Impromptu Song by Scribe of Mirrormere

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Impromptu Song

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“Is the boy ready, my lady?” Írimë’s singsong voice rang out as she glided up the steps, her feet barely touching the marble. The sight of it brought a smile to Nerdanel, as it always did.

“In a moment,” she called back and turned her attention back to her small son. “Come on, child! You cannot go to school looking like a mess!”

But Makalaurë squirmed away from the wet cloth aiming for his mouth, but Nerdanel held him and washed him to her satisfaction before the tiny elf slipped out from under her, making a beeline for Írimë while carrying the small training harp his father and mother both had made for him.

Írimë scooped him up and twirled in her place, singing out, “We meet again, nephew!” and Makalaurë’s laughter carried out as sweet and golden as harp song.

“I will return him in one piece, promise,” Írimë said, smiling to Nerdanel. Still carrying her nephew, she ran down the steps, and just as they were settled on her horse they were off, the sound of gallops soon distant from where Nerdanel stood and watched.

*

Makalaurë clung to the horse’s mane with one hand, the other arm protectively gripping unto his harp. He had been practicing regularly in hopes of besting Findaráto. His cousin had skill, Makalaurë had to regrettably admit, and it would be a shame if Findaráto became better than him. Not that Makalaurë doubted his own skill, but he knew a threat when he saw one.

“Here we are!” Írimë announced, and Makalaurë nearly toppled off the horse in his haste to get inside. Laughing, his aunt picked him up again and carried him the rest of the way.

“Goodness! I wish some of our other students were just as eager as you!” she said. She called out for the music teacher who appeared momentarily. A very tall Vanya she was, her face thin and eyes a soft blueish grey just as the long dress she wore.

“Ah, you bring in my most prized student!” Elemmírë said. “Thank you, dear wife.”

Makalaurë hopped out of Írimë’s arms just as the two women kissed. He stood and watched them for a moment, recalling to his mind words to describe the scene before him: love, sweet, romantic, soft, golden, light, happiness. He may compose a song about this moment later on. It would make Elemmírë like him all the more, especially if he writes the song before Findaráto does.

“Well, off you go,” Elemmírë said. “Your students have all gotten into their dancing shoes. Makalaurë, you may be pleased to hear your cousin’s here already!”

With a squeak, he rushed into the music room - his music room, as Findaráto wasn’t nearly as talented as he and did not deserve to occupy it before he came in.

A long mane of golden hair caught his eye, and he made for the boy. Findaráto was idly toying with his own small harp, and he looked up with a great grin when he saw Makalaurë approach.

“Cousin! How are you this morning?” he greeted.

“I was late because I was busy composing a new piece,” Makalaurë announced.

“Ooo! What is it about?” Findaráto asked brightly. “I just gave Elemmírë a song I wrote last night about her and our dance teacher.”

Makalaurë’s grip on his harp nearly left a dent. “Oh? Did you? Hope she doesn’t mind, especially since I got her a song about just the very thing last week!”

“You did? Can I hear it?” Findaráto said excitedly.

The words died in Makalaurë’s throat. Idiot, he chastised himself, Findaráto was clearly only doing this because he knew the truth, and he wanted to watch Makalaurë struggle and splutter his way through the music. And it was all his own fault, bragging his way into a corner.

He settled the harp on the floor, his legs wrapped around the base, and glanced up at his cousin, every bit of him tempted to throttle Findaráto with the harp. But rescue came a moment later when Findaráto’s name was called out, and looking behind his shoulder, his eyes lit up.

Jumping to his feet, his arms thrown out, Findaráto cried out, “Ilmotorno Ingalaurion! You made it!”

Makalaurë’s heart, still pounding from his close brush with humiliation, skipped a beat when the young elfling joined them. He was taller than Makalaurë himself and Findaráto and also wider. Though larger than the two boys, his features were the softest, hair a lighter gold than Findaráto. With his cream-and-gold robes and sash he looked very much as a large pillow, and when Findaráto went to embrace him, Makalaurë decided Ilmotorno was indeed a large living pillow.

Findaráto brought him back to where he was sitting before, indicating to Makalaurë just as Ilmotorno settled himself on the ground.

“This is my cousin, Kana-!”

“He may call me Makalaurë,” he interjected.

Findaráto grinned and continued rattling off. “Makalaurë, Ilmotorno! He was just telling me about the song he composed for his teacher!”

“You wrote one too!” Ilmotorno said, just as spirited as Findaráto (Makalaurë wondered if it was something their mothers were feeding them. Or perhaps an effect from the green jewel each wore on their collar, signifying their ties to the House of Arafinwë. His father would be most amused to hear about this.)

“I…I have another song,” Makalaurë said, his eyes unable to leave Ilmotorno. “I just made it up right now.” Perhaps it was a deep thirst for revenge, so close to being one-upped by Findaráto earlier, or there was something about Ilmotorno that just brought the words right out of him.

Without another moment’s hesitation he began his new song. Soon the large room was filled with his voice, which shook slightly, and the occasional note missed or strung too soon by shaking fingers.

He completely missed the look Elemmírë gave him before glancing at one of her assistants and both sniggered at his words. Also he missed the cringes from the other minstrel, Elemmírë’s twin brother, who normally only had good things to say about his music. Or the way Findaráto grimaced through it all. Ignoring everyone and their stares, he sang with all his confidence. So what if there was a mistake here or there? His words alone, clearly so mature for one so young, immobilized them with awe.

When the song at last ended, all was silent for a moment, until Ilmotorno clapped his hands excitedly and cried out, “Excellent! May I hear it again?”

Makalaurë’s eyes widened in disbelief, and grinning, he began the song again.

*

It was far from his cousin’s greatest work, the words slipping out jumbled and not as clearly enunciated as his cousin was so good in doing. Makalaurë was nervous, Findaráto observed, the song far less elegant than anything Findaráto had ever heard from him. But the elf clearly sang from the depths of his heart, and all who listened could see that, though the adults chuckled behind their hands.

It was because of his friend Ilmotorno, Findaráto noticed. A starlight sparked between them, giving Makalaurë abandon in his music. It wasn’t his best, but it was sweet, and resting with his chin on his knees Findaráto watched his two friends with a big smile.