A Magnificent Instrument by StarSpray

A Magnificent Instrument

Before his first real performance at the court in Tirion, Macalaurë felt jittery—not quite nervous, but not only excited either—and he tried to work out the slight tremor he felt by pacing before the drawing room windows. They looked out over a lush garden, filled with flowers and butterflies of all colors flitting between the blooms.

“Macalaurë.” His father appeared in the doorway, a large package in his hands. Finwë entered a step behind him, looking pleased.

“What is that?” Macalaurë asked as he crossed the room.

“A gift,” said Finwë. “Finished only just in time for tonight.” He and Fëanáro exchanged smiles, slightly rueful—they both liked their works to be as near to perfect as they could make them, and Macalaurë knew well how his father often worked far past set schedules or deadlines. “Open it!” Finwë said.

Macalaurë tugged on the string holding the wrapping together, and it fell away to reveal the most beautiful harp he had ever seen, carved of rosewood, inlaid with silver and white gold, and with small lines of runes carved along the edges. It hummed with power beneath his fingertips, an echo of both his father and his grandfather. “Oh,” he breathed, and reached out to pluck a single string. The note was beautiful, bright and clear.

“Macalaurë?” someone called. “It is nearly time!”

“Go on!” said Finwë, as Fëanáro picked up the harp again, to take it out to the stage.

“Thank you!” Macalaurë said, though the words felt sorely inadequate.

“A magnificent musician needs an instrument to match,” Finwë said, and pressed a kiss to Macalaurë’s temple.

Many years later, after darkness fell, Macalaurë brought out the harp again. A crack ran through it from the top to the bottom, and all of the strings had snapped.