That Bard from Doriath by Flora-lass

That Bard from Doriath (or: Maglor is in a bad mood)

On a sunny day, Maglor and Finrod plan a musical picnic. Fingon turns up part way through, to form a trio.

‘Finally!’ says Maglor, irritably.

‘That bard from Doriath isn't coming,’ Fingon says, ignoring him and grabbing a sandwich. ‘I think his hand hurts. Too much writing, probably!’

‘That's good,’ says Maglor. ‘I don't want a rival.’

‘Oh no, that's sad!’ says Finrod, kind as always. ‘I'm sorry for it. You should want to play with him, not wish him harm!’

‘And his writing is so, so good,’’ says Fingon, trying to wind Maglor up. It works.

‘Not half as good as my Dad's!’ snaps Maglor, who is almost painfully loyal to his family.

‘Calm down, it's only a bit of fun,’ Finrod laughs. ‘What's making you so grumpy?’

‘Sorry,’ Maglor sighs. ‘I had a rough night. Lots on my mind. And it's too hot!’

‘Oh, bad luck,’ says Finrod, passing him a drink. ‘What's Russandol doing today?’

Maglor is glad to switch topic. ‘Out hunting with our twins. But tomorrow I'm going with him to look for Silmarils.’

‘You could always go swimming too, or fishing,’ says Fingon, thoughtfully. ‘Just watch out for that chasm on your way.’

‘I will,’ Maglor says, ‘But I don't know about him. Always rushing into things…’

‘I don't think you should go,’ says Finrod, looking anxious. ‘But I want to sing now! You accompany us to start with, Maglor, and Fingon or I will play in turn.’

‘Don't worry, young ‘un, I was joking,’ says Maglor, stroking his harp strings and producing a soothing sound. ‘Nothing will go wrong. Upon my Oath!’