Ranger is wandering around Endataurëo. He doesn't have much to do, he was just killing time. He's had most of this week off, recovering from running down that Maeglin fellow. Frankly he is too old to be crashing through underbrush and pressing his nose to the dirt to follow tiny scuffs on the ground. His back had been killing him.
Thing is, that was all well and good at the start of the week, when he was dead tired, but now he's bored. His back still aches mind, but he isn't the type to enjoy just lying down all day. Hence his, rather ginger, walk around the building.
Truth be told it wasn't much better than lying in bed. The sun setting through the trees is pretty, but that was about it. The old man sighs, rubbing his back idly. Maybe he should go find somewhere to sit down, and rest. He's feeling pretty tired at this point.
Then, on the wind, he hears the sound of singing. It was soft, clearly not meant to be overheard, yet the wind has carried it to the, perhaps keener than they should be, ears of the former werewolf. Struck by curiosity, Ranger turns to follow the sound.
As he approaches what turns out to be a small courtyard, hidden from most angles save the one that led to it, the song becomes louder, and he can make out the words. Unfortunately, this does not reveal much as the language is nothing he understands.
'Or perhaps', Ranger thinks as he sees Nelyafinwë lounging beneath a tree, 'it reveals exactly who is singing.'
Strangely, the old man feels no desire to ask the kid to stop. There's a palpable atmosphere in this quiet little courtyard. It's not sad, not exactly, it's like that feeling he gets when he thinks back on things that are gone and will never come back[1].
Finally, the kid's soft song comes to a mournful end, and Ranger cannot help applauding quietly.
Nelyafinwë jerks wildly and he leaps to his feet. His left hand twitching as though he cannot decide where it should go. The tall elf's eyes fall on Ranger and he stills. After a heartbeat he shakes his head with a rueful laugh and bows.
"My thanks, had I known I had an audience I would have chosen something more to your taste." He says lightly.
"No. it was… It was nice." The old man says. "Kinda sad, but fittin', if ya know what I mean."
The kid smiles and relaxes visibly. "I am pleased that you found it so. I know that the people of this land find my habit of song strange."
Ranger shrugs. "Yeah, but ya're a weird kid."
With a laugh, said kid sinks back down to sit beneath the tree. "From my perspective it is you who are strange. A grim and silent folk my people would judge you."
Ranger smiles awkwardly but says nothing. The kid doesn't either and the human feels awkward. He fidgets in place for what feels like an eternity.
Suddenly, he blurts out. "What's it mean?"
"What does what mean?" Nelyafinwë replies.
"What ya were singin'." Ranger clarifies. "Just sounded kinda sad, but not quite. Like ya've lost somethin'. I was wonderin' what it was about."
Dark eyes turn towards an unseen horizon. "Yes, I suppose it is about something lost."
Silence descends once more. Ranger doesn't really want to interrupt the kid, especially since his face makes it pretty clear he's not really there right now.
Then the kid's voice startles the old man, "I fear that the words do not translate well. They are, complex, or rather the cultural references and metaphors are. Should one understand them then the song is quite straightforward, but you would not."
"Right. Yeah, guess so." Ranger says, downcast. "Sorry to bother ya."
The old man's turns to depart but is interrupted by the kid's voice. "By far the biggest challenge is that it would not rhyme."
Ranger blinks in surprise and turns back. "What?"
"The song would not rhyme in translation." Nelyafinwë repeats. "It would sound terrible."
"I asked what it meant, not for ya to sing it again in common." Ranger grumbles.
"What one earth would be the point of doing so?" The kid asks, looking genuinely confused.
"I just wanted to know what was makin' the song so sad." The human snaps.
Nelyafinwë's face has a look of slowly dawning comprehension on it. "Ah, I see. Forgive me then, I fear I have been the victim of culture clash. It would be highly unusual for any of my people to ask to hear a song without the music. It would be, I do not have the word. Imagine asking to read only every second word of a book, it is akin to that."
"Oh..." Ranger trails off, feeling, well feeling a lot of things. "I guess I understand that. Look, it's… Don't worry about it."
"Please, take a seat. Let me apologise by providing the requested explanation." Nelyafinwë says, gesturing at the ground across from him.
After a few seconds consideration, Ranger gingerly lowered himself to sit across from the elf. He had to admit, the grass was more comfortable than he thought it would be. Minor existential crisis about whether or not Brecilian was comfortable or if this was more magic over, he turned his attention to the kid.
"In truth, it is difficult to explain. The song begins with a brief account of my childhood." The elf says, expression distant yet focused. "My travels with my brothers and my father. From there it moves to the tale of my capture and a momentary questioning if I could return to that life one handed."
"Kinda seein' why ya people don't do this much." Ranger notes wryly.
The kid nods. "It is rather dry and lifeless without the poetry is it not?"
There is a long silence before Ranger says, "Don't stop though, still curious."
"A moment please." The kid replies with an intense expression.
More silence follows then the kid suddenly sings, "When the horns sound, we eldar still answer the call, but as year follows year, fewer of us appear. One day none shall answer at all."
The words don't really match the tune, and it makes the kid stumble. Frankly it's a terrible performance, just like the kid said. It's still so much better than the dry recitation from before.
There's just one problem. "What's that last bit about? I don't get it."
"By the time I wrote this song I was rather convinced that there would be no ultimate victory against Morgoth." Nelyafinwë replies, gaze distant once again. "All but one of my brothers was dead, and the Silmaril was forever beyond our grasp. I began to wonder if one day there would be on eldar left in Beleriand at all."
"Yar brothers are dead?" Ranger asks in shock.
"Káno should still be alive." The kid replies with a shrug. "Other than that all have fallen."
"Ya thought that Maeglin fellow was one of them." Ranger points out. "Why not ask after 'Kano' if ya knew the others were all dead."
The elf meets Ranger's gaze, strange ethereal light dancing in his eyes. "Death does not mean the same thing for my kind as yours."
Ranger thinks for several whole minutes. He wants to ask, about that comment, about the strange cold feeling both Nelyafinwë and Maeglin gave off when angered, and all the other strange things that happened around him. However he doesn't, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of fondness.
Instead he asks, "Ya aren't a spirit or possessin' someone are ya?"
"No, and I tire of the constant accusations to the contrary." The elf replies with an intimidating scowl.
"Right, cool. Tell me about ya brothers then." Ranger says.
He settled back against a tree root as a smile slowly stole over the kid's face. As day turned to night, Maedhros the Tall, legend of the First Age spoke of his brothers. But he did not speak of Curufin the Crafty, he spoke of Kurvo, who used to steal his father's tools aged twenty. Nor did he speak of Celegorm the Fair, but rather of Turko, who once laid in tracked a hawk for three days so he might win an argument.
By the time the moon rose in the sky Ranger and Nelyafinwë still sat alone, but Ragner could have sworn he heard ghostly laughter and yelling. That night as he slept, his dreams were of his own family, of his son and daughter. His wife smiled and welcomed him home. In Nelyafinwë's room, red haired twins fled in laughter from a furious Carnistir, the jam on their hands suspiciously the same colour as that on his new cloak.
In Endataurëo too very old Children dreamt of home and family. It was a kind end to a difficult week.
[1] The word is melancholy, but Ranger doesn't know that.