http://engarian.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
engarian.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
b2mem2017-03-04 05:30 am
engarian.livejournal.com) wrote in b2mem2017-03-04 05:30 am
Battling Philosophies Through Music
B2MeM Prompt and Path:"And the night shall be filled with music…", Red
Format:short story
Genre:friendship
Rating:G
Warnings:None
Characters:Daeron, Mablung, Maglor
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:A great celebration was called, for all elves to join together in feast and companionship to celebrate the 20th year of the sun and forge new bonds of friendship. Among the attendees, two elves from the hidden realm of Doriath. Maglor searches for one of these elves - the famous Lore-Master and Musician to the King: Daeron.
Battling Philosophies Through Music
Fingolfin had spoken and invitations had gone forth. All elves were invited to gather in a Mereth Aderthad, a great feast of celebration. As Maglor wandered through the various encampments, jumping across an occasional puddle of mud or moving aside as the capricious breeze blew scents from the trench latrines, he wondered who was really celebrating, and what they were celebrating. A feast for the 20th year of the sun seemed silly on the one hand, and a good excuse for a parlay on the other. Whatever the reason, he felt it was a lot of preparation for elves who would have little benefit.
He had been hoping to contact the emissary of Elu Thingol. Rumors had reached him that Daeron, the minstrel and Lore Master of the King, had accompanied the representative. Even in his solitude and grief, Maglor had heard of the skills of the musician. He had walked to the fringes of the great encampment to seek him out.
The sun, the reasoned excuse for the gathering, was setting when he spied two small tents and a banner under the eaves of the forest. A small fire burned between them and a single figure seated on the ground was watching the sunset, plucking a lap harp in a desultory manner. Maglor adjusted the harp that was slung across his back and headed toward the encampment.
From the other side of the fire, the musician raised his head. Startling silver-grey eyes met dark brown, both touched by the orange flames between them. Daeron nodded, acknowledging his visitor, and returned to his pastime. Maglor seated himself opposite, pulling his harp across his body into a playing position. As Daeron continued to pluck a melody, he began a counter-point, dancing around the theme with embellishments.
“And is this what you have to offer us, Noldo?” Daeron questioned. “Many words and ideas, feints into multitudes of directions, and obscuring the beauty of a single, perfect note?”
“Nay,” Maglor responded with voice and music. “We offer additional ways of looking at joint problems, possible solutions and ideas, and a strengthening of both the basic melodic and the common tunes.”
The Sindar then picked up his pace, plucking his instrument in unusual harmonics, and Maglor countered, pulling his note combinations into fifths and sevenths. Daeron attached a separate piece to the framework of his instrument, changing the tuning again. This, Maglor was hard pressed to follow, yet follow he did.
Back and forth, the challenges flew between the two master musicians for hours, not ceasing until long after Mablung had returned from the celebration and had, with a disgusted snort, crawled under shelter to sleep. The two harpists had looked at Mablung, covered completely from head to foot by a blanket, and shaking their heads in unison, had returned to their musical discourse.
Shortly before the sun rose, the pre-dawn found the two musicians sitting closely together, their harps suspended from the branches above them. Their fingers were shredded from the playing, yet they still discussed music and politics.
“What material do you use for your strings?” Maglor asked. “And what about your soundboard? What wood is it that you have used in that? You’re getting great depth and resonance.” They were deeply into discussing the merits of gut versus metal strings and heartwood versus fire cured boards when Mablung awakened.
“We leave," he announced. "Now”. He stood and began to kick dirt over the still-warm coals in the fire pit. Maglor looked at Daeron, who shrugged his shoulders and stood smoothly. Maglor wasn’t quite as graceful getting up. Sitting on the cold ground for hours while playing music had made him stiff. He did a few deep knee bends to get comfortable and flexible once more.
“We must go. Mablung has decided and in this I must follow his direction,” said Daeron, fumbling in his bag for something. “Ah, here it is.” He turned to Maglor with a packet in his hand. “Strings for you, my friend. A gift well deserved. They were made from doe tendons spun with the hair of our own Queen Melian. Strings like these you have never used and will never see again outside of my realm.”
Maglor reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small flute of highly polished bone. “I have a gift for you also, Lore-Master and Musician of the King. This bone was a gift to me from Oromë, he who first found the elves on the shores of Lake Cuiviénen. The blue stone is one of several given to me by Lord Manwë. My cousin placed it into the bone as I asked of her, framing it in gold and electrum. I have a mate to this flute. When I play upon it in future I will think of our night together – battling our philosophies through melody.”
The two elves embraced, then separated and took down their harps from the branches. “Travel safely, Daeron. I know not if we will meet again, but this meeting was well done,” Maglor said.
“It is my hope that we will meet again, although my heart speaks of doubt. Nonetheless, it was a night filled with music and friendship and I will remember that for long years to come.” By the time the sun had fully brightened the plain, the two emissaries from Elu Thingol had vanished into the forest, their Mereth Aderthad having come to an end.
Format:short story
Genre:friendship
Rating:G
Warnings:None
Characters:Daeron, Mablung, Maglor
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes:Tolkien provided the sandbox, I merely play with the bucket and shovel he left behind. No profit of any kind is made from my fanworks.
Summary:A great celebration was called, for all elves to join together in feast and companionship to celebrate the 20th year of the sun and forge new bonds of friendship. Among the attendees, two elves from the hidden realm of Doriath. Maglor searches for one of these elves - the famous Lore-Master and Musician to the King: Daeron.
Battling Philosophies Through Music
Fingolfin had spoken and invitations had gone forth. All elves were invited to gather in a Mereth Aderthad, a great feast of celebration. As Maglor wandered through the various encampments, jumping across an occasional puddle of mud or moving aside as the capricious breeze blew scents from the trench latrines, he wondered who was really celebrating, and what they were celebrating. A feast for the 20th year of the sun seemed silly on the one hand, and a good excuse for a parlay on the other. Whatever the reason, he felt it was a lot of preparation for elves who would have little benefit.
He had been hoping to contact the emissary of Elu Thingol. Rumors had reached him that Daeron, the minstrel and Lore Master of the King, had accompanied the representative. Even in his solitude and grief, Maglor had heard of the skills of the musician. He had walked to the fringes of the great encampment to seek him out.
The sun, the reasoned excuse for the gathering, was setting when he spied two small tents and a banner under the eaves of the forest. A small fire burned between them and a single figure seated on the ground was watching the sunset, plucking a lap harp in a desultory manner. Maglor adjusted the harp that was slung across his back and headed toward the encampment.
From the other side of the fire, the musician raised his head. Startling silver-grey eyes met dark brown, both touched by the orange flames between them. Daeron nodded, acknowledging his visitor, and returned to his pastime. Maglor seated himself opposite, pulling his harp across his body into a playing position. As Daeron continued to pluck a melody, he began a counter-point, dancing around the theme with embellishments.
“And is this what you have to offer us, Noldo?” Daeron questioned. “Many words and ideas, feints into multitudes of directions, and obscuring the beauty of a single, perfect note?”
“Nay,” Maglor responded with voice and music. “We offer additional ways of looking at joint problems, possible solutions and ideas, and a strengthening of both the basic melodic and the common tunes.”
The Sindar then picked up his pace, plucking his instrument in unusual harmonics, and Maglor countered, pulling his note combinations into fifths and sevenths. Daeron attached a separate piece to the framework of his instrument, changing the tuning again. This, Maglor was hard pressed to follow, yet follow he did.
Back and forth, the challenges flew between the two master musicians for hours, not ceasing until long after Mablung had returned from the celebration and had, with a disgusted snort, crawled under shelter to sleep. The two harpists had looked at Mablung, covered completely from head to foot by a blanket, and shaking their heads in unison, had returned to their musical discourse.
Shortly before the sun rose, the pre-dawn found the two musicians sitting closely together, their harps suspended from the branches above them. Their fingers were shredded from the playing, yet they still discussed music and politics.
“What material do you use for your strings?” Maglor asked. “And what about your soundboard? What wood is it that you have used in that? You’re getting great depth and resonance.” They were deeply into discussing the merits of gut versus metal strings and heartwood versus fire cured boards when Mablung awakened.
“We leave," he announced. "Now”. He stood and began to kick dirt over the still-warm coals in the fire pit. Maglor looked at Daeron, who shrugged his shoulders and stood smoothly. Maglor wasn’t quite as graceful getting up. Sitting on the cold ground for hours while playing music had made him stiff. He did a few deep knee bends to get comfortable and flexible once more.
“We must go. Mablung has decided and in this I must follow his direction,” said Daeron, fumbling in his bag for something. “Ah, here it is.” He turned to Maglor with a packet in his hand. “Strings for you, my friend. A gift well deserved. They were made from doe tendons spun with the hair of our own Queen Melian. Strings like these you have never used and will never see again outside of my realm.”
Maglor reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small flute of highly polished bone. “I have a gift for you also, Lore-Master and Musician of the King. This bone was a gift to me from Oromë, he who first found the elves on the shores of Lake Cuiviénen. The blue stone is one of several given to me by Lord Manwë. My cousin placed it into the bone as I asked of her, framing it in gold and electrum. I have a mate to this flute. When I play upon it in future I will think of our night together – battling our philosophies through melody.”
The two elves embraced, then separated and took down their harps from the branches. “Travel safely, Daeron. I know not if we will meet again, but this meeting was well done,” Maglor said.
“It is my hope that we will meet again, although my heart speaks of doubt. Nonetheless, it was a night filled with music and friendship and I will remember that for long years to come.” By the time the sun had fully brightened the plain, the two emissaries from Elu Thingol had vanished into the forest, their Mereth Aderthad having come to an end.