Gnomus Interruptus
The harp was golden in the waning light, every string catching the sun like a spiderweb strung with dew. Maglor’s fingers moved as if they’d been born to the task—no, forged to it—long and deft, coaxing from the instrument a melody so clear it made the air itself seem brighter.
Nicholas leaned back in the grass, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the open fabric baring the soft thicket of hair on his chest. A sphere of crystal hovered in his hand, glowing gently, casting shimmers of gold across his olive skin. He smiled that small, private smile that always undid Maglor: a smile that belonged to no one else.
“You play like the forest itself listens,” Nicholas murmured.
Maglor’s lips curved, his eyes half-lidded, grey as fog before rain. “The forest does listen. But you are the one I play for.”
Nicholas laughed low in his throat, and the sound was rough, lived-in, the laugh of a man who had seen years pass and carried them well. “Careful, my love. You flatter me, and I may believe it.”
Maglor stopped plucking for a moment, letting the last notes hang. He set the harp aside and leaned toward Nicholas, studying him with a gaze that was far older than the oak under which they sat. “Believe it,” he said softly. “After all the centuries of song, do you think I would waste music on anything less than truth?”
The glowing sphere pulsed once in Nicholas’s palm, like a heartbeat answering his own. He set it down in the grass beside the bowl of pineapple and reached for Maglor’s hand, callused from strings and yet impossibly gentle. Their fingers laced together, elf and man, immortal and mortal, both of them with too many scars, and yet both still daring to smile like this moment could last forever.
For a time, they simply sat, breathing in rhythm, butterflies spiraling lazily around them.
It should have been perfect. Romantic. Peaceful.
Instead, there were gnomes.
Dozens of them, spilling from the nearby cave mouth like ants from a disturbed hill. Helmets with candle stubs, pickaxes slung over little shoulders, boots muddy with ore dust. They gathered in a semicircle around the couple, whispering in gravelly voices, elbowing each other like gossiping schoolchildren.
One of them cupped his hands and shouted, “Encore!” before Maglor had even finished the song.
Nicholas groaned and rubbed his temples. “I told you, love. You attract audiences whether you want them or not.”
Maglor kept playing, jaw tightening slightly. “I did not invite them.”
“True,” Nicholas said dryly, “but I don’t think they care.”
“Sing a ballad!” a gnome called.
“Play faster!” another hollered.
“Take your shirt off!” came a third voice, earning him a round of scandalized gasps from his fellows.
"FREE BIRD!" shouted a fourth.
Maglor’s long fingers froze on the strings. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his storm-grey eyes on Nicholas. “They are heckling me.”
Nicholas chuckled into his beard. “They’re miners, not bards. That is their applause.”
Maglor sighed and set the harp down. He leaned over Nicholas with mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps if I kiss you, they’ll leave.”
Nicholas arched a brow. “Or they’ll never leave.”
Too late—Maglor’s lips pressed to his. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, Nicholas curling a hand around the elf’s nape. The gnomes erupted.
“Oooh!” they chorused.
“Blimey, they’re really going at it!”
One gnome had produced a pan flute and began to toot an accompaniment; another banged his helmet like a drum.
Maglor broke the kiss with a groan, forehead against Nicholas’s. “They are insufferable.”
Nicholas was laughing too hard to reply.
When Maglor reached for a pineapple chunk to feed his husband, a gnome darted forward and snatched it midair. He popped it into his mouth and declared, “A fine offering! Tribute accepted!” before being tackled by two companions who dragged him back.
“Share, you greedy sod!” they yelled, wrestling in the grass.
The pan-flute gnome began playing again, badly. Another had started sketching furiously, tongue sticking out as he tried to capture Maglor’s profile.
“Oh no,” Nicholas said, peering over. “We’re going to be murals in their taverns by next week.”
Maglor groaned. “I would rather Morgoth returned than this.”
That was when a bold gnome marched right up to them, chin lifted. “Begging your pardon, mighty elf, noble man, but could you do that kiss again? I need to get the angle right for posterity.” He gestured at the sketch.
Nicholas laughed so hard he nearly dropped the crystal sphere. “Go on, love. Give them a good angle.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” Maglor muttered, but he obeyed—he kissed Nicholas soundly, right hand curling into the silver hair of his beard, left braced on the grass. Nicholas made a pleased noise deep in his chest.
The gnome dropped his pencil with a squeal. “Perfect! Magnificent! True passion!”
“Encore!” came the chorus again.
Nicholas and Maglor broke apart, both flushed for different reasons.
“Do you suppose,” Nicholas said, voice dry, “they’ll leave if we… ah… escalate?”
Maglor shot him a look. “That would only encourage them.”
As if on cue, a gnome called, “Off with the trousers!” and was smacked over the head with a pickaxe handle by his neighbor.
“Show some respect!”
“Respect?” another laughed. “I’ve mined less treasure than what I’m seeing here!”
The entire crowd dissolved into cackles.
Maglor buried his face against Nicholas’s shoulder, shoulders shaking. “I hate them,” he mumbled, muffled by fabric.
“No, you don’t,” Nicholas said, stroking his hair. “They adore you. This is the most entertainment they’ve had in centuries.”
“I did not come to entertain gnomes.”
“Maybe not,” Nicholas murmured, brushing a kiss to his temple, “but you did make me happy. And that’s worth their racket.”
Maglor lifted his head, eyes softening. He kissed Nicholas again, slower this time, more intimate, shutting out the gnome chorus. The crystal sphere glowed brighter between them, casting everything in golden light.
The gnomes, for once, fell silent. Then, one by one, they took off their helmets. Not to heckle. Not to laugh. Just to hold them over their hearts in respect.
The quiet was so complete it startled Nicholas.
Maglor pulled back and whispered, “Well. Perhaps they do understand after all.”
And from the back, a gnome voice piped up: “Right, they’ve kissed proper, let’s all get back to work before the seam closes!”
Groans and mutters followed, but pickaxes were shouldered, helmets replaced, and soon the miners shuffled back toward their cave.
Nicholas chuckled. “You see? All it took was one more kiss.”
Maglor shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Then I suppose we had better keep kissing. For peace.”
“Purely diplomatic,” Nicholas agreed solemnly, before pulling him in again.
The gnomes’ laughter echoed faintly from the cave as the two men finally had their oak-shaded peace—at least until the next shift change.
Nicholas leaned back in the grass, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the open fabric baring the soft thicket of hair on his chest. A sphere of crystal hovered in his hand, glowing gently, casting shimmers of gold across his olive skin. He smiled that small, private smile that always undid Maglor: a smile that belonged to no one else.
“You play like the forest itself listens,” Nicholas murmured.
Maglor’s lips curved, his eyes half-lidded, grey as fog before rain. “The forest does listen. But you are the one I play for.”
Nicholas laughed low in his throat, and the sound was rough, lived-in, the laugh of a man who had seen years pass and carried them well. “Careful, my love. You flatter me, and I may believe it.”
Maglor stopped plucking for a moment, letting the last notes hang. He set the harp aside and leaned toward Nicholas, studying him with a gaze that was far older than the oak under which they sat. “Believe it,” he said softly. “After all the centuries of song, do you think I would waste music on anything less than truth?”
The glowing sphere pulsed once in Nicholas’s palm, like a heartbeat answering his own. He set it down in the grass beside the bowl of pineapple and reached for Maglor’s hand, callused from strings and yet impossibly gentle. Their fingers laced together, elf and man, immortal and mortal, both of them with too many scars, and yet both still daring to smile like this moment could last forever.
For a time, they simply sat, breathing in rhythm, butterflies spiraling lazily around them.
It should have been perfect. Romantic. Peaceful.
Instead, there were gnomes.
Dozens of them, spilling from the nearby cave mouth like ants from a disturbed hill. Helmets with candle stubs, pickaxes slung over little shoulders, boots muddy with ore dust. They gathered in a semicircle around the couple, whispering in gravelly voices, elbowing each other like gossiping schoolchildren.
One of them cupped his hands and shouted, “Encore!” before Maglor had even finished the song.
Nicholas groaned and rubbed his temples. “I told you, love. You attract audiences whether you want them or not.”
Maglor kept playing, jaw tightening slightly. “I did not invite them.”
“True,” Nicholas said dryly, “but I don’t think they care.”
“Sing a ballad!” a gnome called.
“Play faster!” another hollered.
“Take your shirt off!” came a third voice, earning him a round of scandalized gasps from his fellows.
"FREE BIRD!" shouted a fourth.
Maglor’s long fingers froze on the strings. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his storm-grey eyes on Nicholas. “They are heckling me.”
Nicholas chuckled into his beard. “They’re miners, not bards. That is their applause.”
Maglor sighed and set the harp down. He leaned over Nicholas with mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps if I kiss you, they’ll leave.”
Nicholas arched a brow. “Or they’ll never leave.”
Too late—Maglor’s lips pressed to his. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, Nicholas curling a hand around the elf’s nape. The gnomes erupted.
“Oooh!” they chorused.
“Blimey, they’re really going at it!”
One gnome had produced a pan flute and began to toot an accompaniment; another banged his helmet like a drum.
Maglor broke the kiss with a groan, forehead against Nicholas’s. “They are insufferable.”
Nicholas was laughing too hard to reply.
When Maglor reached for a pineapple chunk to feed his husband, a gnome darted forward and snatched it midair. He popped it into his mouth and declared, “A fine offering! Tribute accepted!” before being tackled by two companions who dragged him back.
“Share, you greedy sod!” they yelled, wrestling in the grass.
The pan-flute gnome began playing again, badly. Another had started sketching furiously, tongue sticking out as he tried to capture Maglor’s profile.
“Oh no,” Nicholas said, peering over. “We’re going to be murals in their taverns by next week.”
Maglor groaned. “I would rather Morgoth returned than this.”
That was when a bold gnome marched right up to them, chin lifted. “Begging your pardon, mighty elf, noble man, but could you do that kiss again? I need to get the angle right for posterity.” He gestured at the sketch.
Nicholas laughed so hard he nearly dropped the crystal sphere. “Go on, love. Give them a good angle.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” Maglor muttered, but he obeyed—he kissed Nicholas soundly, right hand curling into the silver hair of his beard, left braced on the grass. Nicholas made a pleased noise deep in his chest.
The gnome dropped his pencil with a squeal. “Perfect! Magnificent! True passion!”
“Encore!” came the chorus again.
Nicholas and Maglor broke apart, both flushed for different reasons.
“Do you suppose,” Nicholas said, voice dry, “they’ll leave if we… ah… escalate?”
Maglor shot him a look. “That would only encourage them.”
As if on cue, a gnome called, “Off with the trousers!” and was smacked over the head with a pickaxe handle by his neighbor.
“Show some respect!”
“Respect?” another laughed. “I’ve mined less treasure than what I’m seeing here!”
The entire crowd dissolved into cackles.
Maglor buried his face against Nicholas’s shoulder, shoulders shaking. “I hate them,” he mumbled, muffled by fabric.
“No, you don’t,” Nicholas said, stroking his hair. “They adore you. This is the most entertainment they’ve had in centuries.”
“I did not come to entertain gnomes.”
“Maybe not,” Nicholas murmured, brushing a kiss to his temple, “but you did make me happy. And that’s worth their racket.”
Maglor lifted his head, eyes softening. He kissed Nicholas again, slower this time, more intimate, shutting out the gnome chorus. The crystal sphere glowed brighter between them, casting everything in golden light.
The gnomes, for once, fell silent. Then, one by one, they took off their helmets. Not to heckle. Not to laugh. Just to hold them over their hearts in respect.
The quiet was so complete it startled Nicholas.
Maglor pulled back and whispered, “Well. Perhaps they do understand after all.”
And from the back, a gnome voice piped up: “Right, they’ve kissed proper, let’s all get back to work before the seam closes!”
Groans and mutters followed, but pickaxes were shouldered, helmets replaced, and soon the miners shuffled back toward their cave.
Nicholas chuckled. “You see? All it took was one more kiss.”
Maglor shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Then I suppose we had better keep kissing. For peace.”
“Purely diplomatic,” Nicholas agreed solemnly, before pulling him in again.
The gnomes’ laughter echoed faintly from the cave as the two men finally had their oak-shaded peace—at least until the next shift change.
For Vibrant Visionaries #14: Sphere, Crystal, Pineapple, Chest, Miner, Oak, Song
