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'The Fabric of Music'
The Fabric of
apart as befitted a minstrel, he plucked soft notes from his harp
and watched the activity around the High King’s chair. No formal
entertainment this night, just background strains to ease courtly
conversation, a task the master of musicians had deemed fit
employment for a junior. Lindir, newly arrived at court with a
letter of recommendation from Eregion’s musician’s guild to smooth
his path, defined ‘junior’.
Snatches of conversation rose and
fell, their contents ranging from new hairstyles to dubious
morality, to the master of the hunt’s reputed wealth. Deeper matters
there were to overhear too if one listened more carefully, rumours
of rising darkness, impending war. Eärendil’s son hovered close by
the royal chair, speaking in lowered tones of messages from out of
Eregion, while the king’s companion, Erestor of the midnight hair
and haughty air, leaned an arm on its back and frowned his concern.
Lindir heard it all from his place in
the shadows, retaining or discarding each new offering. One day, he
suspected, the fabric of his music would be woven broad with more
than Lindon’s gossip. One day soon it would echo with the clamour of
war’s wings and the lament for heroes lost.