from the flagstones

Inspired by a conversation with @simaethae

“There’s porridge in your hair,” Maedhros said unhelpfully, not getting up from his sprawl upon the flagstones before the hearth.

“The children had a- a difficult night,” said Maglor, clutching tighter at the writhing, Elros-sized bundle wrapped in his cloak. “Would you watch them for an hour while I clean up?”

“I would,” said Maedhros. “But I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Creating.”

Maglor readjusted his grip on Elros, who was trying to bite him through the fabric. “You’re lying on the floor.”

“I’ve been struck by inspiration.” Maedhros kicked out and knocked Maglor’s second best harp from its stand and then dragged it within reach with the toe of his boot. “I have to finish this composition right now.”

“You’re holding that upside-” the discordant screech of a hook on harpstrings cut Maglor off.

“You’ve always had very limited ideas about music, little brother.”

“Raising these children is hard enough as it is without-”

“I have- what was it? I have millions of ideas and I represent a new generation trying to express themselves in a broken world. I will go down as the voice of this generation, of this Age. I am so credible and so influential and so relevant that I will change things.” The harp screamed. “So, while I’m sympathetic, my development as a musician must come before any mundane concerns.”

A suspicion dawned; Maglor knew exactly who had first spoken those words and why, for all it had been hundreds of years ago. “I’ll…I’m sure that I can manage on my own,” he said.

“I’m sure you can,” said Maedhros. “It’s not as though you’re trying to raise five children while your brother makes excuses and fiddles with a harp. Imagine how much harder that would be.”