardon, my king,' Beleg said suddenly. 'He wanted to know what a marriage was.' Bowing a bit, he rubbed the blushing boy's back.

'Ah.' Thingol drummed his fingers against his knee, thinking, and shot a quick glance at Melian, who was staring thoughtfully into space, not doing anything. He coughed. 'I do believe that…' He stopped and looked at Melian again. 'A marriage is when two people love each other so very much that they want to live together forever and have children.' He gave Túrin a slight smile. 'As your parents did.'

'My parents did not live with each other forever,' Túrin answered solemnly.

'But they wanted too,' said Melian gently from where she sat.

'My father…' Túrin began, but he did not finish. Raising his head, he gave a slight nod. 'And then…then…' he stammered, looking from Thingol to Melian then back at Beleg and at the others about the court. He shut his mouth tightly.

'I think,' said Beleg quickly, half-hoping to change the subject, half-hoping to avoid being asked the question once he was alone with Túrin again. 'What he is trying to ask is how parents have children.'

Thingol raised his eyebrows. 'Do you not know, son of Húrin?'

'No, my lord,' Túrin answered, standing a little straighter.

'Ah.' The king paused for a moment, his eyes roaming the court. 'Ah. Perhaps then it would be best for Beleg to explain that to you somewhere more private.' He picked his cup up once more.

Surprised, Beleg looked up. 'But, my king, he is your foster son,' he said, 'surely you would wish the privilege of…'

'And you,' Thingol interposed, 'are his tutor.' He raised the cup to the archer and took a long sip.

'In the art of war…not love,' Beleg reminded him with a rather serious tilt of the head.

'Ah, but you have thought him love quite well so far,' Thingol asserted. 'I would not have you lose faith in yourself now.'

'But my king…'

'That will be all. You are now dismissed.' Thingol folded his hands determinedly.

'Yes, my king.' Beleg bowed once more and took Túrin by the shoulder as he started from the palace. 'Come along now,' he said, a half-cruel smile forming on his lips. 'We have a lesson to learn.'

'Where are we going?' Túrin asked with great interest, looking up from where he bobbed by the archer's side.

Beleg smirked. 'To find Mablung.'