Silmarillion fic -- Composition

[artaxastra]

Another story with Maglor in the Third Age -- this follows Forsaken by about 200 years.

Comments

[lferion]

I could hear the music. The rain and fire-crackle and the caught-breath attention of the listeners.

No matter what else he may be or do, Maglor is a Bard in the fullest and oldest sense of the word.

[artaxastra]

Thank you! I'm glad the music worked. That was my experiment, to try to render it in a different medium, what it might be like to hear Maglor play and what that kind of creativity feels like.

He is indeed a Bard in the fullest and oldest sense. I think that's the thing he can't give up, even when he's lost his name. He can't leave his music. And he can't leave performing. Even with every Elven court closed to him, there are the towns of Men and he needs an audience like breathing.

[dbalthasar]

Oh. Oh, lovely! The two themes falling into place - and, yes, what other answer can there be?

[artaxastra]

I'm so glad you like it! Two themes, yes, gold and ruby. Maglor's art is his feelings, the only way he can find them. But the woman of Rhovanion understands quite clearly.

[paratti]

Wibble.

[artaxastra]

I'm so happy you like it! Dear Maglor. He's a mess.

[ralucam]

this is so gorgeous

[artaxastra]

Thank you! I'm so glad you like it.