Chapter 6 Realization and Beginnings
"What does he look like? Is he nice?" asked Eladlín, rather apprehensively.
"You shall see in a moment." replied Vinyayáviëiel. She swung the oaken doors of the stable open and stepped inside. The feeble light of the stable did not provide a good view of a black horse, so Vinyayáviëiel led him outside. He snorted nervously and skirted away from the strangers. She laid a calming touch on his shoulder and he relaxed. Eladlín stepped forward tentatively and stroked his nose. The horse snorted again and moved away for a moment, staring curiously at the boy. He leaned in slowly and breathed heavily into Eladlín's hair, making him giggle in delight. The horse watched him for a moment and then ruffled his hair with his snout, showing his gentle way of acceptance. Reassured by the boy's success, Siriondil stepped forward. As he laid his hand upon the horse's back, it jumped back in alarm and stamped. Siriondil shook his head slowly.
"I am sorry," Vinyayáviëiel apologized, "He will not take to you."
"It is of little importance," he replied, though internally the rejection of the beast stung him deeply. He had kept a dog as a small boy, and animals had always held a special place in his heart. He rubbed his hands together firmly and muttered to himself.
Vinyayáviëiel gave him a curious look. "Hold out your hands." she told him. He did so obediently, and her laugh rang clear.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Your hands, they are coarse from your work as a mariner! That is why the horse shrudders at your touch. He does not like roughness." Behind her the stallion bobbed his head slowly, as if agreeing with the elf. As the knowledge passed through Siriondil's mind, a smile grew on his face. "But do not worry," she continued, "for few Elvish horses are as fastidious as my friend."
By now Eladlín's yearning for the horses and been satisfied, and Vinyayáviëiel lead them back to the inn. "If you have need of anything, simply ask."
"Thank you for your kindness." they replied in unison. She simply smiled again and strode off into the growing night.
As they stepped into the building, Eladlín yawned softly. Siriondil looked down at him, "Off to bed with you. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." The boy nodded quietly, he was too tired to make a fuss. He thumped up the stairs and slid between the covers of his bed. He did not fall asleep without delay though, for he missed the calming rocking of the waves.
Meanwhile, Siriondil attempted to quiet the men, who, it seemed, had found a rather large barrel of mead. Surin held up a tankard and slurred, "Come and join us, Siriondil! You have missed the party of a lifetime!" He cackled gleefully, but Siriondil frowned.
"We have business to attend!" he nearly shouted, "And you are drinking mead? The success of our journey lies upon these matters!" This had the effect of sobering the men extremely quickly. Surin's tankard dropped to the floor with a large clunk and rolled away. "Sorry….." he mumbled.
"Much better," he replied, though the tone of his voice showed his displeasure. "Tomorrow morning an two elves will arrive at the door of the inn. I expect you all to be awake and," his eyes lingered on the empty barrel, "sober. One elf will lead you to the mountains where you will find our kin."
"Will you not accompany us?" asked Beran, the old seamaster.
"I have my own quest to complete. I do not know if I shall see you again."
"And what of Eladlín?"
"He will follow me. It is his journey as much as it is mine."
"And if you are not here when we return? What then? You cannot desert you crew." said Surin.
"Beran has captained many ships in his time. He will lead you back to Numenor. If I have not returned by the close of the year, I ask you to leave without me."
"Have you lost your sense Siriondil? Have you made alliances with these" Beran's face contorted in a fit of hatred, "elves?"
"I know full well the risks I take. But you must know this. If I do not return, you must tell Lord Elros had Eladlín has found his place in the world. And I have gone with him."
If any of the sailors found this strange, they did not voice their opinions. Siriondil continued slowly. "You will clean this room before you sleep. They do not deserve this in return for their kind hospitality." He turned and left the room without a word. More silence followed his departure, and the men cleaned the room quietly before finding their own beds.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning Siriondil rose with the sun and stepped slowly out of bed. He yawned and crept into Eladlín's room to check on him. He slept peacefully, though Siriondil knew his sleep had not come easily. The passion for the sea burned deep within both their hearts. Leaving him to rest a bit longer, he walked down the stairs, where he found most of the men packed and ready to depart. He smiled his thanks and prepared a small breakfast for himself. Within a few minutes the rest of the men had assembled. He cleared his throat, and they looked to him for guidance. "I thank you for trusting me. I know these elves mean well, even if their ways are different. Do not fear them, and they will treat you will kindness. Surin, you have the lists?"
"Yes. I know what we are to trade for."
"Good. Stick as close to it as you can. Do not be afraid to visit your families, but I ask you not to tarry overlong there. You must depart by the start of the New Year."
A knock on the door told them the elves had arrived. Siriondil opened it to find Mararion and another elf he did not recognize. Mararion introduced him as Imladrandir*. He spoke with a soft tongue. "Come, follow me. I shall lead through the mountains." His eyes held a gentle gleam. Suddenly, they were not afraid. Such an elf did not warrant fear. They picked up their packs and followed him through the doorway and out of town. Beran was the last in the long line, and it was him that stopped and turned back. "Goodbye, my captain!"
"Farewell, Beran!"
"Namaarie!" called Mararion. Beran did not reply, instead he struck up a familiar tune and followed the others.
"Namaarie?" asked Siriondil.
"It means farewell in the language of my kin."
A few small thumps told them that Eladlín was awake. They turned around to watch him walk down the stairs. "'Lo." he muttered sleepily.
"Are you ready?" asked Siriondil.
"For what?"
"Today we leave this village to meet my elven kin. You shall see Lord Elrond before the month has waned."
Eladlín perked up quickly. "We are leaving? Today?"
"Yes. It is a long journey, and the others have also begun their trek."
"Do you mean Beran and the other sailors?"
Siriondil nodded. "As soon as you have eaten, we must depart." Eladlín ate a fast breakfast and went upstairs to pack his things. Within a half-hour he was ready to leave, except for one small problem. His rucksack was bigger than he was. Siriondil laughed in spite of himself. "I am sure Mararion will help you with this." As if on cue, the elf stepped back into the inn.
"Are we ready?"
"I believe so."
"Good. Follow me." He led them out into a small courtyard where four horses stood nervously. Siriondil looked at them skeptically. "They have no harness….." he muttered.
Mararion heard him, and shook his head slowly. "I forget that you do not know our ways. They are Elvish horses, they will bear no harness." He lifted Eladlín onto a red roan, and loaded his pack onto a grey mare. Siriondil chose the bay mare. He placed his hand on her withers and leapt on. Five seconds later, he landed with a dull thud on the other side of the horse. Eladlín screeched with delight. Siriondil got up and rubbed his back gently. He already knew that horses would not be his favorite method of travel. Mararion lead the chestnut stallion over to him, and showed him how to mount correctly. "Swing your leg up and balance yourself. But do not jump too forcefully, or you will fly right over her back. As I am sure you have already learned."
"Funny. Real witty." replied Siriondil as he righted himself on the horse. Eladlín placed a small hand on the horse's shoulders. It responded to his touch and strode over towards the others.
"You have a good hand with a horse," noted Mararion.
"It seems as though he knows what I want him to do."
"You tell him with your touch, and a gentle squeeze with your knees. Never kick him, or he will rear in anger."
Eladlín nodded slowly. "What is his name?" he asked.
"He is a gelding, and his name is Caranaur."
"Caranaur….." the boy repeated, feeling it over with his tongue. "What does that mean?"
"Red-flame. He is a fiery young horse."
"What about this one?" asked Siriondil.
"Tossgalenas. Maple-leaf. They are her favorite. The others are Mithôl, Grey-dream, and this is Midheiliant, Dew-rainbow." He told them, motioning to the packhorse and his own mount.
"And what is our path?" asked Eladlín.
"So many questions! Lindon is to the north, near the Bay of Balar and the Blue Mountains. We must follow the River Morthond over the White Mountains, were we shall find the North-South Road. It will lead us through the Horse Plains and into the Fields of Farthing. From there we must cross three more rivers to arrive at the Grey Havens, the largest seaport in all of Middle-Earth."
"It is a long journey, then."
"Yes, but it is one I have made many times before, so worry not. I know where to go." With this he lead them out of Edhellond at a slow walk. "Can you travel any faster?" he asked them.
"This is a good pace for today." replied Siriondil, "Let us learn our way around these new beasts."
They followed the winding river of Morthond through countless grassy knolls and a deep-forested valley. It was here that they stopped for the night. Mararion found a small cave near the churning water, and he lead the horses out for a drink while Siriondil and Eladlín rested.
"Riding is hard work." said Eladlín, "I did not realize it would make me so sore."
"Nor did I." admitted Siriondil.
"It is so beautiful here though. I think it will be worth the journey."
Siriondil rolled onto his side and looked at Eladlín. "Did your father ever tell you why we are journeying to Lindon and Lord Elrond?"
"No. Why?"
"Never mind, for it is not my place to tell you. I am sure it will be explained when we arrive in Lindon."
"Ossiriand." interrupted Mararion. "Speak of it by its proper name." He dumped a large amount of wood on the ground and started a small fire. He gave them each a small wafer.
"What is this?" asked Eladlín.
"Lembas, or Elvish waybread. One wafer is enough to fill a stomach for a day." They ate it quickly, without slowing to savor the sweet flavor, for their hunger was great after a day of travels. Mararion smiled as he watched them eat. It reminded him of the days when he had been a young lad. Now he was accustomed to the toils of travel, and the hunger did not bite as sharply. "You may sleep under the rock face. I will keep a watch, though one is not truly needed within the borders of our land."
Siriondil gave him a strange look. "But surely you will tire! You cannot go without sleep!"
"I am an elf, Siriondil, I can go without many things. But I have no need of rest tonight, for my heart is too wary."
"Why is that?" asked Eladlín, "Do you feel something coming? I do."
"You are a strange child Eladlín. What do you feel?"
"Darkness. It grows steadily nearer."
Mararion's face was grim. "That is an elvish trait, it is unusual that you possess it. Yes, evil is creeping back into the world. The fortress at Angband was destroyed, but its peoples were not. They grow ever stronger. But we shall tarry not on such thoughts. Sleep in peace, we are safe tonight."
Eladlín followed Mararion's command and fell asleep almost instantly. He shivered in his slumber as a weak sea breeze passed through the land and Siriondil covered him with his cloak. The boy snuggled against it and snored serenely. Yet Siriondil could not be comforted. He missed his crew and ship, and he did not take Mararion's warning lightly. He laid down on his back and before long a melancholy tune reached his ears. He sat up slowly, but the elf paid no heed. He sang to the river and his back was to the others. This tune was clearly sorrowful in nature, but Siriondil did not understand the words. Mararion sang solely in Elvish. Yet it was a strange tongue, and the sounds were different from the language he had heard in Edhellond. After a few minutes his voice quieted and Siriondil asked him, "Of what did you sing?" Mararion turned quickly, and Siriondil saw that his face was streaked with tears.
"No matter that concerns a man. Besides, if I translated it for you, you would only mistrust my kind all the more."
"My views are swiftly changing Mararion. Please tell me the song."
Mararion sighed softly and began, "It was sung in Quenya, that is, the high language of the elves of old. It is seldom heard in these lands; it comes from another land, the land of the Valar." Siriondil nodded to show that he understood and Mararion continued, "It tells a part of the history of the Simarils. Do you know what they are?"
"I have heard they were jewels of great beauty."
Mararion nodded. "Their beauty was too great. They were….." he sighed again, "I cannot describe them. I will simply recount the tale.
Tales of sorrow and tales of pain
Abound in the land from whence we came.
The Silmarils were his greatest work
They haunted his mind, consumed his soul.
Wherever he lay the Simarils also lurked.
But Melkor deceived him and all was lost.
As he held his dying father close to his chest
A violent anger rose in his breast.
In haste he swore an oath unwise
Against his protector, dear Manwe.
In anger he led the Noldori
To the shores of Alqualondë.
There the boats of the Teleri were laid
Swaying gently in the morning breeze.
Feanor raised his sword against the peaceful people.
And the sea that day turned red.
A thousand voices cried out in pain
As the people of the Teleri died in vain.
Sisters were lost, Fathers were killed,
at the hands of an elf most bitter.
And his actions that day proved to Manwe
There was no love left in his heart,
Save for his Simarils
And a message came down from on high.
Warning against their escape.
"You shall never return,
To these lands of old,
'Less you turn back now."
Yet Feanor in his fury threw the message aside
and climbed upon the greatest ship
"Away to the fires of Melkor", he called
"We go to steal back our treasure!"
That was the last our people saw of the Teleri
'Tis a sight that still haunts my eyes
Our cousins, our brothers,
Laying dead for a simple gem.
The Oath of Feanor
'Tis a mark of shame.
I am ashamed of my heritage
I wish not to give my name.
Leave me be, let me grieve in peace
One day the sun will rise again
This must have been a dream."
He turned away again and looked to the river. "That is the story of my people, but I ask you not to judge me by Feanor's acts. I am not of royal blood, I had no say."
"That is a story of great sorrow. I am sorry for your pain."
Mararion looked skyward. "I suppose it would not have completely unraveled, if my family was not lost."
"They were killed?"
"Later in the voyage our boats struck the great glaciers and splintered. On the long walk that followed, many perished. My kin were among them."
Siriondil thought quietly to himself. What would it feel like to lose your whole world in an instant? He could not imagine.
"I am sorry I told you of such matters. Please, sleep. You need the rest." added Mararion.
Siriondil turned to his side and closed his eyes, but the drowsiness did not come to his mind for a long time. When Mararion heard his breathing slow, he tended to the horses, but even they could tell his heart was distant.
*Literally translated as "valley-wanderer"
Alright, I have a few notes. One, sorry about the lack of Eladlín in this chapter. As it turned out, it was more of finding for Siriondil, who wrestled with my muse and just took over. Eladlín will return as the main character in the next chapter, I promise. I also apologize for the rather, er, sorrowful nature of this chapter. I wanted to include a little of the history of the elves for Siriondil's benefit, and since Mararion is of the Noldor, his past pretty much bites. I also included the translation of Mararion's Song of the Noldori. I created it myself, which explains the crappy nature of the poetry. Eh, I try. For those of you who have read my other Lotr story (and I doubt that's many of you, because it isn't very good…anyways) the Vinyayáviëiel in this story and that story are two different people. I'm just reusing the name because I like it (Well, it IS my name in elvish, so how can I not like it?)