song writing: an end to the Noldolantë? by Aprilertuile

---

song writing: an end to the Noldolantë?

---

It was night time, and in the sky the stars were shining bright. The weather was fair, and neither Elrond nor Maglor had bothered with getting so much as a fire going.

Only, at the place he chose to sleep, Elrond was looking at the sky thoughtfully, a half-smile on his face. He couldn’t help it.

Maglor was nearby, sitting with his harp and composing a new song.

Of course, it meant that Elrond was now stuck listening to Maglor playing and singing the same few notes, and same few lyrics over and over, and over again, and again just because, until Maglor was satisfied with whatever is bugging him.

Sometimes, when they had been surrounded by people, listening like this had given him the will to strangle Maglor with his harp’s strings.

But tonight it was… Nice. Bittersweet.

A reminder of simpler days, well, simpler for Elros and him at least, where he hadn’t yet been in charge of saving or not anyone’s life, when he still had Maedhros around, and Elros at his side with the illusion of forever, when Maglor tried to shield them from the realities of war, and Maedhros clung to the pretense he disliked the twins while teaching them how to defend themselves.

“Say, when uncle Nelyo told us where he hid his weapons on his armor…"

"It was just in case he lost his mind and you needed to kill him, or at least be aware enough of where he hid all his weapons to disarm him properly.” Maglor answered absentmindedly, hands never leaving his harp.

Elrond hummed vaguely in answer. It’s what he had thought yes.

And if you wanted honest answers, there was nothing better than to ask Maglor when he was busy with music. Well, if you weren’t afraid of brutally honest answers at least.

“You plan to sleep at some point?”

Only a vague hum answered him, also a new string of notes… That didn’t seem to please Maglor.

That probably meant something along the line of “sleep? What is that?”

A look at his foster father told Elrond the elf was his usual stubborn self, absorbed in his music and that he wasn’t looking tired enough to warrant an intervention.

Elrond closed his eyes, listening quietly, trying to get a sense of the song through the few selected notes and lyrics he heard.

He couldn’t help it and started humming… and Maglor came closer.

“Want to join me, Little Star?"

"Last song I wrote with you ended up being the tragic love story of a frog and a water-lily.”

That had Maglor chuckle in amusement.

“Maedhros liked it you know. Said it was easier to sing than most of my own."

"Well, obviously it was easier. I’m not that experienced in song writing." Elrond answered amused.

"Also Elros was sure it was an allegory you threw at him for his love for that girl."

"Elros also was failing strongly to remember the name of the girl in question, so I somewhat doubt you can call that love. “Oh how I love that person over there, not the one with the brown dress, the other, yes, that one. Talking to her? Me? I couldn’t!!!!” Elrond said, mocking something his brother clearly told him once.

That had Maglor chuckle slightly. Both boys had been dramatic with their first crushes. It had certainly been a source of entertainment for Maglor at the time.

“Well you can’t get better at anything if you don’t practice. So here, come and help me.”

Elrond hesitated to remind him that he was a healer, thank you very much, and not a minstrel but… Oh well.

With a half smile, Elrond sat back up, closer to Maglor, to the point of sitting close enough to feel the warmth from his body.

“Be honest, that’s revenge for interrupting you, isn’t it?"

"My dear, revenge is the national sport of the Noldor, get used to it. What do you think of that?”

Elrond snorted in amusement and just listened to what Maglor had come up with, up to the point he was stuck with.

“I think that you want it to be a happy thing but you resent it too much for it to work.”

That had Maglor frown.

“Well… Yes. It’s mostly happy, but there’s no happy ending in this world. Look at us. Maedhros died. We learnt that there’s still one Silmaril out of our reach, your brother chose mortality, we had to commit a fourth kinslaying, Galadriel is still exiled, not even counting me because at this point… Those saved from Thangorodrim… Well, might or not survive despite having had a taste of freedom and yet how many didn’t even get that chance? The losses over the years were terrible and those who came from Valinor don’t tell people news of others they might know, so the fates of those who died is still something unknown."

"So don’t write it as a happy song."

"Yet it’s a victory, isn’t it?! People are happy. Morgoth is gone finally! Something we’ve worked for centuries! And I’m pretty sure everyone in the Valar’s camp is celebrating it.”

Stubborn, thy name is Feanorian.

“I worked for years to become a healer. I’m still learning, there’s always something new to learn. But I reached a point where I was on my own as a trained healer during the war. It’s good. I’m happy about it. And yet I have in my mind the people I couldn’t save. The people I DECIDED I couldn’t save. The people that I didn’t have so much as the energy to look at… Is that a happy thing, atto?"

"That’s… Different."

"Not, it’s not. Reaching a goal, succeeding in something, isn’t the same as being happy about everything that surrounds it. And you know it.”

Maglor harrumphed at that, clearly unhappy at the prospect.

“Besides, the Noldolantë was never about happiness was it? Many Noldor are happy Morgoth’s gone, but all of us feel conflicted about something, even if probably no one is as conflicted about how things turned out as you are. If nothing else, even those rare ones who lost no one recently, at least lost their homes and face starting over with nothing, or sailing and abandoning everything they ever knew or had."

"True but… I was hoping… After everything… Give it a nice ending…"

"But the story is never ending. There’s still a Silmaril out there, still danger. People will still die because of orcs and wargs and… probably other creatures or things that someone somewhere will unearth that should have stayed lost to time."

"Let the song be what it is honestly, hm?"

"You’re the one who taught me that. You’re the one who created the Noldolantë like that. So stop trying to force yourself to view this victory as an event of perfect happiness, and write this song properly like you taught me.”

Maglor sighed at that.

“Besides, the Noldolantë is a lament of the Noldor isn’t it. Well, the Noldor are still here, so… Don’t write the end of the story too soon, will you.”

The absent air Elrond said that with had Maglor look at him quietly a moment.

“Duly noted. But it might be difficult to write the lament of the Noldor if I’m always away because I’ve been exiled.”

The answering smile had Maglor sigh. Elrond could be as stubborn as anyone in the family, better to let it go.

Also this song was going nowhere fast anyway, better to scrap it, and start anew.

Maglor ended up leaning against Elrond, playing over and over, bits and pieces, lyrics coming and being adopted or scrapped, Elrond scribbling madly on a parchment at his side, arguing about lyrics mainly.

Whoever invented Quenya needed to be shot full of arrow and thrown in an active volcano for good measure. Or at least that was Elrond’s opinion by the end of the night. Or perhaps it was minstrels that should be shot dead… Or something…

Healing was easier, better and made more sense!!!