#i'm undecided on the exact flavor of maeglin for this but that's unimportant

[lordgrimwing]

@nighttimepatrons's summary of the following snippet of a Idril/Tuor fic I'm working on rn.

There was, Tuor mused over dinner, such a thing as being too close to the king.

“How are things going?” Turgon asked, leaning across the table to look at his daughter with the kind of eager expression apparently all parents of any race had when they were hoping to hear they would soon be grandparents.

Idril took her husband’s hand. “We’re still trying,” she said fervently, squeezing Tuor hand as though he was the one who needed reassurance. “We’ll figure something out. We really want a baby.”

Tuor fought a losing battle against a blush. Really, did they have to talk about this right now? Of course, he wanted a child just as much as Idril did, but there was no telling if a Man and Elf could have one, and the passing months since their wedding was not heartening, but he wasn’t keen discussing his lovelife with his father-in-law of all people! He would have a grandchild from them or he would not, and the more memories Tuor had of conversations like one wouldn’t make the desired outcome any easier.

Turgon sighed and sat back in his seat. “Do tell me if there is anything you need? Anything at all.”

No, no, he might actually shrivel up into a dry husk if he had to ask the king for assistance with this.

“If only there was,” Idril lamented. 

Tuor wasn’t sure he could make it through the rest of the meal. This was too much, far too much. He had limits.

Luckily he was spared from an indecent exit when Maeglin, Idril’s dark cousin, slammed his soup spoon onto the table and stood. “Excuse me,” he said between gritted teeth and stormed from the family dining room, brown robe swirling in his wake.