Happy Bithday to Chica! May the stars shine upon you, mellon-nin! And have a little fic. You may recognise the basic concept…

…See, everyone, I named an elf! Not just this elf too… (I so missed writing humour. Really.)

Title from Enya's song because I'm just that lazy.

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It was a bright and generally promising day on which Makalaurë suddenly announced that his plans for the later hours included making a spectacle out of himself.

It had been a promising day until Makalaurë felt the need to share this intention.

Upon hearing it, Maitimo, in turn, felt the need to bang his head on the table, but in doing so he would run the risk of getting his hair in at least one plate, which was, on the whole, discouraged in the household, so he settled for a dramatic facepalm.

In itself it was not anything unusual; making a spectacle out of himself was, for Makalaurë, something of a vocation, indeed, artistic vocation; but this particular spectacle was to be conducted in the honour and for the benefit of a certain lady, and if one knew how well such ventures usually went, certain apprehension was fully justified.

Maitimo, needless to say, knew.

Another thing he was painfully aware of was the sudden hushed attention from the direction of his little brothers – his littler little brothers, the two impossible brats he was positively going to tie up and lock in a cellar if that was what it took to stop them from following Makalaurë to his newest grand one-elf show.

One would have thought Makalaurë would have learnt, by now, not to advertise any plans of this nature he was entertaining; but the stubborn dedication characteristic of any Fëanárion went, in this case, hand in hand with bright-eyed enthusiasm and increasing obliviousness to circumstances.

Such a beautiful thing, love.

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It is a widely known fact that elves possess excellent eyesight.

The young elven lady leaning over a balustrade found herself fervently wishing that it was not so. Particularly her keen peripheral vision was proving a major obstacle in acting the way she felt would be appropriate for the occasion, which was, essentially, not succumbing to the fit of laughter bubbling in her throat.

The lady's name was Lírinellë and she was currently enjoying the rare privilege of being serenaded by none other than Prince Makalaurë in her own garden. Which is to say, he was in the garden, and she was on the balcony, which provided a clear view of the entirety of the garden, which was posing a slight problem.

She let her smile widen, hoping it appeared sweet and joyful instead of highly amused, and leaned further, trying to focus on his voice alone, that beautiful, captivating voice singing only for her. She tried to look into the depths of Makalaurë's dark, gleaming eyes from the elevation of the balcony and ignore all else.

It should not be difficult.

She should be overjoyed, and she was. She should feel special, and flattered, and touched, and she did.

And yet her eyes kept darting sideways.

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Tyelkormo shifted uneasily, feeling the lady's eyes on him. Makalaurë had always insisted they address her as "lady", even though he also claimed – but, curiously, never in her presence – that one day, hopefully, she would be their sister – but, most emphatically, not his sister, which earned him a look of wide-eyed confusion from little Carnistir.

Who, incidentally, was also becoming restless. They had followed Makalaurë on general principles and were now finding the entire affair rather boring. Whatever it was that was always supposed happen and they never got to see on account of always, always getting found out, whatever it was that Makalaurë did not want them to see was unlikely to happen soon. Makalaurë was singing, and they recognized the symptoms. He was lost to the world, with the possible exception of lady Lírinellë's face.

This was also the only reason why it was her, and not their brother, who spotted them first. Usually Makalaurë would step away from the surprised lady all of sudden and pull them out of wherever they were currently hiding, to her honest (and open) amusement. This was, in their own brother's words, due to "long and tiresome experience Lírinellë was fortunate to lack", which was not a very kind thing to say in Tyelkormo's opinion, but was perhaps somewhat excused by how close he had been sitting to their prospective sister when he had realized their presence.

But now lady Lírinellë was up on the balcony, Makalaurë was in the garden, and singing. There was little point in further sneaking up on them, despite all the satisfaction it invariably brought; if they were fortunate, they might return home before Nelyo noticed they had gone…

Tyelkormo jumped, feeling a hand grab him from behind and jerk him back.

…too late.

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Being an older brother was hard work. Being the oldest of four – or, as their parents had recently started claiming, not exactly to his great enthusiasm, five – brothers was downright penance, and he was never sure for what, exactly.

Now, holding a little brother firmly by the collar in each hand, Maitimo made the essential tactical mistake of glancing up at Lírinellë, trying to assess how much damage the two unruly elflings had done.

What happened then was this:

Their eyes met.

Lírinellë's expression twitched dangerously.

Maitimo cursed inwardly and made a frantic "I'm-not-here" signal with his hands. Unfortunately, to do that he had to release the boys, who immediately sprang towards freedom, or at least the thickest bushes in sight, and he had to catch them again, which was difficult since they darted in opposite directions. When he had them secured, he risked another glance at the balcony, this time to assess how much damage he had done.

Lírinellë was gazing down at Makalaurë again, apparently preoccupied with his music, but she was covering her mouth with one hand.

Wonderful.

And now he, too, was hiding in the bushes and listening in to his brother's admittedly beautiful song which was very much not intended for him.

As quickly as possible without making a sound and as quietly as possible without unnecessary delay Maitimo proceeded to drag his wriggling siblings away. He was honestly looking forward to treating them to a proper bashing, but then again physically hauling them all the way home, while had its good points, would be slightly bothersome.

It was at this point in Maitimo's mental process that Moryo bit his hand. He swore, this time aloud, and nearly collided with someone.

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Lírinellë breathed out, slowly.

It had taken all of her self-control and even so, it was only the strength of her affection that had prevented her from laughing out loud the moment she had seen Maitimo's face. She was feeling a little awful and a little proud of that.

But it was all right now. It was only her and her sweet prince now, and she would listen to the rest of his wonderful song for her with all the attention and appreciation he – and the song – deserved, and then she would come down to the garden and thank him, and kiss him, and watch him resurface from the haze that always descended upon him when he sang and played, which was so lovely, and then perhaps she would invite him to come inside for a drink of wine…

As a plan, it was not bad, but, as it turned out, there was one circumstance Lírinellë had not taken into account.

Because, as it turned out, she led Makalaurë into the parlour in her own house only to be greeted by the sight of his two little brothers, being rather amiably lectured by her own elder brother, who looked up and smiled in greeting upon seeing the two of them.

Then she made the essential mistake of turning from their assorted siblings to Makalaurë, and saw the expression on his face.

And in the end there was nothing she could do but let the bewildered Makalaurë hold her while she shook with laughter.