[Open] Then may he play his harp in peace...
The last couple of days have not been good, euphemistically said. Maglor has stalked the grounds like a captive thing, with his sword and flute at his side, sometimes mustering enough patience to blot down this or that imperfect composition, if his mind allowed him enough calm. His behaviour, perhaps, has much of his father's restlessness, but it has been less productive by far. And knowing that war is coming, that preparations are being made, has not changed his mood any toward the better, not after the disastrous conversation that left Artanis in tears, and once more convinced him of his own uselessness, corruption and failure. The one good thing: his broken nose is healing and barely pains him anymore.
But recently, browsing the kitchen cupboards for something edible, he has found the materials for a very special undertaking, the building of a new lap harp for himself. So far he has only had the great concert harp in Maedhros' and his room, and while he could not have asked for better quality, it is too heavy to transport easily so he can play for others. And at least the building of his instrument and the concentration it requires have given him a chance to slip into an almost meditative, numb mindset. After the recent failures, that is a comfort.
And by now the project is nearly accomplished: Flame maple for the body, spruce for the soundbox, and the harp is embellished with a careful pattern of waves ending in the eight-pointed star of his house, all inlaid in silver. Seated in a patch of sunlight on the porch, Maglor is currently fitting the last of the strings, and then tentatively begins to play, albeit with a critical ear to test the sound.
Open to all and any denizens of the Mansion.
But recently, browsing the kitchen cupboards for something edible, he has found the materials for a very special undertaking, the building of a new lap harp for himself. So far he has only had the great concert harp in Maedhros' and his room, and while he could not have asked for better quality, it is too heavy to transport easily so he can play for others. And at least the building of his instrument and the concentration it requires have given him a chance to slip into an almost meditative, numb mindset. After the recent failures, that is a comfort.
And by now the project is nearly accomplished: Flame maple for the body, spruce for the soundbox, and the harp is embellished with a careful pattern of waves ending in the eight-pointed star of his house, all inlaid in silver. Seated in a patch of sunlight on the porch, Maglor is currently fitting the last of the strings, and then tentatively begins to play, albeit with a critical ear to test the sound.
Open to all and any denizens of the Mansion.