Fëanor was coming back from a hunt with Maedhros, and was carrying the heavy pelt as his young son proudly brought in meat. They both paused as they heard the strains of harp music, a beautiful melody that Fëanor had never heard before and conjured mental images of a waterfall and bubbling lagoon, with butterflies flittering over wildflowers.
"Take the meat to the kitchen while I give the court musician my compliments," Fëanor said, and Maedhros nodded.
As Fëanor came closer to the greatroom, the harp music stopped, and then Fëanor heard a small, familiar voice say, "I did it!"
Fëanor rushed to the greatroom to see little Maglor sitting on a stool in front of the large harp. "You played that gorgeous music?" Fëanor asked, scarcely able to believe it - followed by a warm glow of pride and Of course he would, he's my son.
Maglor was grinning from ear to ear and nodded.
Fëanor draped the pelt he was carrying over his shoulder and tried to lift his arms in celebration, but it was easier to raise them off to the side; he dipped his head to balance the pelt.
Maglor imitated him, also raising his arms to the side and dipping his head.
When Maedhros came out from the kitchen he saw his father and brother in the greatroom. "Oh, it was you playing the harp?" Maedhros asked.
Maglor nodded.
"Congratulations!" Maedhros smiled. "You sounded wonderful."
Maglor raised his arms to the side again, bowing his head. Maedhros laughed and did the same thing.
_
A fortnight later, Fëanor and his brothers were invited to feast with Finwë. Fëanor brought Maglor and Maedhros. Nerdanel did not attend - she and Finwë didn't like each other much - and Nerdanel admonished the boys to behave before they left.
They did, until Finwë had one of his lengthy toasts, standing to raise his goblet of wine and thank the Valar for the blessings of his life. Fëanor and Fingolfin looked at each other across the table and rolled their eyes - they were a bit tired of their father's sanctimoniousness, the self-righteous displays of piety in public - and though Finarfin tried to look outwardly respectful, he was also trying hard not to laugh.
And then, when the toast was over, instead of raising their cups, Maglor and Maedhros both raised their arms off to the side and bowed their heads.
Finwë glared daggers at his grandsons, then at Fëanor. Now Finarfin shook with silent laughter, his face red.
"What do you call this?" Finwë asked, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, uh..." Fëanor racked his brain, trying to think of a story that would appease his father. Fingolfin's lips quirked with amusement before he took a sip of wine. Finarfin continued shaking with laughter. "The blessings are spilling everywhere and they want to soak up the goodness of the Valar too so they're... um... dabbing."
"Dabbing."
"Dabbing," Fëanor repeated, nodding solemnly.
"I see." Finwë sat down, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon. He drank his goblet to the dregs and quickly poured himself another.
_
When I learned Prince Sverre of Norway has dabbed at official functions in front of the royal family, a wild plotbunny appeared.
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