I own nothing.
As much as she probably does not wish it to be so, the sound of her singing has reached his ears, a faint breath in the corridors, eerie as mist in late autumn.
When he was young, Eöl thought that all music was magic. There was a Nelya in the camp of his mother's people (his people, he tells himself) who would sit at the shore of the lake and sing, and when she sang, the fires burned warmer and it seemed easier to catch game to eat. When she sang, anyone who left the camp always came back. That seemed like magic to him.
Then, there was Melian singing her enchantments of Doriath, singing a barrier to life. Her voice echoed through the holly woods of Region, beautiful beyond words, but unearthly and unnervingly alien. Queen Melian is no Elf, however easy it is at times to think of her as such, and her voice reflects the fundamental differences between her and the Edhil. It reverberated in the holly trees, in the grass, in the marrow bones and minds of every living creature dwelling beneath the trees of Doriath. Eöl had stood stock-still and silent in his forge, heart barely beating as that spectral song seemed to reach right down into the depths of his soul. All too aware of the weight behind the words, and the power in the tune. No, Melian is not an Elf, and her magic is not Elf-magic. What it is, Eöl can not say; he only knows that it is indeed disconcertingly alien. As she is.
Untold years after his childhood by the lake, and with the memory of Melian's alien magic-weaving no longer a constant presence in his mind, Eöl knows better. He knows that in magic there are many more precise ways of getting the results desired. And Eöl knows that, regardless of what the Golodhrim might think and say, there is really very little music in magic. You take magic in song, and you've only scratched the surface. Music is easier to control, is all. There's less of a risk.
Aredhel is not the equal in song of Melian, nor of the Nelya who sang by the shores of the lake, and there is no hint of secret, alien power in her crooning voice. But it is still soft and sweet, if cracked and raw. She is still hoarse, singing to their week-old son. That is only to be expected; Eöl cringes at the memory of her crying and wailing in the throes of labor. Eventually, she'd screamed for her mother, her father, her grandparents. She would still be hoarse, after that.
The door to the nursery is slightly ajar. Aredhel may not have noticed, absorbed as she is, but Eöl has. It's that crack between the door and its frame that's given her away. He imagines her leaning low over the bassinet, long hair falling over her shoulders as she stares into a tiny face, and shuts his eyes, and listens.
'And sweetly did the thrushes sing
To the maid who searched the woods so dark
For her child lost, with magic ring,
But oh, she did not find a thing!'
An odd choice for an infant's lullaby, to be sure, and Eöl can't help but wonder what drove Aredhel to sing it in that soft, hoarse, almost trembling voice. He also has to wonder at tales such as that being bandied about in the Undying Lands; Eöl had gotten a distinct impression of the place as nearly unbearable in the sheer tedium of its near-constant safety. Why would she sing something like that over her own tiny, vulnerable child. And the language…
Quenya.
Eöl knows Quenya. Elu may have banned usage of the tongue within Doriath's borders, but what Elu doesn't know won't hurt him, and it's not like Eöl has any love for the language and the ones who speak it. Nor does he intend to use it or hear it spoken within the bounds of Nan Elmoth. However, given that his neighbors (and he uses that term lightly) have Quenya as their cradle-tongue, it seemed prudent to learn the language.
Quenya, that's what she's speaking.
Whatever Aredhel may think, Eöl is aware also of the name she's given their son; how could he not be? Aredhel is not so good at keeping secrets as she thinks she is, and these halls were wrought by him. They will not hold her secrets. Lómion, she's called him, so determined that their son should not go without a name. Son of the twilight… Eöl sighs heavily.
He'll not see his son be exposed to an accursed tongue of Kinslayers, let alone one forbidden by Elu Thingol. He'll not see him called by a name in that tongue, either. Eöl is aware that among the Golodhrim, children receive names from their mothers and their fathers, but his son is not a Golodh. He'll tell her that…
'And where have you gone, my son
Among these dark and lonely trees…'
Tomorrow.
Edhil—Elves (Singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)
Golodhrim—Noldor (Singular: Golodh) (Sindarin)