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He hadn’t played since Sirion. He’d taken his harp out to the woods a few times, but no music had come.
Perhaps this time, what made the difference was that Maedhros had spotted him, and a hint of relief appeared in his expression.
He wasn’t coming to end the silence by filling it with music. That wasn’t how it worked any more. Complex music brought silence to the other parts of his mind.
These boys aren’t Ambarussa.
It was out of tune. Listening intently, he tightened the strings by fractions, until it was perfect. A scale, up and down.
They won’t change anything. It won’t bring anyone back to life.
He had just the composition – so detailed and intricate, it was almost mathematical. It would take all his skill, without allowing him to get carried away.
Because even music isn’t entirely working any more – even music can’t completely bring you silence.
Counting carefully, he began. Although it had been a few months, his hands would never forget. The most ingenious part of this composition, was that it was almost physically impossible to keep up the multiple notes and changing rhythm for as long as the song lasted. He had to keep stopping, repeating, thinking, and he didn’t have to feel it too much. A mistake reminded him of another melody, so he tried to remember it. Not all of it would come to his mind, so he improvised. Then he revised the whole thing, because his idea was better. With a change of key, and slowing it a little, this-
He started as he saw a figure on the edge of his vision, hand straying to the knife in his boot. But the figure was tiny.
‘Elrond,’ he said, in surprise.
The boy didn’t reply. While his presence was surprising, his silence wasn’t. Elrond hadn’t said a word since they’d found him over three months ago. At least…Maglor hadn’t heard him say anything. He had a feeling he spoke to Elros. Possibly it was more of a hope than a real feeling.
They were still within sight of the camp through the trees – probably he’d heard the music. And probably he’d wander off again in a moment. ‘Don’t wander far, alright?’ said Maglor. ‘It’s not safe.’
He knows that. We taught him that.
Now I was finding an appropriate key for-
He’ll probably never believe he’s safe here, either. He’s not stupid.
Maglor took a breath, and let it out. He touched the strings, and began to play the first thing that came from his hands. It sounded wrong – too fast, angry, injured and dying. He carried on anyway, and as soon as the song finished, bridged it into another. Then he started to improvise freely, which was dangerous, because he didn’t trust himself at the moment.
He hadn’t been able to play anything at the funeral of Ambarussa.
Discord. He ploughed on, but it carried and soured the next few notes. He tried to ignore it, but it stuck in his mind, and the music changed. Once he wrote songs that spoke his heart, but now he didn’t dare. Letting the notes trail, he stopped.
And then he heard it. He looked up to see the small boy in tears. Not as a child who’s hurt their knee, or like the angry screaming that regularly came from Elros. The boy stared into nothingness, eyes unblinking - he took convulsive gasps of air, his small arms wrapped around his chest.
‘Elrond – Elrond! Come here,’ said Maglor. ‘Elrond, look at me. You’re safe, nobody’s going to hurt you.’ He’d said it often, but Elrond wouldn’t – didn’t seem to be able to stop. Maglor stood up and took a step towards him, then hesitated. He doesn’t want me to comfort him.
In the end it wasn’t for Elrond’s sake that he went and took the boy in his arms. To keep watching him suffering and do nothing would be to lose the very last of his grip on who he was. For himself as much as Elrond, Maglor rocked him gently, stroking his hair.
‘You’re safe. It’s alright to cry,’ he told the boy. ‘I won’t tell you to stop. You cry as long as you need to. But you’re safe.’
*****
He carried the boy in, and Elros leapt up. As he saw his brother crying, Maglor found he suddenly couldn’t meet the boy’s eyes. They were full of helpless heartbreak, an expression far too old for a child of six.
He set Elrond down carefully, and he went straight to his brother. They clung onto each other, and somehow now it wasn’t clear who was trying to comfort who.
Elros shot Maglor a look of impotent rage. ‘What did you do?’ he demanded.
Elrond shook his head, and Elros sagged, tears spilling out of his eyes.
Maglor backed out of the tent.
*****
‘So you just left them there?’ Maedhros asked.
‘What should I have done? How could I have made it better?’ Maglor demanded.
Maedhros didn’t reply. Maglor looked back at his harp, which he’d retrieved from the woods. He’d learned it didn’t matter how much you wanted to save someone. Most of the time, you couldn’t. Most of the time, life is like being pulled along by a cruel current. Most of the time. Some of the time other things are cruel. Can’t blame the current.
It took him a long time to voice it. ‘There’s Balar,’ he said.
Maedhros looked at him.
‘We could have someone send them to Círdan.’
His brother didn’t remind him that this had been his suggestion at the start – because he didn’t need to. Back then, Maglor wasn’t sure why he’d opposed it. Confusion. Because he wanted to see the boys live, because something had to. Trying to prove something, maybe.
He still did. But if they were suffering, how could he keep them here? If they kept them, or sent them away, either would prove that the sons of Fëanor can’t have any fellowship with innocence-
The tent flap moved, and two small boys came in, hand in hand.
Maglor and Maedhros just stared. Elros straightened himself up, and looked at Maglor.
‘Elrond says you play the best music in the world.’
Maglor blinked. He looked at the boy in disbelief, and was even more surprised to find Elrond staring straight back, meeting his eyes.
‘Elrond’s right,’ said Maedhros, softly.
‘Can you play some now?’ Elros asked.
‘Yes,’ said Maglor, before he’d really thought about it.
Elros sat down beside him, pulling his brother down as well, and both looked at the harp expectantly.
Maglor broke the silence. By the end of the third song, Elros had leant his head against Maglor’s knee.
He’d seen too much to exactly hope, or believe something good could come from this. But he knew they wouldn’t send the boys to Balar just yet.