A little companion piece to this. Listen, I just think Elros and Elrond deserve to be the worst kids ever seen. It's called karmic comeuppance 🤷🏽♀️
"No!" Screamed the erstwhile lordling of Sirion, "I hate you!"
"Yes," said Maglor, attempting to smile through gritted teeth, "you have made that abundantly clear and I must say, I'm not feeling all too fond of you myself at the moment."
Unfazed by the threat of Maglor's antipathy, the boy continued to spew forth an – honestly impressive – string of expletives featuring several sharp objects, many barnyard animals, and a number of unhelpful suggestions concerning Maglor's genitals.
Where did he even learn this? he marvelled for a moment at a particularly clever turn of phrase before remembering the boy had spent all his life prior to his...relocation in the company of sailors. By his side, his brother continued to regard Maglor with a silent sneer of haughty contempt only somewhat undercut by the smears of cream that clung to his upper lip like a faux-mustache – the remnants of his breakfast. It made him look uncomfortably like Fingolfin.
Though Maglor could now tell the Sons of Elwing apart with some reliability, he did not know their right names for the recalcitrant wretches refused to divulge that information. El-something he was sure – the line of Thingol had many flaws but imagination did not number among them. One of the twins was a biter though, and the other a scratcher, and so that was how they were called by the residents of the fortress. It was, Maglor was reasonably certain, Scratcher who now unleashed upon him a barrage of abuse – poor, unsuspecting fool that he was – for the sin of suggesting the boys learn their numbers.
Turgon was laughing at him from somewhere inside the Halls of Mandos, he just knew it. I hope the rats are gnawing on your bones, Maglor thought viciously in his dead cousin's direction. Meanwhile, his blasted descendant was somehow still going.
"...son of a shit-licking, piss-drinking, sister-fucking..."
Perhaps, he mused sourly, the cruel servants of Celegorm had the right of it.
"Listen here," he interrupted, cutting off Scratcher mid-tirade, "I have no great desire to spend my precious time teaching you arithmetics either, but for all the crimes my dear, departed cousin Turukano would lay at my feet, I would rather not add a failure to teach his great-grandchildren their sums to that list."
Scratcher screwed his face up in an unimpressed moue and spat out, "I don't care about Turukano and I don't care about you." Hopping off his chair, he grabbed his brother by the hand and turned to stomp off but not before delivering a parting shot. "You're ugly."
At this, Maglor could no longer hold back an outraged squawk.
"I am not –" he began, incensed, voice trembling with deep-rooted offense, but was interrupted before he could continue.
"and," the boy's eyes shone with malicious relish, voice brimming with the vindictive triumph of one who knows they are about to land a killing blow, "you sing bad."
The ensuing shriek could be heard for miles.
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