第 39 页

“Are you confusing regular doctors with Doctor Seuss?”

“Definitely not. How dare you. Maybe?” Haleth shook her head decisively, and pointed. “Look! Friends!”

Amarië and Andreth were heading over to their table, holding steaming mugs. Haleth spread her arms wide.

“Hah! It’s the Arafinwion brothers avoidance crew!”

“Ha ha,” said Andreth, while Amarië turned pink.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” said Caranthir quickly, as Amarië’s eyes fell on him, and he beat a hasty retreat.

By the time he’d made it through the line for drinks, he spared a glance back at the

table and headed off in the opposite direction. Turgon and Amarië were sitting close together, absorbed in conversation, and Andreth was laughing at Haleth’s antics. They wouldn’t notice his absence – and if they did, Amarië at least would probably appreciate it. Certainly Caranthir had no desire to force that particular confrontation. He found an empty table and collapsed into one of the chairs, trying not to yawn as yet another musician took the stage.

-

He straightened up in his seat when finally, around 11, Maglor came onto the stage, guitar in hand and his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. As soon as he started to play, a total silence fell over the coffee shop – a silence so complete that Caranthir could hear how Maglor’s voice reverberated off the copper mugs hanging over the bar.

This meant that when someone gave a low hum at his shoulder, he started, knocking his knees painfully against the table. There was a dark haired girl sitting at the otherwise empty table with him. He had no idea how long she’d been there, but she looked totally comfortable sitting beside him.

“He’s not bad, huh?” The girl was leaning back in her chair, arms folded, her feet, in knee-high boots, propped on the chair opposite her. She was watching Maglor with interest as he sang.

“He’s brilliant,” said Caranthir tersely.

She glanced over, at his tone. “Do you know him?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh.” She studied him, then turned back to Maglor. “His voice is very familiar. Was he part of a band a couple years back…”

“Yes.”

“…Daeron’s group, right?”

Caranthir’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“Why don’t they perform anymore?” The girl didn’t seem to be at all put off by his monosyllabic answers.

“Daeron got a record deal. Alone.”

“Ah.” The girl nodded slowly. “Well. Looks like the record label missed out on the real talent of the group, didn’t they?” Smiling slightly, she got up, pushing back her chair. “I gotta go get ready for my set. Tell your brother he knows his stuff.”

Caranthir frowned after her, but he was distracted as a tall figure sat down next to him.

“There you are. I expected you to be with Haleth and that crew.” Maedhros sat down with a sigh, wincing as he tried to fit his long legs under the wobbly table. “You don’t think Káno noticed I got here late, do you?”

“You know he doesn’t notice a thing when he’s singing,” said Caranthir.

“Is he doing covers tonight, or some of that stuff he was working on all fall?”

“Mostly new material, I think. This one sounds like that one we were all humming all over the fucking house and getting so annoyed at him because we couldn’t get it out of our heads.”

“Oh, yeah.” Maedhros held still, listening. “…it really changes when it’s not him just singing it in the shower, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Helps that it’s not interspersed with him yelling shit like ‘the cunting thing won’t SCAN’ between verses.”

“Shhh!” hissed someone from a nearby table.

Caranthir and Maedhros subsided guiltily. They knew how much Maglor hated interruptions during his performance. Sure enough, his eyes had flickered in their direction, dangerously narrowed, before his face smoothed out once more into the transported expression that he wore – or affected, Curufin sometimes whispered, cynically – when he performed.

They sat meekly quiet through the rest of Maglor’s set, and when he finished, they applauded and whooped vigorously until Maglor turned red and shot a stifling look at them.

“We have to fill the void Tyelko left by not being here tonight,” said Maedhros, by way of explanation, when Maglor made his way back to their table, scowling at them but looking secretly pleased. “You know he’d never let you through a performance without embarrassing you with excessive noise.”

“Yes, I thought that was one of the benefits of having him not come,” said Maglor. “At least you aren’t throwing bottles at the other musicians.”

“Oh, right,” said Caranthir, looking around. “All I’ve got is this teacup, but Tyelko told me to aim for the pitchy ones…”

“Don’t even think about it.” Maglor thought for a moment. “Though the guy who went before me should be jailed for what he did to that Paul Simon cover, talk about pitchy…” He pulled himself together. “But still, no throwing things.”

“Who’s up next? No one’s gonna be as good as you, anyway, we should just leave – ” Caranthir broke off. “Oh, hey, it’s that girl.”

“What girl?”

Caranthir pointed. The black-haired girl who had briefly sat beside him was settling herself on a stool, a guitar over her knees. She pushed up her sleeves, revealing several lines of text inked onto the inside of her forearm.

Maedhros looked sideways at Maglor. “You and she have similar taste in tattoos.”

Maglor raised his hand unconsciously to his bicep, where his tee shirt sleeves were turned up to reveal the six-line verse tattooed there. “…Yeah.”

Maedhros studied his rapt expression and started to say something, grinning, but Maglor raised his hand, not looking at him. “Hush. She’s starting.”

-

Fifteen minutes passed. Maglor hadn’t spoken since the dark-haired girl with the guitar had taken the stage. His eyes were fixed on her, his mouth slightly open. Caranthir accidentally on purpose overturned the dregs of Maedhros’ tea onto Maglor’s sleeve, and still Maglor didn’t twitch. It wasn’t until the song ended, and the musician was pausing to drink some water while the room whooped and clapped, that Maglor blinked and looked down at his wet sleeve.

“…What’s that all over me?”

“Welcome back,” said Maedhros.

“What?” said Maglor again. He frowned at Caranthir and Maedhros, who were smirking like twin Cheshire cats. “What’s wrong with you two?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Maedhros, innocently. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” said Maglor, turning back to the stage and blinking a little, as if staring into bright lights, despite the dimness of the room. “Yeah, she is.”

Caranthir sniggered, and Maglor jerked around.

“Okay, knock off – whatever it is you’re doing.”

“What?” said Caranthir, looking astonished. “I had some scone caught in my throat.” He coughed, unconvincingly.

Maedhros bit his lips to keep from laughing.

“I’m...I’m going backstage,” said Maglor, standing up and determinedly ignoring the muffled expressions of amusement on his brother’s faces. “I think I left…um, a cable back there.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Say hi to her for us.”

The singer’s last number was an old Celtic ballad, heartbreakingly mournful and piercing in its beauty. She sang it unaccompanied, her guitar at her feet, her low, resonant voice throbbing through the transfixed crowd and making a lump rise, unwittingly, in Maglor’s throat. He leaned against the wall just off-stage, watching as she sang the last verse. When she bent her head slightly, smiling, as Cuiviénen rang with applause and whistles, Maglor could see that her face was bright with tears.

“Here,” he said, as she came off stage, her guitar under her arm. He held out the spare bandana he kept in his instrument case. She looked, baffled, at his outstretched hand.

“Sorry?”

“You,” he gestured at her, embarrassed. “You’re crying.”

“Really?” The girl raised a hand to her face, looking surprised when her fingers came away wet. “Oh, so I am.” She shrugged, looking not at all concerned. “It happens sometimes. How silly.”

Maglor still held out the bandana. “Do you want - ?”

“You won’t want it back when I’m done,” said the girl. She smiled. “Especially if I blow my nose in it.”

“Don’t worry, you can just keep it. I have like half a dozen of them.”

“Well, then, thanks.” She took the bandana appreciatively and dabbed at her cheeks. “Oof. Much less soggy, thank you.”

Maglor couldn’t stop looking at her. “Listen, would you like – um, no first, what’s your na– ?”

“Oh!” She was distracted as a tall, straight-backed figure came into view. “Hang on, sorry, I have to go – ” She squeezed Maglor’s arm once, apologetically and then, tucking the red bandana into her back pocket, crossed over to jump on the dark-haired boy waiting for her.

Maglor melted back into the crowd. He saw a familiar bright head and grabbed Glorfindel’s arm urgently. “Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel looked around. “Hey! Awesome job tonight. Was that some of your original material?”

Maglor wasn’t paying attention. “Listen, who’s that girl talking to Ecthelion?”

Glorfindel looked around. “Talking to Ecthelion? Oh, yeah. That’s Ríanellë. His sister.”

“He has a sister?” Maglor looked at the pair, who were talking closely, Ecthelion having shouldered Ríanellë’s guitar as she tied her shining dark hair back from her face, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she did. “Oh, wow.”

Glorfindel was regarding him with sympathy. “Yes, she’s very good, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Glorfindel looked like he was undergoing some internal struggle. He laid a friendly arm over Maglor’s shoulders. “Look, Makalaurë, I should tell you…”

“What?”

“If you’re interested in Ríanellë…”

“I’m not,” said Maglor swiftly. “I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with her. She’s very…she’s very gifted. And she’s certainly not. Un-pretty. And I would – well, anyone would – But I wouldn’t…Unless…Why, is she seeing someone?”

Glorfindel helpfully ignored this babbling and said, “No, she’s not seeing anyone. But if you’re interested, there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

Glorfindel patted Maglor gently on the back. “She doesn’t date musicians.”

Chapter End Notes

1. I would like to thank the Valar and also Eru for Elleth, queen of amazing OFCs, master of a thousand tongues. I commissioned her, like, stone ages ago to craft an appropriate name for Ríanellë [Telerin; Garlanded singer]. And it has taken me this long to actually introduce the damn character. Thank you, love! Giving her a name was the first step in helping me get to know her, and from there to be able to write her. Cheers!

Built with a brain and some swagger

Chapter Summary

I can't tell if you're laughing.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Seriously? You have a rule about this.”

“Yep.”

“That’s, like, bigoted.”

“You bet.”

It was two am, the alley behind Cuiviénen was freezing, and their breath hung heavy in the wan light cast by the backdoor lamp. Maglor thought for a while, mulling this exchange, and Ríanellë passed him back the clove they were sharing. He took a drag and exhaled while she watched him, patient and amused. “You don’t date musicians.”

“That is correct.”

“Don’t date musicians.”

“No, sir.”

Maglor threw up his arms. “You ARE a musician!”

“Yes. So I know what I’m talking about.”

Maglor cupped the cigarette in one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. “This is crazy. Listen, don’t you think that two artists in the same medium could, like, inspire each other? Wouldn’t it be the ultimate creative...melding? Wouldn’t it be fertile ground for artistic collaboration? Wouldn’t two such artists understand each other like no one else c-”

“Nope.”

“You’re just going to dismiss it out of hand?”

“I’ve done my research.” Ríanellë leaned back on the step she was sitting on and twitched the cigarette from Maglor’s fingers. “Listen, in my foolish youth I did date musicians. I’m friends with musicians. I come from a family of musicians; I am literally surrounded by them. And most importantly, I am one, and I know the terrible, egomaniacal, insecure, competitive, angst-ridden bunch we are. Two of those in a relationship? Nooo, thank you.” She stubbed out the cigarette next to her and shifted her bottom on the step, wincing at the stiffness and pulling her scarf up over her nose.

“So they’re just out. Musicians are out of the running.”

“Out. Not gonna happen.”

“I still think it’s bigoted.”

Ríanellë nodded gravely. “It’s totally bigoted.”

“Hmm.” Maglor tucked his cold fingers into his armpits and rocked forward on the step meditatively. “…How do you feel about totally meaningless hook-ups with musicians in back alleys?”

Ríanellë tilted her head back to grin up at the light above them. “I believe I’ve shown that those I can get behind.”

“I think I missed it the first couple times. Once more so that it really sinks in?”

“Slow learner, aren’t you? Come here.”

* * *

“Tyelko. Tyelko.”

“Nnh. Go away.”

“TURKAFINWË.” Curufin tugged at the blankets covering his brother, but Celegorm grabbed them and burrowed deeper into his bed.

“Seriously, go fuck yourself – ”

“Shan’t.”

“ – and let me sleep.”

“Won’t.” Curufin waited, but all that came from beneath the blankets was a light snore. “Turko, c’mon – there’s a girl in the house.”

“Hmwh?”

“A girl. In the house.”

Celegorm pulled the pillow over his head. “Just trap it under a glass and take it outside.”

Curufin kicked the side of the bed and Celegorm sat up, furious, and threw his pillow at Curufin’s head. “What is your dysfunction? I haven’t had a full night of sleep in a week, go away before I rearrange your face.”

Curufin remained unflapped. “It’s not my fault you haven’t gotten any sleep; in fact, I’d wager it is the fault of a certain someone whose bed you seem to prefer to your own these days. I should hold him responsible for making your sleep habits worse, if that's even possible. And there is a strange woman in our house. You’re not the least bit curious about who she is and why she’s here?”

Celegorm thought, then flopped back down. “Nope.” Then he half sat up again. “Is she clothed?”

Curufin made an exasperated noise. “Seriously?”

“It might affect my answer.”

Curufin pulled a face. “I don’t know. I just heard her voice.”

Celegorm groaned and threw back the covers. “Fine, I’ll go investigate.”

Curufin looked away, disgusted. “Put on some clothes, you pervert. Don’t you own pajamas?”

“Pajamas cramp my style.” Celegorm stood up, unabashed, and grabbed a pair of pants from the piles on the floor. He tugged them on but didn’t bother with anything else, simply raking a hand through his hair, which these days fell almost past his shoulders. He grinned at Curufin, who was looking like he was regretting waking him. “Lead on, punk. Let’s see this fair maiden.”

“You’re going to flirt with her, aren’t you.”