A Rude Awakening by awwyeah107

Maitimo was deeply asleep when a sudden, strange honking noise burst through his dream of walking through the woods. His initial half-dreaming thought was that it was a goose, but there was no goose in sight. It happened again—somewhat more stifled this time, and as his curiosity was stoked, he slowly blinked open his eyes and soon came to the awareness that he had been asleep. Through the closed shutters on his window, he could tell it was rather dark out; Telperion was close to finishing its waning, and the light of Laurelin was yet to start waxing.

He didn’t hear the sound a third time, so it must have just been a bird squawking outside, or he had imagined it. Maybe it really was part of my dream, he thought sleepily. He closed his eyes again, and then stretched out his arms and legs before rolling over and relaxing into a curled up position under his warm blanket.

But once again, he heard that honking sound, a bit shriller than before, and he opened his eyes again, somewhat annoyed. That had to be a bird, and it was definitely close by. He sighed and pulled the blanket up over his head. I hope it goes away soon.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than he heard another honk immediately followed by a steady, low-pitched hum from outside, right below his window.

He froze, because he knew what that sound was. He was too sleepy to recall what, precisely, he had done to upset or frustrate Makalaurë, but that was definitely the drone of a bagpipe.

Immediately, he yanked off his blankets and leapt out of bed, shivering slightly from the sudden cold, and strode across the room to the window. He quickly pulled open the shutters, breath already drawn to yell at his younger brother—just in time to have his eardrums blasted with the piercing sound of out-of-tune high notes from the bagpipe.

He instantly clapped his hands over his ears and screwed up his face as he drew back from the window. “Makalaurë, stop it!” he hollered over the screeching. Makalaurë appeared not to have heard Maitimo over the noise, as he was now holding one singular high note, and in his half-awake state, Maitimo was certain he was going to go insane if he had to listen to it any longer. He took a deep breath in, still holding his ears, and leaned forward to yell out the window: “I’m sorry! Makalaurë, I’m sorry! Please just stop, okay? Please?”

Mercifully, the shrill sound promptly stopped, much to Maitimo’s relief, but then his ears were met with the grating groan of air escaping the drones and chanter as Makalaurë simply released the bag instead of performing a clean cutoff. Maitimo sighed in exasperation and rubbed his eyes with a yawn before looking down at Makalaurë, who had simply taken the pipes off his shoulder and was neatly folding the drones back against the bag.

It was far, far too early for this nonsense.

“Makalau—rë,” he groused, pausing in the middle of his brother’s name to yawn once more, “Why, in the name of all the Valar, did you feel the need to practice the bagpipe right outside my window before Laurelin even started waxing? What did I do this time?” From past experience, Maitimo knew very well that Makalaurë was doing this because he was annoyed with him; it was well-established knowledge amongst all their brothers that if they did something that made Makalaurë suitably upset, he would retaliate by playing his pipes very early outside the offending brother’s window.

(This practice had started after Tyelkormo had once put a handful of worms in Makalaurë’s blankets while he was sleeping. The resulting shriek was loud enough to wake everyone in the house and send Fëanáro and Nerdanel running to their son’s room in alarm, with a worried Maitimo close behind. A morning or two later after the incident, Tyelkormo was abruptly woken up by the dulcet tones of an out-of-tune bagpipe directly outside his window, repeating the same three notes over and over.)

(It was loud enough to awaken others from their slumber when Makalaurë played, but Maitimo figured it was bearable when it wasn’t directly outside his own window, and in any case the noise usually stopped fairly soon. Anybody woken from a bagpipe close by would be most eager to keep the amount of playing to a minimum.)

However, while Maitimo was certain that he had done something to earn this assault on his ears, he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.

“Well, you should know,” Makalaurë said innocently, looking up at his brother. Maitimo mentally prepared himself for a scathing remark about whatever offense he had committed, but Makalaurë’s next words threw him off: “I have a solo competition later next week for my piobaireachd, so I need to tune up and practice.”

“But I…I thought you had a harp recital next week,” Maitimo responded in confusion, trying not to let irritation seep into his voice. He did not feel nearly awake enough for this.

“Yes, the harp recital is on the same day as that debate you scheduled.” Makalaurë tossed his hair, which shone in the now-waxing light of Laurelin, and looked away dramatically before adding in a rather snarky, condescending tone, “And I can have more than one performance a week, you know.”

After a brief moment of consideration, Maitimo decided he was definitely not awake enough to address his brother’s disrespectful tone of voice.

Besides, the real thing Makalaurë seemed to care about was that both of their events were on the same day. It seemed bizarre to Maitimo that his debate at court should interfere with Makalaurë’s recital, though. How are those two things related at all? He stared down at Makalaurë, puzzled. “Why does it matter if they’re on the same…oh.” Suddenly, it clicked: he had promised Makalaurë he would go to the recital, but now he wouldn’t be able to because of the debate. Guilt surged through him, washing away the confusion and grouchiness from the rude awakening. “Makalaurë, I’m terribly sorry. I really didn’t mean to plan the debate for the same time as your harp recital. I…I forgot it was that day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that Makalaurë would forgive him.

His younger brother glanced up at him before turning away with a short huff. “It’s fine. I need to go put my pipes away, they’ll go out of tune in the light.”

It took Maitimo a great deal of self-control to refrain from pointing out that the bagpipe wasn’t in tune in the first place, but he held his tongue as Makalaurë turned away. Maitimo watched him begin to walk around the house, still feeling the helpless sense of guilt in his heart for forgetting about the promise and the recital. This was not at all how he had wanted to start his day.

Then, as his eyes were drawn to the motion of the cords swinging from the drones of the bagpipe, an idea came to him.

“Makalaurë, wait!” he called after his brother.

Makalaurë stopped and turned back to Maitimo with a questioning look on his face.

“I can’t come to your harp recital now, but…” Maitimo took a deep breath, hoping this peace offering could help soothe his brother’s hurt feelings: “Could I come to see you play your piobaireachd?”

Makalaurë’s eyes lit up, yet he tried to keep his voice casual when he replied, “Really? You want to?”

Their parents and brothers—Maitimo included—rarely attended performances or competitions where Makalaurë played the bagpipes. This was for multiple reasons: Makalaurë was much more invested in the stringed instruments he favored, he performed in many more recitals or competitions for those instruments than bagpipes, and not all of his family had an appreciation for the pipes. (Maitimo actually liked the sound of pipes—when they were properly tuned and not waking him up—and so did his mother. His father, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, and the twins largely tolerated them while enjoying a few select tunes. Only Atarinkë had a particular distaste for them, regardless of the time of day or how well-tuned the pipes were.) All of this meant that the family would show up frequently for Makalaurë's harp and lyre and cello performances, but not bagpipes. Although Makalaurë didn’t mind, for he had long since learned the lesson that not everyone liked every instrument they came across, Maitimo knew Makalaurë would greatly appreciate his presence at the competition and enjoy having him there.

“Yes,” Maitimo responded earnestly.

“Alright.” Makalaurë gave him a small smile, and Maitimo knew all was forgiven. Then his brother tilted his head, and Maitimo could see a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, since I need to practice for it, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind me tuning some more—”

“No,” Maitimo interrupted emphatically, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Makalaurë grinned. “Fine. It’ll still happen when you least expect it!” Then, with a laugh, he took off running around the house and disappeared from sight.

Maitimo shook his head again with another yawn, but nonetheless, fondness for his brother welled up inside him. He closed the shutters and turned from the window to his very inviting bed. Maybe, just maybe, he could get a little more sleep before breakfast.

And hopefully, the next time someone was awakened by Makalaurë playing the bagpipe at the break of dawn, it wouldn’t be him.

Chapter End Notes

Here is a video of a guy tuning his pipes that demonstrates pretty well what Maitimo would've heard outside his window :P You only need to listen to a few seconds to get the idea.

All editing done by me. If there are any typos or grammatical errors (or if any bagpipers happen to read this, inaccuracies in bagpipe information!), feel free to let me know!
If you’d like to leave a comment, but you aren’t sure what to say, these posts might help you put some of your thoughts into words: Appreciation without Anxiety: Commenting 101 and 101 Comment Starters.
Thank you for reading!

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