I remember it well/The first time that I saw/Your head round the door/Cos mine stopped working.
*having spoken to Yavanna, remains in the library*
*wanders aimlessly between the rows of books*
*dwells on the past*
He had thought he was alone in the room until the King’s voice sounded just behind him.
“I did not know you had also mastered the harpsichord.”
Maglor jumped up guiltily. “I’m sorry, aranya, I was just walking past and the door was ajar. I couldn’t resist…”
“Do not fret, Macalaurë,” said Ingwë gently. “You are free to enter the music room whenever you wish.”
Maglor murmured his thanks, although his cheeks were still a little flushed from the unexpected interruption.
“Please continue,” urged the High King. “I daresay this room does not get enough use.”
He sat down on the duet stool and pulled Maglor down alongside him. “Now, what were you playing?”
The young Elf flushed scarlet and murmured something seemingly unintelligible. Ingwë just smiled. “One of your own compositions? Is it one you have been working on for long or are you improvising?”
“Improvising,” replied Maglor quietly. He had a strange expression on his face as if he could not quite believe that anyone, much less the king would display an interest in his music.
“Incredible,” murmured Ingwë as he tucked some of Maglor’s hair behind his ear. “Will you play for me?”
Maglor nodded and stared at the harpsichord keys for a while. “It won’t be the same… piece,” he said falteringly. “I do not know if I could reproduce it; if I tried, it would be different…” He tried to explain but Ingwë simply nodded.
“I understand. The mood has changed so the music has changed. Ai, I should not have disturbed you. I do apologise.”
“Oh, no, aranya!” said Maglor before biting his lip, embarrassed by his outburst. “I mean to say,” he continued in more restrained tones, “I like having you here.” Then he realised that that wasn’t quite what he meant to say or, rather, it was exactly what he meant to say although he didn’t wish to admit it.
“Why don’t you play?” encouraged Ingwë again, thinking that it might soothe the younger Elf and take his own mind off the thoughts that were filling his head.
“Yes, aranya.” Maglor bowed his head, evidently mortified by what he had just said, and began to play one-handed, as if feeling for inspiration from the ivory keys themselves. What emerged was a pure and simple melody, unaffected and untouched. Having played a few bars, the Noldo seemed to relax and began to harmonise, using both hands now. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, moving almost imperceptibly, and a stronger tune filled the room, bold and daring.
He gasped when he heard an accompanying tune, an octave higher that seemed to both compete with, and submit to, his own theme. There was something teasing in that melody and he opened his eyes to see that Ingwë had moved from attentive audience to able accompanist. He smiled at the King, who smiled back, his eyes lingering on Maglor’s mouth.
Maglor automatically bit his lower lip, quite bewildered by the King’s attention and the music took on a more frantic nature, rising to a querying crescendo before dropping away dramatically. Ingwë’s tune continued as a solo for the length of time it took Maglor to react to the touch of the King’s lips on his. Breathlessly, not taking his eyes off the King’s face, Maglor tentatively picked up the tune, a stunned staccato played in time to the rapid beat of his heart. When Ingwë kissed him again, Maglor did not falter but continued his improvisation, which had slowed to a wistful waltz.
Ingwë drew back and Maglor looked at him, feeling strangely removed from the situation. His fingers were passing almost dreamily over the harpsichord keys and it felt as though he had little control over the music that filled his mind. Note followed note, bar followed bar, and still they played a teasing duet, punctuated by kisses and curious gazes.
A mournful air crept into Maglor’s music almost before he was aware that Ingwë had ceased playing. He met the King’s eyes and knew that his face must display his inner desire. Boldly, Maglor allowed one hand to drop to the King’s leg yet still he continued playing. With a smile, Ingwë clasped Maglor’s hand and kissed the fingertips before he slid from the stool.
Afterwards, Maglor simply could not say how he had managed to carry on playing that harpsichord. As Ingwë unlaced the younger Elf’s breeches, Maglor kept playing. The music became scattered with quivering semi-quavers when Ingwë’s fingers made contact with Maglor’s heated flesh.
Maglor was dimly aware that soft moans were escaping his parted lips and he simply forgot to breathe when he felt Ingwë’s lips encircle him. He did not know if the melody of the harpsichord bore any relation to the overwhelming upsurge of music in his mind. His body slumped forward, black hair trailing down over Ingwë’s shoulders before he threw his head back. Unable to contain himself, he cried out loudly and his fingers froze on the keys, producing a cacophony of discordant notes.
Then silence fell, save for his own rapid breathing and the flurry of his heart. Ingwë looked up at him and smiled.
“Encore?” he whispered.
*previously posted by me
[munnish edit: What you are about to see is not taking place in the present -- just a little case of history repeating. Ah, the joy of flashbacks! ]
[edit #2: Um. Smut.]
*wanders aimlessly between the rows of books*
*dwells on the past*
He had thought he was alone in the room until the King’s voice sounded just behind him.
“I did not know you had also mastered the harpsichord.”
Maglor jumped up guiltily. “I’m sorry, aranya, I was just walking past and the door was ajar. I couldn’t resist…”
“Do not fret, Macalaurë,” said Ingwë gently. “You are free to enter the music room whenever you wish.”
Maglor murmured his thanks, although his cheeks were still a little flushed from the unexpected interruption.
“Please continue,” urged the High King. “I daresay this room does not get enough use.”
He sat down on the duet stool and pulled Maglor down alongside him. “Now, what were you playing?”
The young Elf flushed scarlet and murmured something seemingly unintelligible. Ingwë just smiled. “One of your own compositions? Is it one you have been working on for long or are you improvising?”
“Improvising,” replied Maglor quietly. He had a strange expression on his face as if he could not quite believe that anyone, much less the king would display an interest in his music.
“Incredible,” murmured Ingwë as he tucked some of Maglor’s hair behind his ear. “Will you play for me?”
Maglor nodded and stared at the harpsichord keys for a while. “It won’t be the same… piece,” he said falteringly. “I do not know if I could reproduce it; if I tried, it would be different…” He tried to explain but Ingwë simply nodded.
“I understand. The mood has changed so the music has changed. Ai, I should not have disturbed you. I do apologise.”
“Oh, no, aranya!” said Maglor before biting his lip, embarrassed by his outburst. “I mean to say,” he continued in more restrained tones, “I like having you here.” Then he realised that that wasn’t quite what he meant to say or, rather, it was exactly what he meant to say although he didn’t wish to admit it.
“Why don’t you play?” encouraged Ingwë again, thinking that it might soothe the younger Elf and take his own mind off the thoughts that were filling his head.
“Yes, aranya.” Maglor bowed his head, evidently mortified by what he had just said, and began to play one-handed, as if feeling for inspiration from the ivory keys themselves. What emerged was a pure and simple melody, unaffected and untouched. Having played a few bars, the Noldo seemed to relax and began to harmonise, using both hands now. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, moving almost imperceptibly, and a stronger tune filled the room, bold and daring.
He gasped when he heard an accompanying tune, an octave higher that seemed to both compete with, and submit to, his own theme. There was something teasing in that melody and he opened his eyes to see that Ingwë had moved from attentive audience to able accompanist. He smiled at the King, who smiled back, his eyes lingering on Maglor’s mouth.
Maglor automatically bit his lower lip, quite bewildered by the King’s attention and the music took on a more frantic nature, rising to a querying crescendo before dropping away dramatically. Ingwë’s tune continued as a solo for the length of time it took Maglor to react to the touch of the King’s lips on his. Breathlessly, not taking his eyes off the King’s face, Maglor tentatively picked up the tune, a stunned staccato played in time to the rapid beat of his heart. When Ingwë kissed him again, Maglor did not falter but continued his improvisation, which had slowed to a wistful waltz.
Ingwë drew back and Maglor looked at him, feeling strangely removed from the situation. His fingers were passing almost dreamily over the harpsichord keys and it felt as though he had little control over the music that filled his mind. Note followed note, bar followed bar, and still they played a teasing duet, punctuated by kisses and curious gazes.
A mournful air crept into Maglor’s music almost before he was aware that Ingwë had ceased playing. He met the King’s eyes and knew that his face must display his inner desire. Boldly, Maglor allowed one hand to drop to the King’s leg yet still he continued playing. With a smile, Ingwë clasped Maglor’s hand and kissed the fingertips before he slid from the stool.
Afterwards, Maglor simply could not say how he had managed to carry on playing that harpsichord. As Ingwë unlaced the younger Elf’s breeches, Maglor kept playing. The music became scattered with quivering semi-quavers when Ingwë’s fingers made contact with Maglor’s heated flesh.
Maglor was dimly aware that soft moans were escaping his parted lips and he simply forgot to breathe when he felt Ingwë’s lips encircle him. He did not know if the melody of the harpsichord bore any relation to the overwhelming upsurge of music in his mind. His body slumped forward, black hair trailing down over Ingwë’s shoulders before he threw his head back. Unable to contain himself, he cried out loudly and his fingers froze on the keys, producing a cacophony of discordant notes.
Then silence fell, save for his own rapid breathing and the flurry of his heart. Ingwë looked up at him and smiled.
“Encore?” he whispered.
*previously posted by me
[munnish edit: What you are about to see is not taking place in the present -- just a little case of history repeating. Ah, the joy of flashbacks! ]
[edit #2: Um. Smut.]