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Maglor (Kanafinwë Makalaurë) | The Silmarillion (makalaure) wrote in thedoorway,

The Music of the trees had led him here, to this oasis in the middle of this clashing, clanging place. He could still hear the harsh discord all around him, but here at least the trees and their voices gave him something real and tangible to hold onto. Something he understood. Arriving here had been painful beyond measure, and he had truly thought that somehow he had died, although he could not understand how. But the Men with the strange weapons had told him otherwise...and they had spoken many other things as well that he did not remember. They had talked and talked but the music had been so loud that his mind had wandered far away, into this strange and exotic world with its strange and exotic Music.

When they had finally released him, he had wandered, lost, confused, and, aye, frightened, before he had heard the trees. He had an offhand notion that he had nearly died trying to get here, crossing the hard road with the strange metal boxes that had moved so quickly. There had been harsh words that he had mostly missed, and loud sounds that had frightened him, but then he had found himself among trees and grass and had very quickly forgotten all else.

His harp was on his back, and he had taken it, sitting on the nearest bench, and losing himself in the Music, learning about the world around him in so doing. It was sad, chaotic, busy, lonely, violent, loving, exciting, happy and very, very mortal, all in one. Births and deaths and sadness and living on such a scale that it could only be a world of Men, with their short, fragile lives. He shed a tear at all the feelings of the place contained in its music, not even noticing the group of people gathering around him.

But then he heard a voice through the music that jarred him into attention. He looked around, confused, his eyes finally lighting on the tall, red-headed figure of his brother.

But it could not be! They had told him he was still alive, and the music did not say otherwise! He stood, lifting his harp with him, trembling. His eyes were wide and his face drained of all color.

"Must your fëa haunt me even here?"