#thorin and maglor friendship? and parallels? maybe?

[noirbriar]

Ficlet:Fire & Stone AU

Having random bouts of anxiety and finding things to distract myself so decided to random button mash some ideas into a post. AU title is a placeholder until my brain is more active, but here are some thoughts for a hobbit canon divergence/ what if thing in Imladris because sadly I can't write and this scene has been bugging me for a while now and may be absolutely OOC:

Sometimes its the people you meet along the way that shape you.A moment where Thorin unexpectedly meets a stranger in Imladris.

--- A dark cloud of anger and frustration follows Thorin as he stomps away deeper into the winding gardens of Imladris. Leaving behind a flutter of fireflies and a confused Hobbit behind. With echoes of talk of the dreadful curse that lingers in his wake. The Dragon sickness that haunts him in the darkest recesses of his memories. He lets his feet guide him aimlessly through this elven settlement, troubled and frustrated. It was not until he realises there was a gentle flutter of lightness, a release of tension from his shoulders, did he realise there was music. A slow strum of strings, a calm melody from a harp surrounds the dwarf. A part of Thorin is telling him to leave this obviously occupied space, but another part of him who plays the harp as well is curious. Such wondrous melody!

It does not take long to find this minstrel on a lone stone bench, surrounded by fireflies and the blooms.Unlike the other elves in here, this one is taller than most (except, maybe the balrog slayer) and draped in a dark midnight coloured cloak, with most of his face hidden by a hood and dark tresses. The stranger stops strumming, and turns his bright gaze to his dwarven guest.

He smiles, a sad gaze that lowers in a nod and a gesture of greeting to Thorin who simply blankly nods back in return.

There was a moment of silence before the minstrel returns to his playing.A beautiful hand harp, old but well crafted and cared for by his eye. Which was when Thorin notices the bandaged hands with a soft gasp under his breath. To play such complex notes with such wounds... The stranger stops and smiles again as he has noticed the dwarf studying his instrument in hand. "It is nothing, Master dwarf," He speaks almost in a whisper. When there is no reply, he switches to that ancient and long unused form of khuzdul that Thorin has only heard from the Chief Counsellor of Imladris thus far. "Would you be keen to have a song on this eve of our meeting? It seems this is a night for sharing a song." He gestures to the other end of the bench in silent invitation.

Thorin bristles at the use of his kin's language and is annoyed. He feels he should not. Greatly. Should just march right back the many dumb winding paths back to his Company.

Yet the dwarven king surprised himself by taking a sit at the offered place, the alstroemerias rustling as the strange elf gives a deeper bow, and strums. A Dwarven classic. A ballad of mountains and distant hills. Of hidden paths and winding caves.

When it winds down into its last lingering note, the elf bows in thanks to his audience. Thorin, returns the gesture with a nod of acknowledgement to this elf's craft. In recognition of a true Master in his art. "I thank you for the song." Thorin adds shortly, though in Westron.(Let it be known he has not forgotten basic civility or diplomacy or courtesy, take that Balin!) "Ah... I apologise for my rudementary Khuzdul, I wrongly presumed you only speak your language. I have forgotten that your folk may find it rude to use in the open by others who may know it, especially in this Age. " The elf replies humbly, though from this longer conversation, Thorin sees way this elf is seated and the way he speaks and how his eyes shine much like the Lord of the Golden Flower. This is no mere minstrel.

A very old elf it seems who have also worked with dwarrow back in the old days.

"No offense is taken." Thorin pauses for a moment before adding in polite afterthought in customary khuzdul to one with great mastery, "I see you, Master of Song."

The elf gesture his thanks with a hand on his heart.

"I am Thorin. Son of Thrain, son of Thror. To whom I should thank for his craft?" There is quiet, before Thorin finds himself gazing at old eyes filled with deep wisdom and sorrow.Old treelight blazing with fire as it met stone. "I have many names it seems... but you may call me Maglor." Maglor returns kindly. BONUS: "Lord Maglor?"Erestor knocks on the door with a tray in hand before opening the doors into the chamber," I apologise for your late dinner, but we had gues-"

He stops and does a quick scan.

Room,empty.

Travel bag, unpacked.

Harp, missing.

Silence. "Unbelievable!" Erestor hisses as he slams down the tray on the side table and rushes out, nearly colliding into Glorfindel, who have just finished his bath and now dressed in his casual night robes. Though Erestor quickly and gracefully manages to swerve away and rushes off to find one restless Son of Feanor.

The Captain of Imladris blinks.

"Well. So much for coming back to a quiet, restful evening.Its been quite an exciting day it seems." Glorfindel sighs with a shake of his head with a helpless smile. The captain quickly following behind the irritated councillor, hoping they manage to catch one wayward elf. Again.