Sarnin and her niece and nephews are mine along with Celuant. The world, Glorfindel, and Erestor are Tolkien's. I hope he doesn't mind. :)
Please enjoy, at no cost. :)
"She taught us to defend ourselves. We didn't believe her as much then, in the early days, about the dangers we faced. We were too happy. She had, after all, escaped them to come back to us brighter and better in many ways than when she left. We didn't know how hard it had been for her, for her brothers, back then. Even when she told us, all those stories of her time away, we were sad for her and them, but our happiness over her return would overtake us again envelope us. We were so happy. She was back. Her last brother, Manpalan, was born in those days. Another addition to our joy."
Manpalan looked down from his perch to smile at this mention of him in the story, however, then he looked away to something else. Sarnin followed his gaze. Celuant did the same.
Lathwinn had snapped to attention where she stood. She lifted a hand to her mouth and cupped it around her lips. The elleth let out a trail of notes like those in the songs Celuant hadn't understood when they sang them before. The syllables of the words were drawn out, falling and rising in tone, sung rather than said and thus indecipherable to him.
All the other elves around him, though, seemed to understand though. They immediately mimicked Lathwinn, raising their own hands, cupping them around their own mouths, and singing their own trail of notes too. Then they rushed forward. He trailed after them.
His elf ears could hear their hearts beating faster. He saw the joy shining in their faces. Light flahsed in their eyes as well, and he understood. They were going home.
Twas still a long journey to Ossriand even then though. The other elves kept singing throughout it. They seemed to be repeating or joining a song he could not hear. These people had better ears than him it seemed. Celuant figured Lathwinn had truly heard first though. He'd heard she had better ears than most. He wondered if a Noldo with undamaged ears would be able to hear better than she. Eventually, though, he did hear the music calling his companions home, and it almost broke him.
So many voices, each like a raindrop in a thunderstorm, no, each a drop of water in the sea melding together into one song it seemed, a song of welcome. The music was so elven, so wild, so sweet, yet so unlike any had heard before.
Home, just ahead of him was his hosts' home, but not his. What lay ahead was so unknown to him. He wished he had known better the tree-dwellers of his own homeland, Valinor. Would he feel any less this way if he had?
When the canyon turned a certain direction, he saw signs of life, of a great bit of life ahead. He heard the rustling of leaves being funneled to him along with elven voices. He smelled the scents of leaves and grasses and flowers, and beasts on the wind whistling along the canyon walls too. He heard the rushing of many waters too more than those of this river in the canyon they occupied. And there was always the voices, thousands, each unique, yet blending together as only centuries of practice together could help them do.
Soon he saw branches washed up along the shore of the river. He saw growing things clumped here and there in the sand. He saw footprints of beasts on the sandy shores too. Then he saw a wall of green beyond the end of this canyon he walked through. The voices were loud now.
He felt a tension rise up through all his limbs. This was all so strange. Sarnin, her nephews, and her niece though seemed too caught up in this song to notice him and his discomfort. Every face he knew around him now was grinning, their eyes shining, their voices melding together into a symphony along with the others.
Then the canyon opened up fully. All the trees surrounded them. Things started dropping from their branches, forming a beautiful rain: nuts, berries, many of them coated in the golden honey covering he'd had his own first treats from the hands of his guides. They laughed at the deluge, spun in it, and held out their hands to catch the gifts dropped to them from their people.
Celuant tensed even further. Then he noticed the gifts were raining on him too. They didn't hurt. They bounced off him. His stomach growled at the sight and scent of them. But … another fire built up in his stomach.
Tension wrung him out like a harpstring. He looked up. His gaze darted around. Then he felt and saw it, an escape route. He gazed into an opening, a cave, a small space really, merely a den, but he needed it. He needed to be away, in a dark, earthy, thinking place, fit for a Noldo.
He gave a cry. All the other voices, nearby anyway, fell silent at the sound. He hated that, hated himself for ending their song. But he ran into the den, leapt into it, and as he did, a part of him was thankful the others no longer sang.
In the darkness and quiet, inside the cave, inside the den, the walls gave him a sense of familiarity, a little peace. They weren't stone, but he was glad for that. This was not like the place he'd been held captive, not like the fort he'd dwelt in before that, not like the walls of the stolen boats he'd crossed the sea in, or any other place he'd been. Still, it was earth, there were barriers blocking out light and sound, letting him think letting himself feel solitude. Yet, things were not utterly dark either. He could feel some light in the walls themselves, tree-roots, insects, other things. He took a deep breath. Some dust tickled his nostrils, still he felt free and safe, and he closed his eyes and drifted away for a bit.
. . .
"Please, stop here in this tale."
Mellolaes jerked. She blinked as she came out of her story and stared down at her patient. She blinked again.
He was gray-fashed, almost ashen. His expression was lax with despair. She opened her mouth to ask why. Then she felt a hand fall upon her shoulder.
She looked up into Glorfindel's face. A sheen of tears coated the surfaces of his blue eyes. She gazed into them while hearing his voice warm and soft and low. "Please … go ... I'll take care of him now. Go … Find Estel and tend to his needs for a time."
Mellolaes blinked and glanced back down at her patient. Then she rose, still staring at him. Thus she backed away, toward the door behind her. She exited through it the same way and then closed it before her own face still looking in. Only when she had disappeared behind it, did Glorfindel look back to the ellon in the bed.
"Why did you have her continue this tale in the first place? You had to know it would affect you this way. I at least suspected it would. Now you have hurt her as well."
Erestor his head facing away from the other elf and his eyes closed, but a corner of his mouth curled up into a bitter smile. "Why? Because it was a good tale. Too good as it turns out …"
The smile fell away. He opened his eyes then. A sheen of tears coated their dark orbs though they stared only at the wall. "I cannot bear to hear anymore of it for now …"
Glorfindel frowned down at him. "Perhaps you should not hear anymore of it, at all."
God bless
ScribeofHeroes