Meet Me In The Woods (We'll Make Beautiful Music Together) by cuarthol

Meet Me In The Woods (We'll Make Beautiful Music Together)

Lúthien pulled her cloak around her, woven with spells to shield her passing from all but the most powerful.  Few in Doriath would be able to overcome the enchantment, but she still took care, moving without making a sound despite the large bundle she took with her.

Once she stepped beyond the doors and into the stillness of the forest, she let herself relax.  Her mother’s birds would not betray her, the guards were now far behind.  The shadows embraced her and she melted into them without any hint of fear that so many find in the dark.  They were her old companions, familiar and warm.

Tonight she was the last to arrive, and as she approached the secluded meadow, she heard the deep, reverberant notes coaxed forth by skilled lips, like a great owl, master of the woods.  And there, a little songbird beside him, keeping time with a rhythm of high clicks which whispered of fae delights.

Then there was the clatter, like water rushing over pebbles, bubbling and churning, a hand not so heavy as to drown out the others.  Especially the strong twang of the bow.  As she stepped beyond the edge of the trees she cast off her cloak at last, and her companions brightened to see her.

“You are late,” Daeron chided with a laugh.  “We have long since started without you.”

“You know my father,” she said with a playful sigh.  “But I am come at last!  I hope there is still some music to be had!”

“Of course, my lady,” Mablung said, adjusting his seat to better hold the ridged breastplate.  “We were only warming up, for we have not your great skill.”

“Shameless flatterer,” Beleg said, giving him a little shove.

“It is not flattery to speak the truth,” Nellas said.  “Without you we were sorely lacking.”

“Without any of you we would be lacking,” Lúthien said, giving Nellas a warm hug.  “Our music is not complete without us all.”

She found a comfortable patch of moss and set the copper tub upside down before her.  Daeron rubbed the mouth of his jug clean and Nellas adjusted her spoons.  Then with a few strums on Belthronding to play them in, each found their part of the melody, blending their strange instruments into a wholly unique improv.

Metal tips on Mablung’s fingers danced across the ridged surface of the breastplate, the click-clack of the spoons and the hoo-hoo of the jug catching the highest and lowest notes, and Lúthien, her hands flying across the bottom of the pot, took up a song in words which none of them knew but all of them could feel deep in their being.  A song which tugged at the strands of music which wove all of Arda together, which pulsed in these forests of her mother and girdled them in.

The stars turned slowly overhead, the sole audience to their playing, and the five played on without care or worry - the mystical jug band of Doriath.
 

Chapter End Notes

Luthien on vocals and copper tub
Daeron on jugs
Nellas on spoons
Mablung on (washboard abs?) breastplate
Beleg on Belthronding