Hearing the mortal woman speak about not having much experience in performing in front of others, rekindled one of Glaerorn's own memories. It had been a Midsummer in Eryn Galen, not many years ago for most Elves but more than half of his lifetime ago for the young minstrel.
All had still been well in his world and he had known no evil yet. He had just started to get a feeling for the violin and took great joy in trying the different sounds he could make with it – which not always contributed to the joy of those around him. From loud screeching sounds to something resembling a dying bird, everything was possible.
His father had -
Glaerorn sighed, remembering his father's smile and feeling how the happy untainted memory became mingled with sadness.
His father encouraged him, explaining his actions as a necessary step in “experiencing every aspect of the music this world is made of” and of course no one could say anything against that, due to his renown as a minstrel at court. In later years Glaerorn had sometimes wondered if Caladorn did not feel the same giddy happiness over his son's experiments, even if they sometimes sent a thoughtful scholar jumping up with a very unscholarly sound (or maybe especially then).
This particular Midsummer, his mother and father were busy composing their music for the celebration and speaking with other minstrels about parts and the order of songs, and so on. It would be the first time for Glaerorn to perform at their side and he had practiced the tune many times already. So he slipped away whenever he could during the days leading up to the festivities, to explore the places where he was allowed to go alone, enjoying the warm air and especially the warm evenings when he could lie in the soft grass and see the stars through the leaves of the trees.
He had just run from the library where he had played an especially fast and – let us call it “unusual” –series of notes. A little out of breath he lay in down in the grass in one of his favourite spots and looked up at the sky, wondering about this and that, laughing about the surprise he had surely given to the librarians, and waiting for the twilight and the first stars to appear.
He must have dozed off or just wandered away in his thoughts, for when his eyes next focused it was almost time for the concert. In fact there could already be heard some sounds indicating that the festivities had started!
As quickly as he could, the child jumped up, grabbed his fiddle and bow and ran to look for his parents. No time to switch into more formal attire! And of course no time to check his instrument, as his mother had reminded him to do for the last few days.
When he found them they seemed worried at first, but after a quick embrace and a few eyebrows raised in amusement they started the performance as planned.
Glaerorn found that he not terribly nervous but he could feel the eyes on him. People wanted to see how Glaerindis’ and Caladorn’s son was doing as a musician, having high hopes of seeing their talent in him. After the first few notes however, he started to forget the eyes and the sounds of quiet laughter and conversations became one with the music as the three Elves started weaving around it with their instruments, creating a theme of celebration. The joy of connection, knowledge, of music, was resonating in Glaerorn's heart and just as he dragged the bow fast across the e-string –
It snapped!
This had never happened to him before. In a split second he remembered all the times his parents had gently reminded him to make sure his instrument was in good shape and to make sure he had newly broken in strings before a performance. Those new strings were lying in a drawer in his chamber. Oh how he cursed his careless vigorous play under windows and behind some greenery to shake up the daily routine of others!
About to let his bow arm and head sink in shame, he heard a low and rich sound, like a nightingale greeting the stars and it brought him back to the present. It came from his father’s violin. And his mother was still playing as well, having picked up her son's melody with her flute.
And as if he had done it before, as if I knew what to do, he inclined his wrist just a bit more, set the bow down on the a-string and let a new melody flow into the one his parents were creating.
And this was the evening Glaerorn knew with a clarity he had never had before that this was his path: To learn the language of music and learn through it all there is to learn of this world.
(He also learned to take better care of his instruments, but this is surely the less important outcome)
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As told at the Midsummer celebration at Tham Angol, with adjustment from first person to third person and some minor changes.
