AN: I just felt that there weren't enough stories about Saeros. -Galad Estel
Daeron melts the world into music. Saeros could listen to him play forever, the sweet and the bitter blending. The forest is giving way to fantasy. The trees become Valar, and the flowers are one thousand revellers dancing before his eyes.
'Don't stop!' Saeros says when Daeron removes the flute from his lips. Saeros is himself a musician, but he pales before Daeron. He is not jealous but enchanted.
'I have to.' Daeron laughs. 'I am out of breath.'
'I love you,' says Saeros.
'You love my music.'
'But you make it. You are one."
'And if I could never play again?'
'Don't say such things.'
Daeron laughs again. 'Saying things won't make them happen.'
Saeros crosses his arms. 'No risks.'
'You worry too much.'
Daeron lifts up his flute again. Soft notes glide from his breath and gild the glade. They reel Saeros back into ecstasy. Drunk, he leans heavily against a birch and watches the music make faces in the air. His gaze is bound to Daeron, who circles the clearing, touching tree trunks with his fingertips, turning them into crystal towers. Purple rains come and go, but Saeros is left dry.
A voice breaks through the soaring flute. A trembling voice rising in power. Words form themselves to Daeron's music. They fit then overcome. Daeron drops his flute and stands amazed. Lúthien breezes through the clearing, spiralling in and in until Daeron catches her. She dances in his arms, her eyes like torchlight, flashing.
'Play for me,' the princess orders.
Daeron's lips quiver. He bends and picks up the flute. Lúthien smiles, as Saeros subsides into the shadows.