Across the green expanse in the softening gaze of the setting sun, a golden light sprang from the Blue Mountains in the east. Over time a few more and a few more would rise, dotting the mountain wall in star-like splendor. In the evening breeze the faint echoes of joyous voices could be heard, drifting above forest and plain.
Upon a white horse sat a golden haired Noldo, his poise alert and waiting. He looked to the firelights with growing wonder and curiosity. The Noldo elf nudged his horse to a gallop and set across the plain to the foothills of Ered Lindon.
Finrod Felagund thought of Maglor and Maedhros, with whom he had been hunting, but assumed they would fare well in his absence. He gazed at the glowing lights as he neared with fear and fascination. For this was northern Ossiriand and the Green-elves lit no fires and sang no songs by night. Perhaps orcs had slipped through the ever-watchful northern leaguer.
No, thought Finrod. Those are not the voices of clamoring orcs. But as he neared, he became even more puzzled. The language was one he had never before heard.
Many paces from the first camp, Finrod dismounted and, with ghostly silence, moved through leaves and brush toward the camp's perimeter. Upon a precipice overlooking the camp Finrod paused and stood amid the trees. His eyes brightened with wonder as he looked on the commotion below.
Revolving around a large bonfire were circles and circles of dancing people, singing in a strange tongue and dressed in simple clothes with geometric designs. Some wore sandals; others had their feet wrapped in cloth. Beyond the dancers were tapestries sporting the same intricate geometric designs tied to frames to create a division between the communal area of the bonfire and the opposite side where many tents were pitched.
The people sang, their calls to the heavens made with passion and strength. Their voices were unlike the Eldar, which contained a sense of sorrow and purity, but were earthy and powerful. It had a certain power to it. Vibrancy and defiance mixed together.
A smile broke across Finrod's face. These, he thought, these are Men! His smile strengthened. And he was the first to find them!
Upon this realization, Finrod began examining the newcomers with heightened interest. They were robust and hearty and nothing like the Eldar. Shorter, stockier, dark-haired, steely-eyed. Round-eared, thought Finrod. The women had a certain curve to their bodies not found in elven ladies and the men were angular and burly.
Finrod's smile suddenly vanished as the Men quieted and parted. He then witnessed something for which he had no words.
Among Men there were children, yes, adults, men and women. Then a bold voice cut through the song and the people became silent. Two men stepped forward, both of strong build and of eyes the color of sea-wet stone by the western shore. Father and son. The latter spoke with reverence and motioned to the former.
Finrod felt his jaw drop. Hills and mountains were ancient and valleys and caverns were carved out long ago, he knew, but they showed no outward signs of their years or their perseverance of time, and yet this man displayed such age upon his very being. His hands were weathered and his gait limping, as if a previous leg wound still pestered him. Like his people his hair was brown, but it had become flecked with gray along his temples and beard. His face was patterned with crevices like unto crinkled parchment, finer wrinkles accumulating atop his cheekbones by his eyes. Finrod had heard the Secondborn held something called The Gift of Men and he wondered if the man's agedness was in relation to that same gift.
The man spoke with somberness and, despite not knowing the language, Finrod could feel the sincerity of the man's words pierce his heart. In the eyes of the men and women were tears of joy and passion and when the man's words rose to a triumphant shout, the people cheered and the singing and dancing resumed.
They sang deep into the night and Finrod found himself tapping his feet to the rhythm of their song and humming along as he was able, but eventually the people gathered their families and children and returned to their tents. The fire dimmed and many laid out bedrolls in the open.
A small boy ran to the older man, crying out as he rushed into the man's arms, looking at the man as a child does toward a wizened grandfather. In a soft voice, the man consoled him, took out a crude harp and played the boy a song. With the faint plucking of the strings and the man's resonant voice, the boy fell asleep and the man set down the harp and wrapped the child in a wool blanket before returning to his own bedroll.
In the silence Finrod felt a deepening compassion flaring from his heart to every part of his being. He slipped down the rock precipice and landed softly on the ground below. Finding a short stool, he placed it near the center of the gathered and sleeping men, took up the harp and began to sing.
It was actually a lullaby his mother once sang to him and his siblings while in Valinor, but it's beauty caused the men to stir in their sleep and soon they awoke with dream-like wonder upon their faces. They listened intently and appreciatively, waiting until he had finished before they began complimenting him and bowing their heads in gratitude. Then Finrod began again, now singing of the creation of Arda and the lands of Valinor from whence the Noldor came.
Their eyes became bright and glassy, as if looking afar off into a scene of great beauty and awe. Then Finrod knew they could see the things of which he sang and he could feel wisdom growing in their hearts.
When he finished again, the old man untangled himself from his blankets and stood, gazing steadily at Finrod. The man placed his hand over his heart and spoke in somewhat familiar words.
"I am Balan. I lead these people encamped along the mountainside. We have journeyed westward for many generations seeking a place without darkness. May I ask you something?"
Surprisingly, many words the man used were of Sindarin origin. Mixed with mannish language, Finrod could nearly understand all he said. "Yes, you may."
"Are you…are you a Valar?"
Finrod started with astonishment. "Me? No! I am Finrod Felagund. A Noldorian Elven-lord."
Balan nodded, aware of his grave mistake. "I am sorry. It is only that you bring much light with you. We all wondered what sort of being would carry such light. A great being, indeed."
"The light you speak of is the Light of Aman," said Finrod. "It comes with those who have seen the Two Trees in Valinor."
For a long moment Balan held his chin and thought. He then shook his head. "Felagund, you call yourself. The title 'Master of Caves' does not do your knowledge and learning justice, my friend." He paused a moment and then added with a small smile, "We shall call you Nóm instead."
Taken aback by Balan's forward speech, a smile crossed Finrod's face. "I don't know that word," he replied. It has no relation to Sindarin, he thought to himself. It must be a word of their own making.
He glanced around at the other men, wondering at their thoughts. They nodded their heads and muttered Nóm in consensus. Puzzled, Finrod asked, "What is nóm?"
"Nóm is wisdom," said Balan. His eyes twinkled.
Finrod blinked. "You—you're naming me…wisdom?"
"Of course." Balan nodded and the men smiled. "Your very presence radiates wisdom, light and power. You may not feel it because you are a part of it, but for us it is tangible."
Once again, the sincerity of Balan's words pierced Finrod's heart. He could see why Balan was chosen to be the leader of this group of men. With a jolt and a sharp glance over his shoulder, Finrod remembered Maglor and Maedhros and, seeing Finrod's concern, Balan guessed his intention.
"No, Nóm, stay with us a while."
The sons of Fëanor were likely concerned about him, wondering where he had gone. Maedhros in particular would feel the pang of anxiety over his welfare. He often worried about Finrod's presence when they were with his other brothers, especially since some of the younger ones abhorred Finrod's very existence. Maedhros probably thought one of his younger siblings had abducted Finrod for less than friendly purposes and whisked him away to their strongholds in the north.
"Nóm?"
Slowly, Finrod returned his gaze to Balan, who now sat upon his bedroll, and his heart was once again overwhelmed with compassion. Balan and his men looked at him with shining eyes. It seemed they had already formed a great attachment to Finrod.
"Very well. I will stay."
"Great!" exclaimed Balan. "Now, teach us all you know. Teach us true knowledge."
Finrod's eyes widened at the enormous request. "True knowledge? Well, that would take centuries."
Balan waved an impatient hand. "It doesn't matter. For a long time, the only knowledge of the Light of the West we had was gained from the Dark Elves, who were rather indifferent about the topic, but you—you've been there. You've seen them. The Valar."
The men, weary of journey, their clothes worn and their scars fresh, awaited his answer had a great thirst for light and Finrod could see it. But what would bring them to such a condition?
"Balan?" began Finrod.
"Yes, Nóm?"
"Where did you come from and what lies behind you? From where did you gain such a desire for this knowledge?"
Balan paled and lowered his head. Silence settled upon them and Finrod patiently waited for Balan's reply. After many minutes, Balan looked up, a mixture of fear and resolve crossing his face.
"A darkness lies behind us," he said in a barely controlled voice. It was a voice of passion and anger. "And we have turned our backs upon it, and we do not desire to return…. Westwards our hearts have been turned, and we believe that there we shall find Light."
Finrod regarded him with curiosity and nodded and said, "Then I will teach you all I know."
And he did and he taught them far into the night and for many days. And Balan and his people loved him greatly and from then on they pledged loyalty forever to the house of Finrod, son of Finfarin.
Author's Note:
The scene of Balan's people singing and dancing around the bonfire often reminds me of the song Through Heaven's Eyes from Prince of Egypt. Here's a link to it on Youtube: watch?v=oG0a9WFkgzU
I use Balan primarily because he hasn't pledged fealty to Finrod yet, so Bëor (which means 'vassal') wouldn't be appropriate.
Review, please! I'm very interested to know what you, the readers, think! Thanks.