Dinner Guest

Author: Marina (taelle@mail.rcom.ru)

Pairing: none for now

Rating: G

Dislaimers: This story uses characters and

universe belonging to J.R.R.Tolkien. They

characters are not used for profit. Please view my

story as a respectful comment on the work of a

beloved writer.

Series: sequel to First Song.

Warning/summary/notes: this story contains an OC,

and more than that, it's from the POV of that OC,

though a Tolkien character does figure in the

story. If the original content is unacceptable to

you, do not read any further.

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(Time and place indefinite)

The most difficult part proved to be dragging the

singer through the village towards their home.

Alder never appreciated the closeness of his

parents' house to the sea as he did today.

The singer was... frightened. Yes, definitely

frightened, Alder decided, and was suddenly so

horrified that he almost let the man go. Seeing

the lost expression on the beautiful face, the

fear in the grey eyes, Alder was ashamed to be the

cause of this man's pain.

But then he thought better. Even if he let him go,

what then? The singer will bolt, disappear in the

windy greyness that surrounded the village. Where

would he go? How much more could he wander like

this, cold and tired and alone? Alder swallowed,

trying to get rid of a sudden lump in his throat.

He stepped before the singer, suddenly noticing

just how tall the man was. Alder himself was tall

for fisher folk, already his father's height, and

he might even grow a bit taller - it was in the

family. But he still had to look up to see the

singer's eyes.

"Don't be afraid," Alder said softly, his hand

hovering in the air over the man's wounded one,

afraid to hurt him if he touched more. "It will be

just a dinner. We often have folks passing through

for dinner. This is just the way things are done

here. And you'll like mother's cooking. She made

fish pie today, from the fresh catch..."

He went on, babbling something more about dinner

and almost not paying attention to what he was

saying. Inside Alder was faintly horrified with

himself. What was he doing? He stood there with a

grown-up stranger, someone who probably went

places much further than the fair, and treating

him like some scared sick child. Worse, almost

touching him like he would touch one of the guys.

It would be small wonder if the man just pushed

him away or something. His clothes were worn, but

still quality showed - so he wasn't poor, and

might even have a weapon, a real one.

Then he shook his head. It was impossible to

imagine this sad beautiful man attacking anyone.

No, Alder did not fear him - he feared *for* him,

and hoped he did not offend one he so wanted to

help.

"... so," he finished a little inanely, "it will

be a good dinner."

And then he saw something that filled him with

sudden warmth and joy: the singer smiled. It was a

small smile, and sadness still lingered in his

eyes, but it was real - and there was no fear now.

After that they arrived home fairly quickly. Alder

led the singer inside, and instantly the familiar

noises and smells surrounded him, but it felt a

little new, too - he tried to imagine how his

house would look to a stranger.

Of course he failed. To him it was all so well

known that when Alder heard the word "house", he

saw in his mind this one - sturdy wooden walls

dark from age, mother's well-scrubbed oven where

he used to wait for a treat, the armchair near the

fireplace where father always repaired nets... How

else were people supposed to live?

But that, of course, was a child's thought. He

knew better now. The singer, wherever he came

from, did not live like this. Alder guessed it

before and knew he was right by the man's curious

looking around. Suddenly he became anxious. Theirs

was a good home, but was it too alien to the

singer? Would he want to stay, at least for

dinner?

Mother came out from the kitchen and with her came

the food smells. Only now Alder noticed just how

hungry he was.

"Welcome, friend," mother said, "you're just in

time for dinner." Alder warned her about the

guest, and asked her not to question him too much,

so now she just showed him the place to sit. The

man gave her a small bow and then sat down

obediently.

Nobody else seemed to be in, so when mother called

him to the kitchen, Alder smiled at his guest and

said "I'll be back soon."

"At least *you*'re back," his mother said in a

slightly annoyed tone. "The rest of them are off

to do their own things, and no thoughts about me!

Nobody wants to bother and to help me set the

table!"

Alder kissed her cheek and said "I will help you,

mama, don't worry about that."

She smiled at her son, shaking her head slightly.

"Oh, you're all grown up, Alder..." Suddenly her

face became troubled. "And that poor man! I wonder

whether his ship was lost in a fire..."

"I don't know," Alder answered honestly. "I did

not want to trouble him with questions." Mother's

theory made sense, but... how long ago was it? He

had the feeling that the man was wandering down

the coast for a very long time. Of course, his

nervousness around people might be explained by

being hurt and lost...

"We must make him to stay the night," his mother

went on. "I won't finish everything till

tomorrow..."

"Sorry, mama, what are you talking about?" Alder

asked, a little baffled.

"His clothes, of course! I can't let anyone leave

my house looking so scruffy!"

Alder chuckled, feeling a little sorry for the

poor stranger. When he was little, mother never

let him go out with even the slightest tear or

spot on his clothes. Later he learned to slip

away, but whenever mother could she still

inspected all the family members leaving the

house.

Loaded with plates, Alder returned to the room,

smiled at his guest and started setting the table.

He did not notice the man getting up, so he almost

jumped when the soft voice behind his back said

"I could help you, Alder..."

"No-no-no, sit back and relax!" Alder's mother

exclaimed, appearing from the kitchen with more

plates, knives and forks. "You're a guest, so you

don't have to worry!"

The stranger stepped back with an even softer

answer "It wouldn't be a worry," but he seemed

disinclined to argue with the mistress of the

house.

Finally the table was set to mother's satisfaction

and, right on cue, Alder's youngest brother Til

ran in. "I'm hu-ungry!" he yelled from the door.

Ten years old and growing fast, Til was always

hungry, so it was small wonder that he had been

the first to return for dinner.

Mother went to hush him up and make him wash his

hands and face, and Alder turned to his guest. He

was still strangely unwilling to disturb the man

with questions, but the singer seemed comfortable

where he was, and Alder could swear he even

relaxed slightly.

Suddenly a new thought disturbed Alder. "Please

forgive me," he asked hesitantly, "but... will you

have problems holding forks and knives? I mean,

your hands..."

The singer looked at his hands as if he saw them

for the first time in his life. "No," he said

slowly, "no, I will manage. Thank you, Alder..."

Mother returned with a well-cleaned Til and turned

to them. "Now you, boys. Time to wash up and

change before dinner." Seeing slight alarm on his

guest's face, Alder tried to protest, but all was

in vain. Mother led the singer away, explaining

something about spare clothes. Alder sighed and

went to wash himself.

He returned to find his guest dressed in his

father's clothes, old and worn, but clean and

carefully mended. It was a strange sight. Father

wasn't fat - no fisherman was, - but on the tall

dark stranger his clothes hung freely... Too thin,

Alder decided. He was probably slim by nature, but

now he was definitely too thin. Great gods, what

happened to him?

Well, at least mother's dinner will do him good.

Nobody ever left Alder's mother's table less than

full. Alder showed the singer his place, one not

far from father - it was usually reserved for

guests. And at that moment the rest of the family

started coming in.

Theirs was not an especially big family, but Alder

found himself glad for today's relative quiet.

Everybody was still tired afer a difficult fishing

trip, so the talk was not loud, and children

hesitated to horse around. The singer seemed to

take it all well, and his gaze became distant and

troubled only once, when Alder's second youngest

brothers came in. The twins Nel and Kars were a

couple of ordinary thirteen-year olds, thin boys

with reddish hair like grandfather, noisy and

boisterous. How could they distress this strange

man? Or did Alder imagine the momentary flicker of

pain?

Finally father took his place, and everyone grew

quiet. As it was his habit, he thanked the sea god

for letting them return safely. Then, before

everybody could finally start eating, he turned to

the guest.

"Welcome to our house and table, friend," he said

quietly, and then added "You haven't told us your

name yet..."

In the momentary silence Alder heard the answer to

the question he had not dared to ask aloud since

meeting the singer.

"Maglor. My name is Maglor."

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The end for now

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