Maglor isn't the metalsmith much of his family is, though he's good enough when he sets his mind to it. This time around he'd much rather protect the ship by hunting for the metal rats that are so intent on eating what they need to fix the ship. Being light on one's feet comes in handy (though makes him miss Celegorm and Curufin-as-they-were just a bit more).
He's perched on top of a nearby pile of scraps, hidden both by craft and by shadows from the small menaces until he spies a handful of them and pounces, sweeping a rather heavy (for most) pipe at them to send them flying.
Picnic with a view
One would think, just after a somewhat interesting couple days as as guard, one would want to just relax and rest, doing nothing but eat, right? For one elf, plucking away at a small gold harp would normally be relaxing enough. But the faint grimace as he mutters to himself hints otherwise. "Still sounds thready, but good enough, I suppose..."
Yes, he has a delicious basket of food just to one side of him, but he's clearly more focused on the music he's working on perfecting (to most people it would sound perfectly beautiful and nothing wrong about it at all). The small trickle of blood from his right hand is ignored in favor of adjusting strings.
Maglor | Tolkien's Silmarillion
Maglor isn't the metalsmith much of his family is, though he's good enough when he sets his mind to it. This time around he'd much rather protect the ship by hunting for the metal rats that are so intent on eating what they need to fix the ship. Being light on one's feet comes in handy (though makes him miss Celegorm and Curufin-as-they-were just a bit more).
He's perched on top of a nearby pile of scraps, hidden both by craft and by shadows from the small menaces until he spies a handful of them and pounces, sweeping a rather heavy (for most) pipe at them to send them flying.
Picnic with a view
One would think, just after a somewhat interesting couple days as as guard, one would want to just relax and rest, doing nothing but eat, right? For one elf, plucking away at a small gold harp would normally be relaxing enough. But the faint grimace as he mutters to himself hints otherwise. "Still sounds thready, but good enough, I suppose..."
Yes, he has a delicious basket of food just to one side of him, but he's clearly more focused on the music he's working on perfecting (to most people it would sound perfectly beautiful and nothing wrong about it at all). The small trickle of blood from his right hand is ignored in favor of adjusting strings.