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At the Sign of the Drunken Elleth by Maeglin the Traitor	9 Review(s)
maeglin	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 10/23/2015
Erestor approaches the Elleth warily. His heart-father's letter had been explicit: Maeglin was becoming difficult to manage, and he, Erestor, should meet them at the Elleth. Also that he should bring, upon his person, something which Curufin knew quite well had remained within the Valley, and that he should not bring Hithriel - or anyone else - along. He thanks Eru once again that Elerondo is no longer around to interfere, or worse, insist on joining him. Curufin is paranoid, to be sure, but that dreadful business with Aulendil had taught them all that the Valar were still intent on destroying what remained of their House. Hithriel had barely escaped from Ost-in-Edhil, and their daughter - Curufin's grandaughter - had not. And so, Erestor enters with his throwing stars, rather than the treasure, ready to his hand. He does not expect there to be blood - truly he doesn't. Not tonight, at least. But he has not survived as long as he has by being an optimistic man, and so he keeps that which he bears buried deeply within his robes as he approaches the table. oOo Thank you so much for this spectacular story. I do hope you two are still around, and know how much entertainment it still gives its fans :)

Silver	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/29/2004
Silver sat on her bed, back against the wall, in her rented room. It was cold, and very late but she could not rest. She walked to the window. Outside, the night sky was cold and clear, frost glittered on the ground. What the hell was going on? There should have been news from The Drunken Elleth by now. But there had been nothing. Much as Maeglin made her every nerve prickle with warning, he held a strange fascination for her, as he did for all who caught the lethal glitter in the hard eyes and the grace which promised death in every sensuous move. And, dammit, she wanted to seduce Maglor. Right now. But without an update, she could not, would not go over there. He would know then how much he still got to her. She would bet it was Maeglin's doing, the Valar-forsaken creatutre that he was. No-one so damned should be allowed to be that beautiful. It made her shiver, and only partly in fear. She tapped her fingers on the window and bit her lip. Perhaps the Dottir would know what was going on. Silver nodded to herself. Yes, that was it. Dottir would know, and she knew ways past Maeglin that didn't involve getting either killed or maimed. Quickly, she scribbled a note and openeing her door, yelled for the particularly sullen grubby hobbit who reluctantly waited on the guests in this rat-infested hovel. She hauled him close to her face,'Take this to Orophin's Daughter. And make it quick.' The hobbit twisted to free himself and nodded, resentful, but unwilling to piss the obviously armed and not happy elf-bard off. Straightening his tunic, he glared and padded off down the corridor. 'Oh, and by the way,' Silver's voice floated down the hallway after the diminutive creature. He turned to see her sardonic smile,'Don't get caught by Maeglin,' she drawled, 'It'll hurt.' The hobbit gulped. The elf's smile wasn't nice. Author Reply: The grubby hobbit attempts what passes for stealth among his kin as he creeps down the corridor. Whom does he think he is kidding? The elf in the shadowed doorway tenses alertly and waits. He has followed her, and his patience is now rewarded. An elegant hand reaches forth in the darkness, deceptively fine and slender fingers gripping the hobbit's shoulder with tempered steel. The halfling feels his heart almost cease to beat as he looks into the cold eyes of Maglor. Mutely, he surrenders the folded parchment to the elf. "Very wise, Pheriain! Your continued silence may ensure your survival. Now, begone from my presence!" Needing no further permission, the hobbit scoots off. He is definitely going to apply at "The Prancing Pony" in the morning. Maglor reads the words not intended for him, his lips curving into a slow and dangerous smile. She seeks an update. She has not forgotten their past. Slowly, Maglor walks towards the room where she waits unknowing. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir _________________________ Celeb, my mad one! Orophin's Dottir says to tell you that she is scribbling as fast as she can, but that Haldir in another story has been quite demanding. I have sent Mags to console you. Pray, watch your back!

Acacea	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/25/2004
Oh very nice indeed! Hope there'll be more soon. :) Author Reply: Maeglin raises his wine glass to the beautiful one before him. Princess Acacea! In many lands has her beauty been whispered. The whispers did not lie. He bows in silent tribute. Thank you for the review, sweet Princess! Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir

Nol	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/25/2004
Whoa. That is a promising start, indeed. Looking forward to more - soon, please? Cheers, Nol. Author Reply: Who is this one who creeps in with stealth and drops this review? Does she think Maeglin a fool? Thinks she that he will not have heard of the fair Lady Nol? He draws her into his arms and kisses her until she can scarce breathe. Thank you for the review, Lady Nol! Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir

Silver	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/23/2004
In the corner of the tavern, a small, slightly built figure watched the renegades with a small smile lurking on her face. They had always been like this, even before they were dispossessed, ruined. Always been on the edge of violence. From what she had heard and what she already knew, that edge had become more of a habit now, than anything else. She yawned, crossing a booted foot on her knee, checking for her harp, secreted by her boot and looked them over once again. She was glad she was inconspicuous, covered in mud and bedraggled. Maeglin wasn't in a good mood and she had no wish top attract his attention. Maeglin. He hadn't changed. The word 'elegant' had been invented for him. So had 'deadly' and, if she was honest 'downright twisted'. Her smile became a grin. he would have been at hug, but for the sheer style which pervaded every pore, even now, he purred to himself, his head tilted to listen to the Queen. That he was angry was only betrayed by the occasional gleam of sharp white teeth and the slow flex of a hand that she knew itched to caress that dagger at his hip. Maedhros was next. Sharp, as lethal as fire as cold and merciless as ice, utterly ruthless. She remembered him the day Fingon brought him back. The memory still made her sick. Curufin. Her lip curled and she assured herself of her own weapon. She would speak with him later. Her eyes flickered over the others. Lethal, all of them. Dangerous and utterly without pity. She felt reluctant admiration, mixed with familiar anger that she felt whenever she saw any of them. Now she sought that other, the one she had come to see. Bard, like herself, he was still beautiful as ever. On the verge of slipping away, an impulse seized her. Keeping one eye carefully on Maeglin, she slipped up to the bar. Flashing Maisie a smile such as females give when one is warning another off, she leaned forward. He knew she was there, stiffened a little. She placed a hand on his, stilling it on the dagger at his side. Then she leaned forward so that her lips touched the point of an ear beneath sable silk. 'Kanafinwë,' she murmured, warmth in her tone. Maglor smiled, not turning,' Celebdil.' She breathed lightly, so that her breath touched his throat,'Ah, no,' she whispered for him alone, 'Here, I am Silver, a mere bard. Like you.' She waited for the taunt to hit home, letting her fingers walk a easing line along his shoulders, 'I missed you....' As he turned to her, she smiled. It was not a forgiving smile,'For about a seven-night, and that was, oh, in the Second Age, i believe. And now I have seen you again, I see no reason to stay. Fare you well, bard.' She turned to go, before Maeglin saw her. This tale was well worth the watching, but she would prefer to do it out of sight of Aredhel's son. She didn't look to see how Maglor reacted, hoping he would, stilling the slight ache he still caused in her. She shouldn't have revealed herself, but she had been unable to resist. They were fascinating, these too mean to die First-Agers. She couldn't wait to see what would happen next. Perhaps the Dottir could tell her, when next they spoke....Or maybe she could poke Lindorien until she told.... *** Heh! Sorrreee, couldn't help that! These are one addictive set of renegade elves. I had a sneak look at this before I read it here, care of Orophin's Dottir And I want more. LOTS of it.More, more, more!!! Oh, and leave Lindorien be, she gets nervous if made to deal with Elves, or made to come from under her table, though, I daresay, Maedhros gets to her a bit. Author Reply: Maglor feels what is left of his heart constrict within him. Celebdil! Can he never escape her? Must she torment him ever with the memory of her face? The warmth that haunts his dreams and his waking nightmares? Celebdil. He must not show her that she still has the power to hurt, to move him. Maeglin will not tolerate weakness among his followers. Suddenly, he feels the strong arm of his oldest brother come around him. Maedhros! Maeglin is occupied with the queen, and his brother has come to him, knowing his torment. He turns to cling to the strength that is left to him, burying his face in Maedhros' fiery hair. For a moment, Maglor lets himself be weak for Celebdil. Maedhros comforts his brother, stroking his dark hair gently while his own eyes carefully watch Lindorien beneath the table and glitter in the anticipation of her death or corrruption by Maeglin. Still, she makes him laugh, and he almost pities her. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir ___________________ Thanks for the review, my crazy, sweet one! You, Kaladriel and Lindorien are the best! Buy Lindorien an ale on me. She deserves it. Poor Scribe of Gondor!

The Karenator	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/23/2004
The Elven herald stepped cautiously past the open dirt-encrusted plank door of the pitifully out-of-style tavern. The less than plumb door swung back to whack him in the shoulder. Sighing, he propped his foot against the offending barrier while his keen Elven eyes adjusted to the smokey den of iniquity. An ominous hush fell over the normally boisterous crowd as all eyes turned to the new arrival. Undaunted, he adjusted his quiver strap and stepped into the odious vault. "What have we here?" Maeglin asked, a sinister smile lifting the corners of his mouth. The other Elves chuckled. Maisie shifted nervously as her hand reached under the counter for the sawed-off saber she kept in case of trouble. This squeaky clean Elf looked like the big 'T' on two feet. Years of experience had taught her to sight walking rabble-rousers. Having heard the question uttered by Maeglin, the herald turned to the voice, but made no move to acknowledge the First-Age Elf. Instead, he announced for all to hear: "Her Majesty, The Queen of the Southern Realm, Queen Kaladriel." There was a grasp sounded from all that could have easily been mistaken for a vacuum in the over-all intelligence of those in the room...except for the Elven herald, who was actually quite smart. As the Queen stepped forth over the tattered threshold, all the patrons of the tavern jumped to their feet. A few swayed precariously. Several retired face-first to the grimy floor. The First-Age Elves stood their ground...as shaky as it was. Her Majesty eyed the group of Elves with a bit of fondest and a lot of suspicion. Her head tilted in invitation for the Maeglin to speak. "My lady, long has it been since I last looked upon your beauty," he said, issuing a perfectly executed bow to the Queen. The Queen smiled. "Long has it been since last I heard your silver-tongue banter about the truth." Maeglin smiled back. This was an old game, and one he still held fondly to his heart. "My Lady wounds me. Ne'er would I take liberties with the beauty of one so fair as the Queen of the Southern Realm." Her long slender fingers reached out to caress his smooth jaw. "Maeglin, my dear Maeglin," she crooned. "All Elven realms have come forth and bid me to seek you out. What, my sweet elfling, are you up to?" Maeglin chuckled and took the Queen's hand to his own, dropping a soft kiss to her tender knuckles. "Why, my Lady, I know not what you mean. I am merely sharing drink with my friends and brothers." It was the Queen's turn to laugh. "Meaglin, you are never 'merely' doing anything." She motioned to the rickety table. "Sit and tell me all, so that I do not have to unlease my wind upon this place. I so hate to have to do that. Lalaith is so uppity about such things. Everything is a contest: Who can control their wind best? Who can part the rivers quicker? Who can paralyze recalcitrant First-Age Elves first? You know how competitive we can get. I do not like to lose." She smiled again. "Tell me, dear one, while your muscles are still capable of moving." Maeglin did not look happy, nor did any of his companions. The only thing worse than Kaladriel showing up would have been Lalaith showing up. No, the ultimate bad would have been both of them showing up. They take kind jabs at one another, but woe be unto anyone who would dare touch a hair upon the head of the other, for the offender's life would be spent...by the angry other queen or Thranduil if he got there first. Though Maeglin had not doubt...the queens were scarier. The Queen settled back to hear the story she was certain Maeglin would reveal to her. Maeglin was cranky, but he was not foolish. She smiled serenely at one of her guards as he brought her a cup of wine. A sudden movement under a nearby table brought all her guards to draw bow and sword and turn in wait for the threat to reveal itself. A dusty head poked out from under the table. A grubby little hand waved. The Queen gasped. "LINDORIEN! Is that you?" Author Reply: Maeglin's worst fears and dearest longings have at once been fulfilled. It is Kaladriel! With her sister Lalaith, she has been his most implacable foe and most worthy opponent for centuries. Ah, how he hates and yet respects them, longs for the contest they bring! The two queens of his nightmares and of his heart. His sharp white teeth gleam as he smiles at her and begins their deadly dance. Kaladriel is here. "My dearest lady, we are but refugees who, long wearied of the road, have found shelter here against the storms of life. A pleasant place is the Shire. It will bring healing to our broken souls denied of Aman, would you not agree?" "If I could ever believe your serpent words, Maeglin, I might believe that you were indeed weary of your long wanderings." The queen's voice softens with pity and her eyes bore into him, but Maeglin keeps his fëa out of her reach. It saps his strength, but he can still do it. His heart has ever remained unreadable, even to these sisters. Perhaps Maeglin has no heart left to read? Behind him, he senses Curufin's unease. Kaladriel is one of few who could still frighten Curufin. Suddenly, a commotion arises. The guards of the queen surge forth to protect her. A small, dusty and seemingly drunken figure is emerging from beneath the tables. Lindorien! Maeglin grinds his teeth, but keeps his face impassive. He sees the the queen's compassion rise in her beautiful eyes as she personally attends to this broken and drunken specimen of mortals. Maeglin watches as the queen tenderly escorts Lindorien forth with her guards in watchful attendance. Maeglin sips the cup of wine the queen has left behind on the table. It seems sweeter for the touch of her hand and lips. How he hates Lindorien! He writhes inside that the Scribe of Gondor has been the instrument of his latest escape from Kaladriel. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir __________ Thanks for the review, Queenie! You are awesome. I think Orophin's Dottir (a.k.a Queen Lalaith) is about to expire with laughter at your words. She says to tell you that her wind is still more controlled than yours! Me, I do not get involved in these technical matters.

Kitt of Lindon	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/22/2004
Kitt peers cautiously into The Drunken Elleth, takes a deep breath and steps in. Fixing her eyes on the two evil-looking Elves, she heads towards them with a sort of reluctance. She loosens her knife from its sheaf (just in case.) And bends over their table and whispers: There are a group of representatives for Tolkien Estate are heading this way; I held them off as long as I could, but they will be here before long. A bead of sweat rolls down her face from the heavy weight of the glares of the First Age Elves. She backs away from the table. The folk of Lindon send their best regards to your story... They continue to stare. ...and...uh...just thought you ought to know... Kitt looses her nerve and giving a squeak of fright, bounds away into the night. Author Reply: Maeglin fixes his eyes upon the intruder that dares approach his table as he speaks to Curufin. What is this she says? Representatives of the Tolkien Estate approaching? That can mean only one thing. . .lawyers! Maeglin leaps into action, barking orders to his cut-throat elves as Kitt of Lindon tries to flee. Curufin! Maedhros! Do whatever you have to but do it swiftly! Maglor, get me that messenger from Lindon and bring her back! It does not do to question Maeglin's orders and the three elves race from the tavern. Maeglin settles back in his chair and listens. Soon, he hears what he has been listening for. Blood-chilling screams are heard for a moment, and then all is silent. Maeglin's smile is content. There is nothing he likes so well as the sound of lawyers dying. The Tolkien Estate will never learn. He watches as Maglor hauls the bedraggled and weakly struggling Kitt to the bar and dumps her down on one of the stools before joining his chief at the table. Maeglin looks at the quivering messenger from Lindon and inclines his head ever so slightly. Maisie thumps a tankard of ale down on the bar before Kitt. She has taken a liking to this bedraggled creature from Lindon. Here you go, Kitt! This one is on Maeglin. Welcome to The Drunken Elleth! You should fit right in. One word of advice, though, from Maisie. The soft-hearted floozy leans forward to whisper in Kitt of Lindon's ear. Have a care about that Lindorien! Maeglin has his eye upon her, and that is never good. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir

Lindorien	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/22/2004
Lindorien pops her head up from under her usual table at the Drunken Elleth. Long ago did she give up actually sitting in a chair. Not since Maedhros' laughing had sent his brother into a rage had she actually sat in a chair. Now she sidles in quietly through a side door, signals to Maisie how many of her usual she would be needing and then settles under a quiet table in the corner of the establishment. Grandma always told her that 'twas best to lay low when a First-Age Elf had issue with one and Lindorien loved and respected her Grandma and took her advice literally. So, Lindorien pops her head up from under her usual table and looks around. "Psst - Halfast! Yeah. You! Get over here, boy. Wait - bring me another pint when you do! I think those First-Age Elves have an interest in you." Lindorien sips the brew the nervous little hobbit hands her, chuckling. "And Sam said you'd never amount to anything. I do so like him Sam, my man." Halfast stares sullenly into his own pint, "How come you've never Dr. Seussed me, Lindorien." Lindorien stares at the little hobbit, an evil...er...thoughtful smile spreading across her features. Raising a silent mug to Maeglin, for she'd never want the Elf to actually notice her, she declares: An idea dormant comes to fore though apt to get me shown the door however silent it will not be a life of its own, has creativity The tale of dear Halfast must be told by bards drunken and sometimes bold If down in flames is where it leads at least I'll go there smoking weed though politically incorrect it be of roots nicotiana like cotton and maize and likewise banana I really must stop, I am stuck in a rhyme an affliction that affects me time after time If I do not stop now, there is a real danger I shall end up rhyming in iambic pentameter. Halfast claps a hand over Lindorien's mouth in self-preservation. Lindorien pops her head up from under the table again and signals Maisie for two more of her usuals. "You're flagged," Maisie tells her, shaking her head. Author Reply: There are small but audible sounds issuing from the corner of the Elleth. Enough for Maglor's keen elven hearing to detect. He turns his attention from Maisie's bosom, and nods to Maedhros to follow him. He sees his brother's one hand loosen the dagger in its sheath. His own is already at the ready. "You, halfling! Get over there and speak to Maeglin!" Halfast is like a rabbit cornered by the hounds of hell. He squeaks and skitters away to do their bidding, feeling as if he is going from a rock to a hard place. Maglor's eyes glitter as he realizes who is under the table. He crooks a beckoning finger at her, and Lindorien crawls out, brushing a cobweb from her hair. Maisie does not worry about dust bunnies. "Give me one reason not to make an end to your miserable life, Scribe of Gondor? You, who have tormented my poor maimed brother by making him laugh." Lindorien dissolves into a speechless mass of terror as Maglor raises his dagger. Suddenly, a hand stays Maglor. Maglor turns around to look at his brother in confusion. "Maedhros?" "Let her live, brother. I find. . .I rather like laughing. She is funny. Let us go Squirrel hunting instead." Confused and terrified, Maglor clings to his brother and finds comfort there. He has a feeling Maeglin will not be pleased by these developments. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir

daw the minstrel	Reviewed Chapter: 1 on 2/21/2004
I thought this was hilarious even before I got to the last line! I suspect that Maisie may not be the only one hitting the sauce too hard. You go, girls! Author Reply: My very first review at Stories of Arda! Maeglin advances on Daw the Minstrel, attempting to put a warm smile on his evil face. This is not easy. Hands her the First Reviewer's prize of a lifetime pass to "The Drunken Elleth". Thank you! We plan on having fun with this one, although our elves are a little sinister, and the hobbits may be terrified. We are not talking Legolas here! Maeglin tiptoes up to Daw and whispers into her ear, "Maeglin is a boy, dear minstrel. But, he can GO as good as that girl, the Dottir! Smiles at her. Maeglin the Traitor for himself and Orophin's Dottir (who is sleeping off an excess of Maisie's sauce)

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