[personal profile] martasfic
Title: Perspective
Word Count: 742
Rating: General
Challenge: b2wm 2011 #10
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Characters: Tuor(/Idril), Maeglin, Pengolodh, Elemmakil
Beta: [personal profile] just_ann_now

Summary: Even the most fated of romances does not always go smoothly. In which Tuor proves that, whether elf or mortal, sometimes boys will be boys.

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"Best of times, worst of times, my foot," Tuor grumbled, glaring gloomily into his ale.

"Oh, come now," Pengolodh said, "it's not that bad..."

Tuor took a long draw from his mug and then set it down on the table with a loud thud. "It is that bad. Salgant was right about the 'worst of times' part at least."

"Salgant is only trying to help our people find hope," Pengolodh said. "That times are dark now but there's still good and all that." Then he added, "Do you really think this is the worst of times? A falling-out with a girl? After all those years as a slave among the Easterlings?"

"I did not have hope then," Tuor said. "Your Salgant's cursed optimism... if not for folks like him I'd have guarded my heart more closely."

"What's he going on about?" Elemmakil asked.

Tuor banged his head against the table with a thud to rival his mug's. Pengolodh looked at him nervously and bit his lips, for it was all he could do to keep from laughing. "Let us just hope love is blind," he said and took a sip of his own wine for fortification. "Three days ago Tuor gave Idril some scented oil for her hair, as a begetting-day gift."

"A bit of a gag," Tuor added, looking up toward the others. "I have a bronze charm-bracelet all wrapped and ready for gifting."

"Are you telling this story or am I?" Pengolodh asked. Tuor said nothing so Pengolodh continued, "He thought it would be funny to turn Idril's hair green. Just for a day, you know, to embarrass her a bit and maybe make her laugh. The trouble is, I know art and history well enough, but science is a mystery to me. I knew a professional apothecary would laugh us out of his shop, but I had heard one of the scribes praising Maeglin's skill as a chemist. Going to him seemed a good idea at the time."

Tuor sat upright at that, his eyes blazing. "He did it on purpose, I am sure of it. By the Flame, I should slit his throat for this."

"Why?" Elemmakil asked. "If he but helped you...?"

Tuor looked over at Pengolodh and sighed heavily. "No, you tell it," he said. "I haven't the heart."

By now Pengolodh's lips were twitching into a smirk, though at least he had the good grace to keep his voice level. "Idril would have perhaps overlooked a day's embarrassment, and Maeglin assured us that the dye would wash out with her next bath. But something went wrong – "

"No mistake," Tuor interjected. "Bastard. He knows his craft."

" – and her hair fell out," Pengolodh pressed on without responding. "She's not left her house since she used it, and just wrote him this morning. She'll be bald as a babe for a month and more."

Elemmakil was howling at this, and even Pengolodh was smiling openly. "I always thought the whole prank was a bit daft," Pengolodh said, "even if it had worked."

"Serves you right for going to Maeglin, anyway," Elemmakil added. "I'd not trust him further than I could toss a balrog."

"Fine friends you are," Tuor said glumly. Looking down at his mug he saw it was empty and motioned for the innkeeper.

"It's not so bad as all that," Pengolodh said, clapping Tuor on the shoulder. "It is the upside of long lives: the luxury of time to forget. Idril's hair will grow back and she will remember why she loves you." He winked at Tuor and added, "Whatever her reason. I never could sort it out."

"True enough for Idril," Elemmakil said, "but Tuor here has not that luxury. By the time Idril forgets all this he'll be a crusty old man, and Maeglin won't look like such a bad mate after all." Tuor shoved Elemmakil playfully at that, and the elf stumbled off his chair.

"She'll think no such thing," Pengolodh assured Tuor. "She loves you, and she'll come around soon enough."

"So you say," Tuor said skeptically. Still, Pengolodh guessed Tuor was glad to rely on his someone else's faith in the future.

Reaching down, Tuor helped pull Elemmakil to his feet and they both took their seats. Looking at his own drained mug, he frowned. "Where is that innkeeper? I am entirely too sober for this."

Elemmakil placed his own drink in front of his friend. "That you are."

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July 2011

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