Disclaimer: I don’t own Middle-earth, however much I’d like to live there.
In his imagination, the harp's chords wove seamlessly with the delicate notes of a flute as well as soft Elven voices.
In reality, it was only his lone harp to set the melody, and his own weary, wavering voice to whisper laments to the stars - and they were his only willing audience. In Endor his brothers preferred the macabre song and dance of swords and blood to the strings of a harp, and battle cries were their hymns.
A warning call came from a sentry. Maglor tucked his harp away and rose with his sword to meet the approaching orcs.