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The fiddle was very new, and it sounded it: raw and greenish and too alive. Time and use would mellow its tone and make it an extension of his arm. For now, though, it was unfamiliar and awkward.

Fíli tightened the pegs, tuning it carefully. Then he tucked it beneath his chin. It was lighter than he had expected, and his moustache-beads clacked against the red-stained wood. He ran his hand along the fine, smooth neck and over the carven scroll. It would be a good companion.

“You like it?” 

Taking a breath, 

Fíli put the bow to the strings. Normally he played jaunty jigs or reels: songs for singing and dance and drinking. 

But this fiddle wanted to soar and to weep, it appeared. The too-sharp tone began to soften, to float through the great stone Halls.

Fíli

closed his eyes as he played aimlessly, letting his fingers do as they would. The tune the fiddle pulled from him was a little sad, a little brave – and not unlike some other song he could remember singing in the warm glow of a Hobbit’s hearth.

“That’s pretty. What is it?”

“I don’t know, just came to me then,” said Fíli, and he lowered the new fiddle. “Thank you. It’s a beautiful fiddle; I shall treasure it.”

“Happy name-day, grandson,” said Frís, and she kissed his cheek, before pressing their foreheads together. “Happy name-day.”

…

_{(obviously, this is set in the Sansukh-universe, so EVERYBODY IS DEAD, etc etc. That is indeed me playing the violin, a tune I chucked together in about 2 minutes, a sort of variation on ‘Misty Mountains’ I guess. Please be kind, I am super out of practice! Written for Khazad October omfg dain’s day is tomorrow YESSSSS)}