When The Music Disappears by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
just_jenni
Mar. 7th, 2015 03:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: maglor_20's prompt: Maglor has stopped playing music, and Fingon, here for a trip, is worried and tries to reach out to him.
Format: Ficlet (about 1,250 words)
Genre: general, angst
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters: Maglor, Fingon (Maedhros, Feanor and Fingolfin only mentioned)
Worry drove Maglor outside the top floor of the castle keep within his brother's fortress atop the Hill of Himring, though it was far too cold to stay outside for long. Winds whipped about his ankles like angry, biting dogs. Maglor ventured out onto the balcony nevertheless, closing the keep's heavy outer door quietly behind him. His cousin Fingon was visiting him and his brother Maedhros and he did not wish to disturb anyone, nor did he wish the company of others. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
Maglor had gradually lost his ability to compose music, or to listen to it properly without the intrusion of unwelcome thoughts striking down his enjoyment like arrows shot by one's enemies. The constant bombardment of these thoughts was causing him intolerable pain and confusion. He walked over the grey stones leading to the parapet and looked over it to the east. It was still dark but the sun would soon rise. He liked to watch the sunrise as much as possible. It was still a somewhat new thing to see and it sometimes gave him the feeling of peace. Though the night was quiet, a cloudless navy sky housing a myriad of stars, Maglor could divine no inspiration from it. He had always preferred daytime to nighttime, the morning most of all.
The wind was like a whip slashing against his slender frame. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and turned, startled, at a slight sound. His cousin Fingon was approaching him almost noiselessly, seeming to float along the pavement like a ghost.
"Cousin," Fingon said softly, placing a hand on Maglor's shoulder. "May I join you?" His voice was low but melodic. A look of concern furrowed his brow. "Am I disturbing you?"
Maglor wished to say 'yes' but did not. He felt no resentment for Fingon and not wishing to hurt his cousin's feelings, replied, "No, I came out here only to think. However, despite being alone with my thoughts I find this has not helped me at all."
A brief, sad smile flickered across his face and dropping his head, he wept a little.
Fingon lifted the collar of Maglor's cloak tighter around the back of his head and fastened it more securely, drawing the soft, warm fabric closely around his cousin's thin body. Placing a finger under Maglor's chin, he lifted his head, looking at him closely, sympathy emanating from his direct blue gaze.
"Maitimo has told me about your troubles," he offered, using the old name. "I am sorry."
"Have you come to offer me encouragement?" Maglor asked bitterly. Memories flew into his mind of when the three of them were small boys, Maitimo, Findekano and himself, in those happy days called Macalaure, when they still lived at their father's home in Valinor. They had always been great friends, but Maglor became less close to the other two after all the troubles that had befallen them, especially after the imprisonment of Maedhros upon Thangorodrim and his subsequent rescue by Fingon, when it should have been Maglor who went to his brother's aid.
Again, the thoughts plagued and tortured him. Why did he not go? Was the beginning of his long spell of misery a result of those times and the guilt he felt for his part in it all? His thoughts were interrupted by Fingon's voice, low in tone but strong like Fingon himself, always the capable one, never loudly proclaiming his own prowess, always able to perform incredible feats of fearsome bravery as if they were nothing but everyday tasks. Maglor blinked away his tears and listened.
"I want you to know that you are not the only one who suffers from this predicament," Fingon offered, placing a steady hand on Maglor's trembling shoulder. "When it has happened to me - when I have lost the desire to sing or make music - I remember that after the loss of my father it happened - it has been for only a little while. Once you lose a bit of the heaviness of the burden you carry, the desire to compose and to sing will return. Some space within your spirit needs to be freed in order for your music to fill it once more."
"I am not like you, Findekano," Maglor replied, reverting to the old name from his childhood. "I do not have either your courage or your strength. I cannot release my burdens so easily or so quickly as you can."
He hesitated, hung his head and gave a deep sigh. "I should have gone to rescue him. It should have been me who acted so swiftly and with such love in my heart and strength in my spirit. But by the time you had already done the brave deed I was still considering the logistics of performing such a feat, weighing the different outcomes and examining each one. When the others were all making great music about your feats, praising your courage, I felt a fool and a coward for not protecting my brother or coming to his rescue. The truth is, since then I have never forgiven myself."
The dawn broke suddenly and Maglor raised his head to look at the sky. He looked eastward over the jagged tips of the Blue Mountains and saw dawn rising like an angry dragon, all fiery red and gold. Into his thoughts drifted the clash of percussion and brass, the notes swirling in his mind like dragon fire and smoke. Wonder filling his spirit, he turned to the north. There, white-capped mountaintops reached into the still dark sky. He heard the thin wail of a single, lone violin cutting an icy swath through his sudden turmoil of creative inspiration. A smile lit his face and he turned to the west. Green treetops began to show their colour, bathed in the rays of the rising sun.
Fingon, as if aware of what was happening, suddenly embraced him. Maglor let himself shrink within the warmth of his cousin's steely arms. He wept and felt the misery he had carried for years melt away from him like the last of winter's snow being swept away by spring rain. They stood like that awhile, still as ice. The sun suddenly broke into resplendent hues of gold and red, bathing them in its light and warmth. Maglor raised his head.
"I am beginning to see again the beauty the world has to offer," he said, wiping away his tears. "Better, I can hear its music once more, not loudly but the beginning strains of what is to come." He took Fingon's hand in his own. "Cousin, you have helped me beyond measure. I can see now that the only way to deal with the past is to let it go and do whatever I can in the future to put my past wrongs right."
A brilliant smile as beautiful and bright as the dawn lit Fingon's face. "I am happy to hear you say that," he said simply and truthfully.
The cousins embraced once more and stood together watching the sunrise before retiring inside the castle.
maglor_20's prompt: Maglor has stopped playing music, and Fingon, here for a trip, is worried and tries to reach out to him.Format: Ficlet (about 1,250 words)
Genre: general, angst
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Characters: Maglor, Fingon (Maedhros, Feanor and Fingolfin only mentioned)
Worry drove Maglor outside the top floor of the castle keep within his brother's fortress atop the Hill of Himring, though it was far too cold to stay outside for long. Winds whipped about his ankles like angry, biting dogs. Maglor ventured out onto the balcony nevertheless, closing the keep's heavy outer door quietly behind him. His cousin Fingon was visiting him and his brother Maedhros and he did not wish to disturb anyone, nor did he wish the company of others. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
Maglor had gradually lost his ability to compose music, or to listen to it properly without the intrusion of unwelcome thoughts striking down his enjoyment like arrows shot by one's enemies. The constant bombardment of these thoughts was causing him intolerable pain and confusion. He walked over the grey stones leading to the parapet and looked over it to the east. It was still dark but the sun would soon rise. He liked to watch the sunrise as much as possible. It was still a somewhat new thing to see and it sometimes gave him the feeling of peace. Though the night was quiet, a cloudless navy sky housing a myriad of stars, Maglor could divine no inspiration from it. He had always preferred daytime to nighttime, the morning most of all.
The wind was like a whip slashing against his slender frame. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and turned, startled, at a slight sound. His cousin Fingon was approaching him almost noiselessly, seeming to float along the pavement like a ghost.
"Cousin," Fingon said softly, placing a hand on Maglor's shoulder. "May I join you?" His voice was low but melodic. A look of concern furrowed his brow. "Am I disturbing you?"
Maglor wished to say 'yes' but did not. He felt no resentment for Fingon and not wishing to hurt his cousin's feelings, replied, "No, I came out here only to think. However, despite being alone with my thoughts I find this has not helped me at all."
A brief, sad smile flickered across his face and dropping his head, he wept a little.
Fingon lifted the collar of Maglor's cloak tighter around the back of his head and fastened it more securely, drawing the soft, warm fabric closely around his cousin's thin body. Placing a finger under Maglor's chin, he lifted his head, looking at him closely, sympathy emanating from his direct blue gaze.
"Maitimo has told me about your troubles," he offered, using the old name. "I am sorry."
"Have you come to offer me encouragement?" Maglor asked bitterly. Memories flew into his mind of when the three of them were small boys, Maitimo, Findekano and himself, in those happy days called Macalaure, when they still lived at their father's home in Valinor. They had always been great friends, but Maglor became less close to the other two after all the troubles that had befallen them, especially after the imprisonment of Maedhros upon Thangorodrim and his subsequent rescue by Fingon, when it should have been Maglor who went to his brother's aid.
Again, the thoughts plagued and tortured him. Why did he not go? Was the beginning of his long spell of misery a result of those times and the guilt he felt for his part in it all? His thoughts were interrupted by Fingon's voice, low in tone but strong like Fingon himself, always the capable one, never loudly proclaiming his own prowess, always able to perform incredible feats of fearsome bravery as if they were nothing but everyday tasks. Maglor blinked away his tears and listened.
"I want you to know that you are not the only one who suffers from this predicament," Fingon offered, placing a steady hand on Maglor's trembling shoulder. "When it has happened to me - when I have lost the desire to sing or make music - I remember that after the loss of my father it happened - it has been for only a little while. Once you lose a bit of the heaviness of the burden you carry, the desire to compose and to sing will return. Some space within your spirit needs to be freed in order for your music to fill it once more."
"I am not like you, Findekano," Maglor replied, reverting to the old name from his childhood. "I do not have either your courage or your strength. I cannot release my burdens so easily or so quickly as you can."
He hesitated, hung his head and gave a deep sigh. "I should have gone to rescue him. It should have been me who acted so swiftly and with such love in my heart and strength in my spirit. But by the time you had already done the brave deed I was still considering the logistics of performing such a feat, weighing the different outcomes and examining each one. When the others were all making great music about your feats, praising your courage, I felt a fool and a coward for not protecting my brother or coming to his rescue. The truth is, since then I have never forgiven myself."
The dawn broke suddenly and Maglor raised his head to look at the sky. He looked eastward over the jagged tips of the Blue Mountains and saw dawn rising like an angry dragon, all fiery red and gold. Into his thoughts drifted the clash of percussion and brass, the notes swirling in his mind like dragon fire and smoke. Wonder filling his spirit, he turned to the north. There, white-capped mountaintops reached into the still dark sky. He heard the thin wail of a single, lone violin cutting an icy swath through his sudden turmoil of creative inspiration. A smile lit his face and he turned to the west. Green treetops began to show their colour, bathed in the rays of the rising sun.
Fingon, as if aware of what was happening, suddenly embraced him. Maglor let himself shrink within the warmth of his cousin's steely arms. He wept and felt the misery he had carried for years melt away from him like the last of winter's snow being swept away by spring rain. They stood like that awhile, still as ice. The sun suddenly broke into resplendent hues of gold and red, bathing them in its light and warmth. Maglor raised his head.
"I am beginning to see again the beauty the world has to offer," he said, wiping away his tears. "Better, I can hear its music once more, not loudly but the beginning strains of what is to come." He took Fingon's hand in his own. "Cousin, you have helped me beyond measure. I can see now that the only way to deal with the past is to let it go and do whatever I can in the future to put my past wrongs right."
A brilliant smile as beautiful and bright as the dawn lit Fingon's face. "I am happy to hear you say that," he said simply and truthfully.
The cousins embraced once more and stood together watching the sunrise before retiring inside the castle.
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