Maglor

Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the small panes of glass in the window, falling in grids across the dry page of the book, illuminating individual words. Maglor had been trying to make sense of one of the verses for hours, but hadn't yet achieved full success. He wanted to set it to music, but the author's meter kept slipping, preventing a coherent composition. However, such tasks, if they didn't seem too hopeless, even pleased him. And now, with a few words replaced and shifted, the melody was beginning to take shape. Of course, it was a shame to part with the old look. Maglor wasn't sure exactly what had caught his attention, but he suspected that perhaps it was precisely this irregularity. When the door creaked softly behind him, he barely suppressed a sigh. It was rare for visitors to drop in for a short time in the evening, and even rarer to simply say goodnight. A draft turned several pages, and Maglor himself completed his work, placing the cover on top of them.
Ever since his fortress had fallen, it had become more difficult to find time to be alone. The problem was that Maglor felt awkward locking himself in outside the night hours—after all, since he was enjoying his brother's hospitality, he should at least be diligent in completing all the tasks that arrived practically around the clock. Moreover, because Himring was now practically under siege, there was far more work than usual.
Still, when Maglor turned and saw the man who had entered, he smiled faintly.