The Dance of Flute and Harp by Amaranth

The Dance of Flute and Harp

Peerless. A myriad of sparkling gems on a canopy of dark velvet. All were beautiful beyond compare, yet one stood out, a piece of art unmatched in its beauty and brilliance by the others. Clad in naught but Ithil’s translucent, silvery sheen with beads of water adorning the pale skin like pearls, the figure watching the night sky sprawled on a boulder by the sea could have been a fine piece of art himself. A statue, quiet and motionless; yet beneath the surface raged a never ceasing storm. Grief. Loss. Love. Hate. Shame. Loneliness.

With a deep sigh, Maglor tore his eyes from the sky and slowly rose to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs. The soft spring breeze had dried his skin and hair after his bath while he had been lost in observing the night sky. Bright Eärendil, with the Silmaril on his brow steering Vingilot across the sky; a sight that never failed to mesmerize Maglor. It soothed him momentarily, before his fragile inner peace was washed away by a flood of tormenting memories. Yet this night was different, it almost seemed as if the stars shone brighter; casting a sublime sense of peace and harmony upon their witness.

Maglor felt as if something magical was seeping into his very core; a soothing balm applied to an inner wound, yet at the same time invigorating as a sweet, sparkling wine. The sensation hung in the air like an inaudible melody, making Maglor long to catch it in song; to remember this moment and let it soothe him whenever his torment grew unbearable. Picking up the securely wrapped leather bundle containing his harp from atop the pile of his clothes, Maglor seated himself on the boulder again and carefully unwrapped the instrument. He was about to pluck the first notes, but then halted his movement and listened.

He thought he heard something; a faint sound that stood out against the steady rolling and lapping of waves against the rocky shore. Maglor waited, but could hear naught out of the ordinary. Yet when he was about to turn his attention back to his harp, the shifting breeze carried the soft strains of a melody to his ears; light like the piping of a bird. Listening more intently, Maglor realized the faint music conveyed the strangeness he had sensed to perfection. It drew him, enchanted him, and Maglor followed; harp clutched tightly to his chest while his clothes remained forgotten on the ground.

*~*~*~*

It did not take Maglor long to find the source of the entrancing play. As soon as he left the small, sheltered bay and rounded the foot of the steep cliff that rose up at one side, the rocks opened up to a flat, stony shore and a strip of lush grass lightly scattered with boulders. Between the boulders danced a pale figure, appearing almost ghostly in Ithil’s soft light; slender fingers coaxing a hauntingly beautiful melody from a silver flute. The mysterious flutist seemed oblivious of his presence, so Maglor ducked into the shadows of the boulders; sneaking closer to get a better view.

Like Maglor, the flutist was naked; alabaster skin defining a well shaped, yet lithe male body. His eyes were closed, while slender limbs moved in a graceful, flowing dance which made him seem to float; feet barely touching the ground. Knee-length hair, silver-white as if kissed by winter frost, drifted with his movements as he swayed and spun with the rhythm; delicately pointed ears peeking through the curtain of palest silver. An elf; youthful it seemed, judging by how small and lithe his frame appeared; yet the complexity and depth of his music spoke of the knowledge of ages.

Silently, Maglor seated himself on a boulder overshadowed by the nearby hillside; curiously observing. The other was completely captivated by his own play, the youthful features relaxed as his mind seemed to travel times and places long past; a state with which Maglor was utterly familiar, yet rarely beheld as an onlooker. Someone of like mind and skill, yet so very different and unique, Maglor thought with a sympathetic smile, whilst deep within his heart arose a painful yearning to join the other minstrel with his harp. The time his music had last resounded in duet seemed too far to remember; he had not met any of his kin in centuries; nor shared his music.

Closing his eyes, Maglor focussed on the music; his fingers ghosting across the strings of his harp soundlessly as he sought the pattern of the melody. Vivid, heartrending images formed in Maglor’s mind, transforming into distinct strings of notes which soon grew as familiar as one of his own songs. He understood; his mind locked upon the same path as his fellow musician. Maglor finally joined the other’s play, his fingers plucking the notes of their own accord; weaving a harmonic counterpart.

Maglor floated upon a wave of pure rapture, yet it lasted mere moments before the flute play suddenly ceased and he was met with cold silence. He felt the weight of the other’s gaze upon him, nevertheless Maglor startled when he opened his eyes to meet those of the flutist. The eyes staring at him where intensely dark in contrast to the elf’s pale complexion, seeming to penetrate Maglor’s very being; sensing his vulnerability, yet in return, neither eyes nor face betrayed the slightest hint of emotion.

Their lengthy silence felt almost choking to Maglor; although there was no indication the other knew who he was, or his thoughts. He was accustomed to being met with scorn and hatred by his kin, but the passiveness of the elf made Maglor uncomfortable. He was about to speak when the other slowly lifted his flute back to his lips, and even though the elf’s features remained impassive, the melody left no doubt that Maglor’s identity had been revealed. Each note stung sharp and biting like a whiplash; baring the full depth of loathing the flutist felt at meeting a kinslayer face-to-face.

Accentuated by the aggressiveness of his accompanying dance, no spoken words could have conveyed the elf’s sentiment more clearly. No one had ever expressed his feelings more vividly to Maglor. The raw emotions tore at his soul, casting his eternal regret and self loathing to new depths. The sheer force of the outburst rendered Maglor breathless, and when the last note faded and the flutist resumed his motionless, impassive posture, Maglor’s heart was racing.

The stranger stared at him; though his eyes were as unreadable as before, a challenge had been issued; calling Maglor to answer in equal measure. With shaking hands, he repositioned the harp; taking a moment to collect his raging thoughts. Always had he expressed his emotions in song, even more so since he had been condemned to the life of a lonely wanderer; only rarely baring his soul before any other. He had nothing to lose; yet strangely, Maglor dreaded this elf’s judgment more than that of the Valar.

Taking a deep breath, Maglor closed his eyes and plucked the first notes; his mind travelling back to the day he had spoken the dreadful oath which sealed his doom. His play told of bloodshed, violence, despair and loss, yet also of love and loyalty. The melody rose and fell as had the realms, the notes speaking of kings and heroes; evoking scenes of valiant deeds, yet also loathsome crimes. Maglor poured out his heart without censure; never did he palliate the shameful crimes of the House of Fëanor nor his own part in them; passing merciless judgment upon himself.

Maglor felt tears streaming down his cheeks, yet he was not ashamed of them. His pain wept from him with every note until the violent storm calmed to a low, steady expression of grief. He mourned the loved ones he had lost, every innocent life his own hands had taken, every soul who had fallen in the wake of the oath, his own terrible loneliness; a grief mirrored by the soft sound of the flute rejoining his play.

*~*~*~*

Lowering his harp, Maglor slowly met the flutist’s gaze; startled to see traces of tears on his opponent’s cheeks. The elf’s expression was still guarded, yet Maglor thought he glimpsed a slight uncertainty there. Long moments passed in silence as Maglor waited patiently for the elf to consider his next move. Then, the flutist tentatively began weaving a new melody, gentle and soothing; resonating with invitation, one Maglor longingly accepted.

Gracefully, the flute and harp melted into one haunting melody. Slowly at first, the music and the flutist’s soft, swaying dance became as a caress to Maglor; soothing pain and loneliness with gentle warmth, evoking a peace he had not known in years, yet had ever yearned for. He soaked up the sensation like a starving man, even knowing it ephemeral. The other’s rhythm and dance quickened; drawing Maglor into a world beyond worry and regret.

Flute and harp floated together until suddenly the flute play grew more insistent and dominant, straying from their unison. Curious, Maglor let his own play ebb away, allowing his companion free reign. With the hint of a smile, the flutist broke into a breathtaking solo; his music swelling from light breeze to untamed storm; his slender body swaying and bending to the melody. Maglor was mesmerized, a prickling thrill of anticipation washed over him and when the flutist’s performance calmed, he answered with his own passionate solo.

Testing and teasing each other in a unique and complex interplay of harmonic duets and provocative solos, each sequence exceed the previous; their play growing ever more wild and demanding. Maglor’s body ceased to exist, becoming one with the music, spiralling toward an unknown peak until he thought he would be torn asunder. A sharp, sudden pain ripped a startled moan from him, pulled his mind back to the confines of his body as his harp dropped to the ground.

Maglor stood panting, painfully aroused; a dull ache pulsing through his finger where the broken harp string had cut deeply into his flesh. The flutist had ceased playing as well, his chest heaving and equally aroused. They gazed at one another and Maglor knew the raw need he saw in the elf’s eyes mirrored his own. Desire licked across his skin like flame, the roaring of blood in his ears drowning out the rolling of the sea; and then the flutist’s slender body rushed into his welcoming embrace; soft, warm lips descending to his own.

Sinking down to the grass, questioning hands, lips and tongues explored; teasing and caressing every patch of skin they encountered. A new melody rose into the night, a sensual duet of wanton moans and cries of passion, beautiful and intense. Heated bodies moved in a feral dance, melted into each other and became one until exhaustion claimed them and the first light of morning illuminated the entangled shapes of two elves lost in peaceful slumber.

*~*~*~*

Maglor awoke still curled on the grass, his harp resting in his arms. Confused, he sat up; recalling the events of the night. He was alone. The mysterious flutist had gone, evoking a deep sense of loss within Maglor. They had shared so much, yet the elf had left without a word of farewell. Maglor did not even know his name. Searching his surroundings carefully, Maglor found no trace indicating the elf had been there at all.

Could it have been a dream? A trick his mind had played, caused by his constant loneliness and despair? And yet, the elf’s scent clung to his skin; he could still taste him.

Sighing, Maglor returned to his camp. Truth or dream, it did not matter; always it would be a cherished memory held against the darkness.