The pipe is wooden and hollow, painted over with solitary beauty and lavishness. Its music is like fire and ice, melting and cooling. As Maglor plays the pipe, thorough melodies and harmonies emerge at once. Ancient memories spill out of the music, an aura of Valinor escaping with it, fading into nothing. It sings unknown, mumbled words of both sorrow and jubilance, it whispers upon the face of the wind. Its subtle tremors are flawless.

It dances and fades into nothing, like fire.

Maedhros watches from a distance as Maglor lulls the twins to sleep. They fell asleep almost immediately, lost in the depth of Maglor's music. Maedhros' eyelids droop slightly under the heavy, exotic music. Yet Maglor plays the night away, weaving into his song melodic regrets and misfortunes of Arda but also nocturnal memories from his past life, the life that was mercilessly crushed at the swearing of the Oath. His song draws an invisible story, paints an invisible canvas.

He doesn't misplace a single note.

The night had freely summoned for the music of Maglor. Near midnight, his song had become faster, more intense. Not unpleasant to the ear, though. The accidentals in the notes are knowingly placed into the song. The music is deep and powerful. Maedhros almost dozes off, as everyone in the camp had already. He tries to stay awake, grasping onto the last thinning threads of alertness, but finally give in and sleeps under the authority of the pipe. Maglor is alone. As morning approaches, the music fades to nothing.

But the song of Maglor would never disappear from the wild tossing of the wind.