(Voice)

[handofsilver]

(The sound of harp-strings begins the transmission. Each note is pure, ringing in the air long after the string has been plucked. After a moment or two, the song ends and the player - Celebrimbor - sighs.)

Do you believe language has the ability to heal beyond simple comfort? If so, could song be a stronger healer still?

Not my music, of course, but...others. Masters of the craft. (Like his uncle.) As a child, songs chased away my nightmares. Why should adults be so different? I think it is because we do not listen as well.

(Private to Curufin.)

Are you free?

(/)

Comments

[bythewaves]

[ He laughs softly ]

I would not! [ He objects ] Not in front of you!

[handofsilver]

Does it truly make a difference if it is behind my back? It's still a face, Uncle. (He doesn't like anyone being upset with him.)

[bythewaves]

Ah, Telpe! I promise, I wouldn't fuss! You've always been a crafter, nephew - why should I mind if you play or don't?

[handofsilver]

It was all I had when I couldn't walk well. I missed my little harp. (She - yes, she - is one of his favorite crafts.) Do you like her sound?

[bythewaves]

Did you make her? She's lovely! [ Maglor hums in approval ]

[handofsilver]

I never liked for my harps to be too ornate. Their sound is what matters. (He will choose the ugly harp with a voice as sweet as honey every single time. Of course, since he made her, she is lovely in her own right.) Would you like to meet her?

[bythewaves]

I can't imagine that you would make anything less than beautiful, nephew. [ Maglor smiles ]

I would love to, if you don't mind.

[handofsilver]

I would be honored if you played her. (It's a tradition with all of his instruments! Maglor has to "bless" them.) Should I meet you or are you near the house?

[bythewaves]

I am in the sitting room, at the moment.

[handofsilver]

Then expect company! (He holds his harp against his chest and walks, barefoot to the sitting room. Once there, he holds out the instrument, grinning.)

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor looks up with a smile from where he's been working on a new song for Elrond ]

Ah, but she's lovely. May I?

[handofsilver]

Please. (He hands over the harp, his sharp eye searching for any spots that need to be polished again. She is made out of wood - a much lighter material - and Celebrimbor has varnished it. The strings are metallic, of course, but they shine like silver.)

[bythewaves]

Has she a name?

[ Maglor brushes a hand gently across the wood then coaxes a soft scale from the strings, checking the tuning ]

[handofsilver]

Aerlinniel. Aerli for short. (He whispers, unwilling to talk over the notes.) The wood turned out to be surprisingly well-aged.

[bythewaves]

A lovely name for a lovely lady.

[ Maglor hums approval and then strike a bright chord, launching into one of the songs from the Dagor Agarleb, bright and joyful and fierce ]

[handofsilver]

She feels happy to me.

(His eyes glow with delight and he pulls up a chair nearby, quite glad to lose himself in such a joyous tune.)

[bythewaves]

I think she is.

[ Maglor smiles at him, the fierce triumph of battle gentling to old memories of gold and silver light, the sharp fierce joy of youth, when all the world seems at your feet ]