Maglor

The boys were off at their lessons. Maglor sat at one end of the vast sea of wood that he called his dining room table. In front of him, a little archipelago of silver tureens sat steaming slightly.

Maglor tore a piece off a loaf of bread and grabbed a small knife. He paused, and looked around, bewildered, at the array of dishes.

"Fresh butter here, my lord." Samniel swept in through the doorway bearing a small ceramic dish. She gently set it down at the other end of the table. "Anything else, sir?"

Maglor wiped a bit of flour off his fingers. "Everything is capital, Samniel. Though … " he hesitated, "perhaps we could do with a smaller luncheon spread, in the future?"

The cotton of her neat white apron fluttered as she dipped into a quick curtsey. "Apologies, sir. It's a large kitchen. I'll see what I can do, sir." Her steps echoed quietly across the stones as she disappeared into the hallway.

Maglor's steps echoed too, one by one, as he made his way there and back again past the six other carved chairs to fetch the butter dish. He picked it up without looking down. Instead he stared at the expanse before him. He didn't say anything, because there was no one to hear.

Back at his end of the table, he absentmindedly adjusted the small tower of cushions that had been erected on one of the seats. Without it, Elrond would be nothing more than a pair of eyes every night at dinner, staring beadily at Maglor from plate-level.

In this vast room not currently filled by a crowd of people, a hush had expanded to occupy the space instead, in the same way that a gas grows to fill a container. Maglor felt as though it would be rude to disturb it. He chewed quietly.

Perhaps Maedhros was, even at this moment, eating his own lunch. If he was back at Amon Ereb, barley stew with thick hunks of carrot and potato. On the road – maybe he was simply traveling, making the rounds of his watch out in the wilderness – hopefully salted pork and bread with cheese.

Possibly he had been on the road this whole time, and that was why he remained so silent. Surely that was the reason. Maglor's brow furrowed as he stabbed at a piece of kippered herring. Something simmered in him, an uncomfortable heat deep in his chest. You're angry. Perhaps it's good if Maedhros stays away.

No, Maglor countered, I would rather he be here, so I can aim my anger at him properly. But that was an unkind thought. He snatched it up and tucked it away in the back of his head in a well-practiced movement.

The dark corners of the room seemed to stare at him like the entrance to a cave. Maglor laid his fork down carefully and set off to check on the boys.

Maglor's steps rang as he made his way up the spiral staircase.

The silent gloom that laid over the castle gradually lifted as he drew closer to the little room at the top of the tower. There was nothing so cheering as the sound of children industriously at work, provided you couldn't make out what was actually being said.

"Why can't I look at the seven now?"

A female voice responded. "We can come back to seven. First look at the three. It's in the tens – "

Elrond's voice sounded exasperated. "But it's a three. How can it also be a ten? I like seven."

"We need to deal with the larger number first."

"But seven is larger than three. I don't understand how three can be larger and smaller than seven at the same time."

Elros' voice perked up. "What's a shibboleth? Is it dangerous? Does Maglor have one and can I hold it?"

Maglor pushed the door open.

They had, in a hurry, repurposed the space into a schoolroom for the boys. Amber light filtered in through the makeshift curtains; bolts of cloth Maglor had politely received as a present long ago and had always found too bright and gaudy for his taste. Elros, helpfully, had drawn with a stick of charcoal all over the magenta linen, knights on horseback locked in a forever battle with a rather blob-like dragon, so that the fabric served as a makeshift tapestry. At the border Elrond had added flowers. Maglor smiled.

The tutor panted and wiped some hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Ah. Perhaps Lord Maglor will have better answers to your questions than I can provide."

Maglor strolled over to the two-sided desk and the explosion of scraps of paper and jars of brightly-colored ink that blanketed one half of it. The other half, he observed as he peered over Elros' shoulder, was occupied by a massive book as thick as the span of Elros' hand. "And what are we learning about today?"

Elros scowled. "Logistics."

"Linguistics," the tutor murmured.

Elros looked up at Maglor. "Have you ever had to use linguistics in your life, ever?"

Elrond sat up on his calves and waved at Maglor. "I made a drawing of a horse, see? And I tore the paper so if you move it like this, it's like it's walking." He beamed. "You can try it too if you like; just be careful because my arithmetic is on the other side … "

"Er … " Maglor glanced at the tutor for guidance. "Perhaps we've finished lessons for the day?"

Her expression was an open book larger than one sprawled across Elros' desk.

Maglor began to clear the sheets of rumpled parchment away as he spoke. "Yes, I believe we've done quite enough." The relief on her face blossomed like Spring. He paused at one scrap of paper with some sums written out in the tutor's neat hand. In the answers section, someone had scrawled and then crossed out in succession a five, then a three, then a four, and finally a five again in increasingly large handwriting. He held back a smile. Worse than Amrod; he never had a mind for maths. He felt a tug on his sleeve.

Elrond stood on his chair as he leaned over the desk towards Maglor. He chewed his lip. "Can Ontamion play now?"

Maglor wiped away a stray speckle of ink. "Last I saw him, he was still on his rounds filling all the tinderboxes. He should be done before dinner. You two may run along."

Elros didn't need telling twice. He pushed his chair back into the desk and ran out the door. Elrond's face fell, and he whipped his head around at Elros' sudden absence. His feet stumbled slightly on the carpet as he sped out of the study as well.

Maglor shrugged at the tutor. "You must admit, they give some life to the castle. Rather too much, is what I expect you're about to tell me."

Maglor's prediction was correct. If only, he thought to himself, he could always be so astute.