Chapter 5 Blind is the faith of a child
Eladlín nearly skipped down the deck he was so excited. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Siriondil. His trust was something he held close to his heart; he did not give it away like a simple token.
"Hurry, Siriondil!" called Eladlín.
"Hurry yourself." Eladlín spun around, but Siriondil grinned and Eladlín realized that he was only joking. He waited rather impatiently for Siriondil to catch up to him and trotted alongside him. Mararion directed them through the labyrinth of streets and buildings, and finally stopped before a small inn. "This is where the men of old housed their travelers, and we have maintained it well. You may rest here for as long as you desire."
"Thank you Mararion." replied Eladlín. A faint smile appeared upon the face of the elf.
"If you will allow it, I would like to invite the young lad to dine with us in the great hall tonight." said Mararion.
Siriondil glanced down at Eladlín, who tugged his tunic gently. "Can I go?" he whispered.
"If I may join him." replied Siriondil.
"Of course. I must inform the chefs and attend to other matters, but I will come to collect you when it is time." He turned away and ran lightly down a side alley.
"Look!" exclaimed Siriondil, "He left no footprints in the dust."
"'Tis the mark of an elf." replied Eladlín, "They leave no mark, for their steps are too light."
"How do you know this?"
"I have read it in Mama's book."
Siriondil gave him a strange look. "Well, come along, we must ready the inn for the rest of the men." He turned around and pushed open the old oaken door. True to his word, Mararion's inn was a work of breathless beauty. The entire building was crafted of wood, save the slate fireplace. Yet even that was carved with intricate runes of Elvish origin. Siriondil exhaled slowly. "Perhaps there is no need to ready it after all..." The men built what proved to be a blazing fire, and most of them had already settled into one of the rooms. Siriondil took care to give Eladlín the largest room and took a small one for himself.
"Why is mine so much bigger?" asked Eladlín as he settled himself on Siriondil's bed.
"You are the prince of Numenor, my young friend. You shall never be of want."
"So? You are a captain, and I can barely complete a sea chart."
"You will understand one day Eladlín." The boy made a motion to speak, but Siriondil interrupted him, "Not now lad. It is not my place to tell you. Inform the men that I desire to speak with them after dinner."
Eladlín sighed gently and went downstairs to find Beran and the other men deep in conversation.
"There is something wrong here!" said Surin, one of the younger sailors, "We must find our kin! The heathens have probably ravaged their bodies, but we must save what is left of their memory."
"Aye!" echoed Beran.
"Hush!" whispered Surin, "We do not know who else may be listening. They are full of magic. I fear they may among us now, though we do not know it." The men eyed each other suspiciously.
"You speak an untruth, Surin," said Eladlín, choosing to break into the conversation.
"Quiet, little master. Do not speak of that which you do not understand."
"They are not a bad people! They mean well."
"You are simply naïve, little master. You will learn one day."
"No!"
Surin wheeled around, stunned that the boy would have so little respect. Eladlín continued slowly, "I understand now. It is you who is in the wrong."
"No." interrupted Siriondil as he walked down the stairs, "You are both in the wrong, for fellow sailors do not argue with one another. Apologize, and keep your views to yourself. I will take no more of this talk. Surin, I will speak with you and the other men after dinner. Eladlín, come with me now. We must meet Mararion." The two fumbled an apology, though neither meant it, and Siriondil steered Eladlín out the door. "You must learn to control your temper, my young friend."
"But you heard what he said! He insulted them!"
"It matters not, Eladlín. You must learn to respect your elders, and hold your tongue. It was unwise to offend Surin so, and rather unkind of you."
Eladlín hung his head slightly. Siriondil had never uttered such harsh words. "I am sorry, Siriondil."
"Do not apologize, just take it as a lesson learned. You are not grown yet, and I will not hold it against you."
Eladlín still smarted from the reprimand, and he sat down on the stair without speaking a word; an unusual feat, to say the least.
"Never hang your head, my lad." Still, Eladlín refused to heed his word. "Here now, I have something to give to you." Siriondil sat down next to Eladlín. He held something in his hands, and showed it to Eladlín with a gentle gleam in his eye.
"What is it?" marveled the young boy. He had never seen such intricate painting, and that animal in the middle...
"'Tis a dragon fang. My father chanced upon it in the woods one day when he was a small boy in these lands. The runes around the side are of dwarfish origin, and the creature in the middle is a dragon."
"A dray-gone?"
"Drag-on. There are very few of them left now, but a long time ago they held these lands as their own. They have sharp teeth, like this, and they can breathe fire."
"Fire?"
"Yes. And their skin is made of scales-do you see the tiny patterns? -which protect them from almost everything. It is nearly impossible to kill a dragon."
"And this is mine?"
"Yes, my young friend. I want you to have it."
"Thank you!" exclaimed Eladlín, who unable to hide his complete happiness. He threw his arms around Siriondil. A look of surprise overtook Siriondil's face, and he shrugged him off rather quickly, but a roguish smile still crept onto his lips.
Mararion chose this moment to step out into the daylight and face the two friends. His heart had been lightened by their exchange; indeed he felt younger than he had in a hundred years. Such friendships rarely came among elves, never mind men. "Hello there!" he called.
Eladlín looked up from his fang and found Mararion smiling down at him. "Look what Siriondil gave me!" he exclaimed.
Mararion picked it up with an interested air as Eladlín recounted exactly what Siriondil had said. He laughed silently at the boy's words and started to walk down the street. "We must quicken our pace, little chatterbox, or we shall surely be late!"
"Oh! Hurry Siriondil!"
"Must we go through this again?"
~~~~~~~
"This is our hall. It is by no means great, but we have been pressed by other matters." stated Mararion.
"What matters?" asked Eladlín.
"None that concern a little boy."
"I am NOT little." he replied defiantly.
Mararion chuckled. "To an elf, even Siriondil is naught but a babe." Siriondil raised his eyebrows. There was something suspicious in Mararion's voice, but he hid it quickly. "Here, Eladlín, you will sit at the high table with my friend Vinyayáviëiel." The maiden waved jovially at him, and Eladlín rushed over to meet her.
Mararion turned to Siriondil. "Now that the boy is taken care of, we have many things to discuss." He led Siriondil over to another smaller table. The elves here had clearly been instructed to ignore the visitor, for they did not even raise their heads at his arrival. "How do you know of Lord Elrond? Why must the boy meet him?"
"That matter lies between Lord Elros and myself."
"Yet you must find Lord Elrond. And I alone can show you where he resides."
Siriondil growled slightly. "He lives in Lindon. That is all I need to know. I will find him."
"Lindon?"
"You would know it Ossiriand."
"How do you intend to find it?"
"I will ask my kin. They will know the way."
"Indeed!" said Mararion, rather coyly, "Your kin have a great mistrust of our kind. I sense it in you now, and in your fellow mariners. 'Ossiriand' is a land they do not speak of, for it sparks a deep flame of fear within their hearts."
"I will find my way. I do not need your help."
"I will lead you to Elrond, if you will simply tell me the nature of your journey."
"Why are you so interested in him? He is simply a boy."
"That is all he is to you, but to an elf, a boy such as Eladlín is a rarity. We have but few children in our realm, and a child of men who enjoys the company of elves? He is amazing. I enjoy the company of children dearly, though it is not often that I find myself in their presence. I want only to aid you and the boy. You must trust me; there is no other way."
"I will not put him in danger, not while I have strength left."
"He will confide in me, Siriondil. I gave you a chance to trust me, but now I see there is no other way. There is no trust left in the world of men, save in the heart of a child." He rose from the table and called Eladlín.
"Do not call him. I forbid you."
"How will you stop me, dear Siriondil? For I am surrounded by my peers, and you are all alone."
Siriondil unsheathed his knife slowly. "I will protect the child until my last breath is drawn."
Eladlín had stood slowly at Mararion's call, for he enjoyed the maiden's company. "I will return dear Lady." he told her. He walked over towards the elf, but found Siriondil with a dagger drawn, ready to fight. "No Siriondil!" he yelled, running in front of the elf. "You cannot harm him. Please." Siriondil was forced to draw back his dagger, for he had to follow the boy's order.
Mararion grasped the boy's shoulder gently. "Thank you, Eladlín. I want to ask you a question. Will you answer it?"
Siriondil interrupted before Eladlín could answer. "Do not respond Eladlín. Please, I beg of you, it is for your own good."
Eladlín gave Siriondil a puzzled look. "We can trust Mararion." He glanced back, "Of course, I will answer your questions."
Mararion kneeled down. "Thank you. Who are you, my young lad? Who is your father?"
"Why, I am Eladlín, son of Lord Elros, of the kingdom of Numenor."
Siriondil bit his lip. The child's trust knew no bonds. They were already in danger.
"Are you going to see Lord Elrond?"
"Perhaps. Who is he?"
"An elf Lord who resides in the kingdom of Ossiriand. Thank you Eladlín. You may return to Vinyayáviëiel, if you so desire."
"You are welcome." called Eladlín as he ran back to the elf maiden's side.
Mararion faced Siriondil. "So that is why you kept the boy's identity a secret. It was wise of you, for these lands are not safe anymore. I suppose Lord Elros has commanded his son to be brought before his uncle?"
"Yes." replied Siriondil, for he understood that withholding the information was useless.
"I will offer my services as a guide once more. If you will refuse them, then I will not allow you to leave these lands. Even with your protection, the boy would be in far too much danger."
"We will follow you, though it is against my heart to do so."
"You should listen to Eladlín. For all your years, he is still wiser than you are. Elvish advice will not lead you astray."
Siriondil grumbled a response as the food was brought before them. The elves, sensing that Mararion's deed was done, turned their attention to Siriondil. He found himself enjoying their company, for all of them shared his love of the sea. They were a noble people, and they valued nature above all else. This was one area where Siriondil, though he would never admit to it, agreed with the elves. Men were far too careless and inconsiderate for his taste. Yet, for the majority of the dinner, the speech of the elves concerned only the sea. Siriondil could not understand, and finally one elf said, "The passion for the sea has been laid deep within all our hearts. When the years of Middle-Earth begin to wane, it will time for our people to leave these shores. We will travel back to the Halls of the Gods, from whence we came." At long last the courses waned and Siriondil leaned back with a full mind and a satisfied stomach. Such a meal he had not had in a long while. Mararion stood and placed his hand on Siriondil's shoulder. "My people, we have guests of old among us tonight. The men of Numenor have returned! Shall we entertain them?" A chorus of agreement rang through the hall, and Mararion silenced them with a wave of his hand. "Vinyayáviëiel, if you please..."
The elvish maiden blushed softly and rose. "What shall I sing, Mararion?"
"A tale of old."
She thought for a moment, and began the lay of Eärendil:
Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.
In panoply of ancient kings,
in chained rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk of Men and Elven-kin.
Beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From World's End then he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.
Her sweet voice faded, and everyone nodded in appreciation. "Of your skills with weapons I have heard, but never could I imagine a voice so beautiful." said Eladlín.
"Thank you." replied Vinyayáviëiel. She admired the young boy, for he was polite, with a charming personality. "Do you like horses?" she asked him.
"I have never seen one, though I have read that they are amazing creatures."
"Indeed they are. Ask your friend if you may accompany me, and I will show you my steed, Mânêl."
"What does Mânêl mean?"
"In the common tongue, Spirit Star."
Siriondil walked over to Eladlín, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It is time we retired, my young friend. I still have work to do."
"May we see Mânêl first?"
"Who is that?" asked Siriondil
Vinyayáviëiel interrupted. "'Tis my horse. But it is no matter, I will show him to Eladlín another day."
The boy's face fell slightly, but Siriondil smiled. "If it can be done quickly, I see no reason to stop him from meeting the animal. Lead the way, fair Lady."
One must always give credit where credit is due. Obviously, the Lay of Eärendil and all my references and maps were created by Tolkien himself (right, Finch? *winks*). He is the one to whom we owe everything. I would also like to thank the websites that have published his materials and made it easier for me to find and organize. The Lay of Eärendil was found at
http://tolkien.cro.net/talesong/earendil.html
It's a wonderful Tolkien resource site. I'd also like to thank
http://www.photovault.com/Link/mithrandir/Maps/beleriand.html
and
http://lotrmaps.cjb.net/
for creating and collecting such wonderful maps of middle-earth. Although I'm still not completely sure I've got it right (hey, it's not easy translating for Lotr to silmarillion mapwise.and its even harder when you can't get 2 places (cough edhellond and lindon cough) on the same map. If anyone thinks I'm completely wrong, please, email me. I actually like being corrected, because then I learn and I know people are reading my story, so really don't hesitate.
Also, all my elvish translations are in Sindarian, except for the occasional Quenya word, but I really don't know Quenya all that well...I also apologize for the serious lack of description, but there was a lot that needed to be said in this chapter. And as for the wait, I apologize again, but homework comes first. And I have a lot of homework...blecch
Eladlín nearly skipped down the deck he was so excited. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Siriondil. His trust was something he held close to his heart; he did not give it away like a simple token.
"Hurry, Siriondil!" called Eladlín.
"Hurry yourself." Eladlín spun around, but Siriondil grinned and Eladlín realized that he was only joking. He waited rather impatiently for Siriondil to catch up to him and trotted alongside him. Mararion directed them through the labyrinth of streets and buildings, and finally stopped before a small inn. "This is where the men of old housed their travelers, and we have maintained it well. You may rest here for as long as you desire."
"Thank you Mararion." replied Eladlín. A faint smile appeared upon the face of the elf.
"If you will allow it, I would like to invite the young lad to dine with us in the great hall tonight." said Mararion.
Siriondil glanced down at Eladlín, who tugged his tunic gently. "Can I go?" he whispered.
"If I may join him." replied Siriondil.
"Of course. I must inform the chefs and attend to other matters, but I will come to collect you when it is time." He turned away and ran lightly down a side alley.
"Look!" exclaimed Siriondil, "He left no footprints in the dust."
"'Tis the mark of an elf." replied Eladlín, "They leave no mark, for their steps are too light."
"How do you know this?"
"I have read it in Mama's book."
Siriondil gave him a strange look. "Well, come along, we must ready the inn for the rest of the men." He turned around and pushed open the old oaken door. True to his word, Mararion's inn was a work of breathless beauty. The entire building was crafted of wood, save the slate fireplace. Yet even that was carved with intricate runes of Elvish origin. Siriondil exhaled slowly. "Perhaps there is no need to ready it after all..." The men built what proved to be a blazing fire, and most of them had already settled into one of the rooms. Siriondil took care to give Eladlín the largest room and took a small one for himself.
"Why is mine so much bigger?" asked Eladlín as he settled himself on Siriondil's bed.
"You are the prince of Numenor, my young friend. You shall never be of want."
"So? You are a captain, and I can barely complete a sea chart."
"You will understand one day Eladlín." The boy made a motion to speak, but Siriondil interrupted him, "Not now lad. It is not my place to tell you. Inform the men that I desire to speak with them after dinner."
Eladlín sighed gently and went downstairs to find Beran and the other men deep in conversation.
"There is something wrong here!" said Surin, one of the younger sailors, "We must find our kin! The heathens have probably ravaged their bodies, but we must save what is left of their memory."
"Aye!" echoed Beran.
"Hush!" whispered Surin, "We do not know who else may be listening. They are full of magic. I fear they may among us now, though we do not know it." The men eyed each other suspiciously.
"You speak an untruth, Surin," said Eladlín, choosing to break into the conversation.
"Quiet, little master. Do not speak of that which you do not understand."
"They are not a bad people! They mean well."
"You are simply naïve, little master. You will learn one day."
"No!"
Surin wheeled around, stunned that the boy would have so little respect. Eladlín continued slowly, "I understand now. It is you who is in the wrong."
"No." interrupted Siriondil as he walked down the stairs, "You are both in the wrong, for fellow sailors do not argue with one another. Apologize, and keep your views to yourself. I will take no more of this talk. Surin, I will speak with you and the other men after dinner. Eladlín, come with me now. We must meet Mararion." The two fumbled an apology, though neither meant it, and Siriondil steered Eladlín out the door. "You must learn to control your temper, my young friend."
"But you heard what he said! He insulted them!"
"It matters not, Eladlín. You must learn to respect your elders, and hold your tongue. It was unwise to offend Surin so, and rather unkind of you."
Eladlín hung his head slightly. Siriondil had never uttered such harsh words. "I am sorry, Siriondil."
"Do not apologize, just take it as a lesson learned. You are not grown yet, and I will not hold it against you."
Eladlín still smarted from the reprimand, and he sat down on the stair without speaking a word; an unusual feat, to say the least.
"Never hang your head, my lad." Still, Eladlín refused to heed his word. "Here now, I have something to give to you." Siriondil sat down next to Eladlín. He held something in his hands, and showed it to Eladlín with a gentle gleam in his eye.
"What is it?" marveled the young boy. He had never seen such intricate painting, and that animal in the middle...
"'Tis a dragon fang. My father chanced upon it in the woods one day when he was a small boy in these lands. The runes around the side are of dwarfish origin, and the creature in the middle is a dragon."
"A dray-gone?"
"Drag-on. There are very few of them left now, but a long time ago they held these lands as their own. They have sharp teeth, like this, and they can breathe fire."
"Fire?"
"Yes. And their skin is made of scales-do you see the tiny patterns? -which protect them from almost everything. It is nearly impossible to kill a dragon."
"And this is mine?"
"Yes, my young friend. I want you to have it."
"Thank you!" exclaimed Eladlín, who unable to hide his complete happiness. He threw his arms around Siriondil. A look of surprise overtook Siriondil's face, and he shrugged him off rather quickly, but a roguish smile still crept onto his lips.
Mararion chose this moment to step out into the daylight and face the two friends. His heart had been lightened by their exchange; indeed he felt younger than he had in a hundred years. Such friendships rarely came among elves, never mind men. "Hello there!" he called.
Eladlín looked up from his fang and found Mararion smiling down at him. "Look what Siriondil gave me!" he exclaimed.
Mararion picked it up with an interested air as Eladlín recounted exactly what Siriondil had said. He laughed silently at the boy's words and started to walk down the street. "We must quicken our pace, little chatterbox, or we shall surely be late!"
"Oh! Hurry Siriondil!"
"Must we go through this again?"
~~~~~~~
"This is our hall. It is by no means great, but we have been pressed by other matters." stated Mararion.
"What matters?" asked Eladlín.
"None that concern a little boy."
"I am NOT little." he replied defiantly.
Mararion chuckled. "To an elf, even Siriondil is naught but a babe." Siriondil raised his eyebrows. There was something suspicious in Mararion's voice, but he hid it quickly. "Here, Eladlín, you will sit at the high table with my friend Vinyayáviëiel." The maiden waved jovially at him, and Eladlín rushed over to meet her.
Mararion turned to Siriondil. "Now that the boy is taken care of, we have many things to discuss." He led Siriondil over to another smaller table. The elves here had clearly been instructed to ignore the visitor, for they did not even raise their heads at his arrival. "How do you know of Lord Elrond? Why must the boy meet him?"
"That matter lies between Lord Elros and myself."
"Yet you must find Lord Elrond. And I alone can show you where he resides."
Siriondil growled slightly. "He lives in Lindon. That is all I need to know. I will find him."
"Lindon?"
"You would know it Ossiriand."
"How do you intend to find it?"
"I will ask my kin. They will know the way."
"Indeed!" said Mararion, rather coyly, "Your kin have a great mistrust of our kind. I sense it in you now, and in your fellow mariners. 'Ossiriand' is a land they do not speak of, for it sparks a deep flame of fear within their hearts."
"I will find my way. I do not need your help."
"I will lead you to Elrond, if you will simply tell me the nature of your journey."
"Why are you so interested in him? He is simply a boy."
"That is all he is to you, but to an elf, a boy such as Eladlín is a rarity. We have but few children in our realm, and a child of men who enjoys the company of elves? He is amazing. I enjoy the company of children dearly, though it is not often that I find myself in their presence. I want only to aid you and the boy. You must trust me; there is no other way."
"I will not put him in danger, not while I have strength left."
"He will confide in me, Siriondil. I gave you a chance to trust me, but now I see there is no other way. There is no trust left in the world of men, save in the heart of a child." He rose from the table and called Eladlín.
"Do not call him. I forbid you."
"How will you stop me, dear Siriondil? For I am surrounded by my peers, and you are all alone."
Siriondil unsheathed his knife slowly. "I will protect the child until my last breath is drawn."
Eladlín had stood slowly at Mararion's call, for he enjoyed the maiden's company. "I will return dear Lady." he told her. He walked over towards the elf, but found Siriondil with a dagger drawn, ready to fight. "No Siriondil!" he yelled, running in front of the elf. "You cannot harm him. Please." Siriondil was forced to draw back his dagger, for he had to follow the boy's order.
Mararion grasped the boy's shoulder gently. "Thank you, Eladlín. I want to ask you a question. Will you answer it?"
Siriondil interrupted before Eladlín could answer. "Do not respond Eladlín. Please, I beg of you, it is for your own good."
Eladlín gave Siriondil a puzzled look. "We can trust Mararion." He glanced back, "Of course, I will answer your questions."
Mararion kneeled down. "Thank you. Who are you, my young lad? Who is your father?"
"Why, I am Eladlín, son of Lord Elros, of the kingdom of Numenor."
Siriondil bit his lip. The child's trust knew no bonds. They were already in danger.
"Are you going to see Lord Elrond?"
"Perhaps. Who is he?"
"An elf Lord who resides in the kingdom of Ossiriand. Thank you Eladlín. You may return to Vinyayáviëiel, if you so desire."
"You are welcome." called Eladlín as he ran back to the elf maiden's side.
Mararion faced Siriondil. "So that is why you kept the boy's identity a secret. It was wise of you, for these lands are not safe anymore. I suppose Lord Elros has commanded his son to be brought before his uncle?"
"Yes." replied Siriondil, for he understood that withholding the information was useless.
"I will offer my services as a guide once more. If you will refuse them, then I will not allow you to leave these lands. Even with your protection, the boy would be in far too much danger."
"We will follow you, though it is against my heart to do so."
"You should listen to Eladlín. For all your years, he is still wiser than you are. Elvish advice will not lead you astray."
Siriondil grumbled a response as the food was brought before them. The elves, sensing that Mararion's deed was done, turned their attention to Siriondil. He found himself enjoying their company, for all of them shared his love of the sea. They were a noble people, and they valued nature above all else. This was one area where Siriondil, though he would never admit to it, agreed with the elves. Men were far too careless and inconsiderate for his taste. Yet, for the majority of the dinner, the speech of the elves concerned only the sea. Siriondil could not understand, and finally one elf said, "The passion for the sea has been laid deep within all our hearts. When the years of Middle-Earth begin to wane, it will time for our people to leave these shores. We will travel back to the Halls of the Gods, from whence we came." At long last the courses waned and Siriondil leaned back with a full mind and a satisfied stomach. Such a meal he had not had in a long while. Mararion stood and placed his hand on Siriondil's shoulder. "My people, we have guests of old among us tonight. The men of Numenor have returned! Shall we entertain them?" A chorus of agreement rang through the hall, and Mararion silenced them with a wave of his hand. "Vinyayáviëiel, if you please..."
The elvish maiden blushed softly and rose. "What shall I sing, Mararion?"
"A tale of old."
She thought for a moment, and began the lay of Eärendil:
Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.
In panoply of ancient kings,
in chained rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk of Men and Elven-kin.
Beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From World's End then he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.
Her sweet voice faded, and everyone nodded in appreciation. "Of your skills with weapons I have heard, but never could I imagine a voice so beautiful." said Eladlín.
"Thank you." replied Vinyayáviëiel. She admired the young boy, for he was polite, with a charming personality. "Do you like horses?" she asked him.
"I have never seen one, though I have read that they are amazing creatures."
"Indeed they are. Ask your friend if you may accompany me, and I will show you my steed, Mânêl."
"What does Mânêl mean?"
"In the common tongue, Spirit Star."
Siriondil walked over to Eladlín, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It is time we retired, my young friend. I still have work to do."
"May we see Mânêl first?"
"Who is that?" asked Siriondil
Vinyayáviëiel interrupted. "'Tis my horse. But it is no matter, I will show him to Eladlín another day."
The boy's face fell slightly, but Siriondil smiled. "If it can be done quickly, I see no reason to stop him from meeting the animal. Lead the way, fair Lady."
One must always give credit where credit is due. Obviously, the Lay of Eärendil and all my references and maps were created by Tolkien himself (right, Finch? *winks*). He is the one to whom we owe everything. I would also like to thank the websites that have published his materials and made it easier for me to find and organize. The Lay of Eärendil was found at
http://tolkien.cro.net/talesong/earendil.html
It's a wonderful Tolkien resource site. I'd also like to thank
http://www.photovault.com/Link/mithrandir/Maps/beleriand.html
and
http://lotrmaps.cjb.net/
for creating and collecting such wonderful maps of middle-earth. Although I'm still not completely sure I've got it right (hey, it's not easy translating for Lotr to silmarillion mapwise.and its even harder when you can't get 2 places (cough edhellond and lindon cough) on the same map. If anyone thinks I'm completely wrong, please, email me. I actually like being corrected, because then I learn and I know people are reading my story, so really don't hesitate.
Also, all my elvish translations are in Sindarian, except for the occasional Quenya word, but I really don't know Quenya all that well...I also apologize for the serious lack of description, but there was a lot that needed to be said in this chapter. And as for the wait, I apologize again, but homework comes first. And I have a lot of homework...blecch