#(also a way to procrastinate trsb)

[thelordofgifs]

Happy Tumblr Milestone Saturday, congrats!!!

If you're up for a fic prompt, any thoughts on Maedhros playing a musical instrument?

Yikes so sorry this took three months to get to! Thank you for the prompt friend <3

-

“I think,” says Maedhros, “I should learn to play the harp.”

Maglor stops what he is doing and stares at him. “Nelyo.”

“What?” Maedhros says mildly. “It is a key part of my own history.”

Maglor’s face twists in distress. He turns his gaze back to his work, organising the little bottles of medicines and salves on the table.

“The fiddle, otherwise,” Maedhros suggests. “Or the flute?”

Maglor makes a small, unhappy sound, quickly stifled. That is not what Maedhros wanted. There were few memories he dared cling to, in Angband, scared that in turning them over too often he would rub away the details, or else that they would be snatched perforce from his mind; but he does remember the clear bright sound of Maglor’s laugh, which rang so often and easily through the streets of Tirion. He has not heard it once since his return.

Hard enough to realise he does not know himself any longer – but to find his little brother a stranger is nigh unbearable.

“I was joking, Káno,” he says. “I know I cannot play with only one hand.”

“Oh,” says Maglor. He smiles bravely, although his eyes are wet. “I knew that.”

“Come and sit,” Maedhros says, and then flinches – it sounds like an order, and what right has he to give orders?

But Maglor sets aside his fidgeting and sits down in the chair next to Maedhros’ bed. He always balances the distance perfectly, close enough for Maedhros to see him without straining his neck, far enough away that the proximity does not frighten him. Today, however, Maedhros wants his brother near. He reaches out to take Maglor’s hand in his.

“I miss you,” he says, and then, “I miss me.”

“I know, Nelyo,” Maglor breathes.

“Shall it never again be as it was?” Maedhros asks.

“I think not,” says Maglor, “and yet—” He swallows. “I am glad that you are back, Nelyo.” His eyes bleed apologies.

“Sometimes,” Maedhros says dreamily, “I think I am still there, and it was only some facsimile of me that Thorondor bore back.” Maglor takes a breath and Maedhros adds, “I know that it is not true. My old self was lost long before Finno came.”

“Nelyo,” Maglor says miserably.

“Now I have upset you,” Maedhros says. Tentatively, he lifts his hand to Maglor’s cheek, and Maglor does not flinch in disgust from his touch. “And I only wanted to make you laugh.”

Maglor smiles wryly. “Laughter is in rather short supply, these days,” he says.

Maedhros has known that to be true for himself. But he did not think—

"Is the world so changed?" he asks. "Are you so changed, dearest?"

Maglor lowers his gaze. He looks rather ashamed.

"I should not have left you," Maedhros murmurs.

Maglor meets his eyes again, startled. "How you can say that!" he says. "When I—"

Maedhros touches his cheek again. "All the same," he says, "it has been hard for you."

"Nelyo, that is absurd," Maglor says. "You cannot possibly blame yourself that I grieved you – and while you were living all the time!" He smiles again, bitterly.

Was I? thinks Maedhros. But aloud he says, "Káno, I – I barely recognise anything of myself. May I not – at the very least – remain your elder brother?"

"You are always that," Maglor says, blinking away his tears.

"Then come here," says Maedhros, and he pulls Maglor into a hug, and does not shudder to feel his body so close; so there is still this. And if Maglor is a stranger to him now he still lays his head on Maedhros' good shoulder as he used to when he was very small, and they sit that way for a while.

It cannot last forever – Maedhros is too weak to sit upright for long. Eventually, Maglor lowers him carefully down onto his pillows and fetches the evening round of medicines, and once again he becomes the carer and Maedhros the patient. He is still very gentle, as he coaxes the bitter concoctions into Maedhros, and changes the dressings on his wrist. So perhaps the world is not so changed.

***

The next morning, Maglor is carrying his harp when he comes into the tent. He looks pensive, but not unhappy, and he smiles to see Maedhros awake.

"Have you come to play for me?" Maedhros asks.

"Yes, if you would like me to," says Maglor; "but first I thought you could try playing it yourself, if you want to."

Maedhros blinks at him. "Káno, I only have one hand."

"I can teach you some simple melodies," says Maglor, and then he looks uncertain. "But we don't have to – if you would rather I played instead—"

"I'd like you to teach me," Maedhros says gently. (That was interrupting – they will punish him for speaking out of turn – no, it is Maglor, it is Maglor who loves him. Maedhros knows that.)

Maglor brings the harp over to the bed and sits down beside it. He reaches for Maedhros’ hand. “May I?” And when Maedhros nods, he places Maedhros’ fingers on the harp, and teaches him the name of each string in turn.

It turns out to be possible to pluck out a simple little melody on the harp, even with Maedhros’ numb and clumsy fingers. Eventually, Maglor stops guiding his hand and accompanies him instead, smiling encouragingly as he does so; and the sound of the music is very sweet. And when Maedhros deliberately botches the tune, moving his fingers quickly across the strings in a rapid, messy glissando, Maglor's laugh is sweeter yet.

[tolkienrsb]

Hello, Tolkien fans!  In today’s Summer Showcase, we have something a little bit different - it’s a fanmix from the wonderful...

2Nienna2

A little bit of info about yourself: I’ve been in fandom for about three years, and I still feel very new. My primary activities are writing fic, writing poetry, and fanmixing, although recently I’ve started making art. Outside of fandom, I’m (training as) an opera singer, and I also volunteer at the zoo and am really passionate about sleep and dreams, especially lucid dreaming. Tolkien has impacted so much of my life. It was really his writings, as well as how I made a hobby of setting his poetry to music, that first got me interested in music in a more serious way. Reading LOTR for the first time at age 13 set off a flurry of thoughts and feelings in me that dramatically changed my beliefs and understanding of myself. I’m sure that can’t all be attributed to Tolkien, as I was also going through puberty, but they are very intertwined for me, and I definitely wouldn’t be having the experience I am today if not for Tolkien.

Where can we find you?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Nienna2

SWG: http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewuser.php?uid=1003

How are you joining in with TRSB20? I am writing, pinch hitting, arting, and treating. Phew! The TRSB is my favorite fandom event and it really made my summer last year, so this year I decided to go all out.

Númenor Playlist

Rating: G

Warnings: CNTW (aka... it’s Númenor. Songs referencing death and destruction, but nothing graphic)

This was my first fanmix, and it’s still one of my favorites. I have pretty much always entertained myself by connecting songs to stories. I had a lot of fun coming up with different aspects of Númenor and finding songs for them (although perhaps a dispraportionate amount of the songs ended up referencing the destruction.) I usually have at least one song in mind before starting on a fanmix, and this was no exception. In this case it was Blinding, which I listened to (along with the rest of the album) immediately after finishing the Akallabêth for the first time in an attempt to comfort myself but which just gave me even more Númenor feelings.

Top creative tips/words of wisdom for fellow participants: I’m a major procrastinator, so for me the biggest thing is forcing myself to actually write. I find it very helpful to set daily word count or time spent writing requirements (depending on whether I am writing online or in a notebook.) This could also be applied to art-ing, although in a bit of a different way. The main idea is just that you set a certain amount (however you measure that) to create every day until it’s done.

For example “I must write 500 words every day before I sleep. It doesn’t have to be “good” words, it just has to be words.” Obviously there are some days where this just can’t happen, and of course it depends on your schedule, but I think setting whatever goals are manageable for you and actually following through on them, not just sporadically but as part of your regular schedule, is extremely valuable (or at least it has been for me.) Relatedly, I find it very helpful in the first draft to freewrite, setting a 10 minute timer and writing nonstop until it goes off. The thing produced may be terrible, but it often isn’t, and even if it is, it often has a kernel of plot ideas or characterizations that end up becoming central.