AS SUNLIGHT THROUGH CLOUDS

Veryandil impatiently awaited the arrival of Nyello, and his look of utter disappointment when the ‘other’ healer entered was obvious to all. Though he was told he would be able to use his arm carefully this day, his joy was dimmed that his friend was not the one to tell him the good news. He thanked her politely, then asked hopefully: Will Nyello come today?

Healer quizzically: What name did you say, young one?

Veryandil: Nyello, lady.

Healer: That name is not known to me.

Veryandil in realization: He said he has lots of names but they are worn-out. He said I may call him, Nyello. Then with no small amount of pride: He let me choose his name, like Atto chose mine; though he is much older than even Atto, I think.

It was too much for the ‘older’ elves to refrain from merry laughter at this wise-spoken child. Veryandil joined them for the natural fun of the moment.

Leaping up he danced lightly to his father and with innocent eyes asked: Atto, may I visit Nyello today?

Linwë: How do we find an elf who lives nowhere?

Veryandil to the healer: Please tell me where to find Nyello, lady.

Healer: That I do not know, Veryandil.

Veryandil turning to his mother: Nana, would you ask the Lady or the Lord where he is? I want him to see how he has healed me.

Turning suddenly he pulled out his small pack from the chest and emptied the contents onto the bed. Rummaging through the assortment, he at last came across the object of his search, his most treasured possession, concealed in a small cloth bag tied shut with a silver cord.  Loosing the cord he removed the star-stone from its protective nest; clear as glass, but at its heart a tiny spark resembling the gleam of one of the radiant lights in the night sky.

Veryandil to his parents: For Nyello.

Oloriel and Linwë smiled and nodded, glad for the generous spirit that was the child given to their keeping.

Oloriel: Perhaps you and your father wish to visit the lake today. I shall ask Lord Irmo to help us find your friend.

Oloriel in answer to her husband’s inquiring look: Follow the blue stones.

*****

Maglor noted the presence of father and son though they were far down the shore. The simple pleasure of watching them together forced tears from his grey eyes, and a single wrenching sob that seemed to flood his very fëa with unspeakable pain.

They had noticed the pavilion, but came no closer out of respect for the privacy of the occupant. Silken robe swirling about his bare ankles he approached to pair. Linwë halted, uncertain of their reception, but Veryandil with enthusiastic surety of their welcome ran to greet his friend.

Veryandil: Nyello! We have found you all by ourselves! Look I am healed! Thank you!

Maglor smiled and bowed to Veryandil, who immediately returned the bow.

Maglor glanced toward Linwë: The uncomplicated love of a child heals many wounds. The comforts of my house I extend to you and Veryandil.

Linwë startled by his words but recovering quickly: We would be honored to join you, lord.

Maglor: No lord, Linwë. Nyello, merely a singer.

As they walked the short distance to Maglor’s pavilion, Linwë noticed how Nyello’s eyes followed the bright path woven by his son with pure enchantment.

Linwë unable to refrain from asking the question: Nyello, the first night you played for my son…

He broke off as Maglor halted, then continued in spite of his reticence:…the… was that…Two Trees?

Maglor seriously: You are far too young to know that tuning.

Linwë: Once before I heard it played and thought it most lovely. You played with a more flawless perfection than the other; it was as though a Power guided your fingers.

Maglor: Your words are kindly spoken.

Linwë: Would you teach me, Nyello, or barring that make known to me your teacher?

Maglor: My time is not mine to spend.

Linwe’s puzzled look did not elicit any further information, so they proceeded unspeaking to their goal.

*****

Veryandil could scarcely endure the polite conversation and refreshment, though the fruits and breads and mild wine were delicious.

At last his father motioned him to come to his side.

Linwë: My son, Veryandil, wishes to thank you for his healing…

Veryandil interrupting: And the song, Atto.

The stern look from father to son stilled the ardent child who hung his head in shame.

Veryandil very contritely: Your pardon I ask, Atto.

Linwë: As you should, Veryandil, but not mine alone.

Veryandil blushed hotly: Your pardon I ask, Nyello.

Linwë pulled his son to him, hugging away the embarrassment.

Linwë formally: Nyello, my son, Veryandil, would speak with you on a matter of importance.

Maglor: I will hear him.

Veryandil with the formal ritual words of gifting: From my hands to yours. From my heart to yours. Of friendship and trust. Receive now this gifting.

Holding out the star-stone in small cupped hands he extended them to Maglor.

Maglor stood, tall and majestic, then sank to his knees before the child that they might be closer in height for the exchange.

Maglor in a voice rough with emotion: From your hands to mine. From your heart to mine. Of friendship and trust. I accept this gifting.

With that he held his cupped hands below Veryandil’s. Veryandil carefully separated his, allowing the stone to drop through the gap onto the waiting palms of his friend. With small trembling hands he closed Maglor’s completely around the symbol of their new covenant. Feeling a warm drop of liquid on their joined hands he looked up shyly into the fair face above him and saw to his astonishment, Maglor’s tear-filled eyes watching him. Veryandil reached far up to stroke the dark head, tugging on a strand of the silky midnight hair to bring his face closer. As had his father done to him times without counting, he stretched up onto his toes and tenderly kissed the crown of Maglor’s head.

Heedless now of his pride Maglor wept softly. He heard them depart, but was unable to respond.

*****

The silent tears had turned to wracking sobs that tore at him. Sometime in the night he fell into a deep dreamless sleep and did not wake with the rising of Anar. Cool, clear morning alive with birdsong and whisper of breeze through leafy boughs passed without his knowing.

But then the tormenting dreams engulfed him; bright red blood on pure white stone, flames reaching far into a darken sky, betrayals, deaths too numerous to count, and bitterest of all the fair elven faces unbelieving that Elf could slay Elf; never staying the grim hands that dealt harshest with those who surrendered not the Jewel of Light taken from the Iron Crown of the Morgoth. Silently he wailed in the darkness, helpless to free himself from the chains that bound him to his past deeds; so cruelly trapped in despair he did not even sense the presence of the child.

Veryandil crept close, aghast at the struggle evident by the clenched fists, agonized expression on face, taut muscles, and worst of all the whimpering moans from one he deemed infinity strong and powerful and wise. Just then the tightly closed fists opened and he noticed a strange marking on the left palm. It being the closest to him he reached a tentative finger.

The feather-light touch breached the barriers of Maglor’s nightmares and he surged instantly into readiness in battle stance. Eyes wide with lingering terror he groped fruitlessly for his sword, attention arrested by a furtive movement near the tent flap. His hand snatched for the dagger no longer at his waist, then the smaller throwing blade at boot top though he was barefoot, and then froze in mid-breath.

Trying to escape away from the unbridled rage was a young child. His fevered brain supplied the name, Veryandil, and he dropped defeated to the ground, head bowed, unmoving.

Grass barely disturbed by elven feet, the child crept close.

Veryandil scared: Nyello?

Maglor: GO!

Veryandil crying now: Friends do not leave friends who need them.

Maglor brokenly but not looking up: Come, child.

Veryandil crawled to his side, and taking one powerful hand in both of his, he stroked the back of it. A fingertip met the rough surface on the palm and Veryandil turned it up to examine it closer. Maglor started to yank his hand away, but by sheer will forced himself to remain calm and allow the exploration. Tensed as for unendurable pain, he was surprised by the gentle movements of tiny finger tracing the edges and then pressing lightly into the marring itself.

Veryandil: Nyello, your hand has a… a…

He had no word.

Maglor softly: Scar.

Veryandil: Why?

Maglor: That I remember.

Veryandil: Remember what?

Maglor: Great wrongs.

Veryandil: Were you punished?

Maglor with a rueful chuckle: Harshly.

Veryandil sympathetically: Atto punished me once. It was hard to know I had hurt my Atto.

Maglor waited for the rest of the tale.

Veryandil: He told me I must part with a thing dear to me that I might learn the cost of disobeying.  Atto says to do wrong always takes the best things from us.

Maglor: Your Atto is a wise elf.

Veryandil curious: Does your Atto say the same?

Maglor: My Atto… is in the Halls of Waiting.

Veryandil: Can you go see him?

Maglor: He must come forth.

Veryandil: You must be sad, Nyello, that your Atto is gone away and you cannot even visit him.

Maglor: You also are wise, little one.

Veryandil biting his lip in concentration then brightening: Maybe my Atto will love you as a son of his heart, even though not of blood. Like your sons!

Maglor stared in amazement at this child with a heart full of love unbounded.

Veryandil: Then we would be brothers!

Maglor turned away for the pain this simple thought caused. Six brothers dead, five at the hands of their fellow elves, one… into a fiery chasm rather than release that Jewel of our father’s crafting; gone to the Halls of Mandos for stars know how long. This child cannot understand the Doom that would become his lot were he in fact ‘my brother’. Not wishing to continue the path of conversation he asked: How came you here?

Veryandil: The healer showed me the way, and also how to return. The little stones are the guides!

Maglor: Do you hunger after your journey?

Veryandil:  Your pardon, Nyello. I was to bring a message. May I begin properly?

Maglor: Certainly, Veryandil.

Veryandil stood straight and bowed to his friend who returned the gesture.

Veryandil formally: Nyello, my errand is to present these words to you. Atto and Nana ask your presence at a family feasting this day to give praise for my healing; then added hopefully: Would you bring your harp and play with the singing?

Maglor smiled at the eager face: Your House honors me; I shall attend and my harp shall accompany me.

Veryandil almost leaped for joy, but managed to maintain his formal manners long enough to thank Nyello.

Maglor: Do you swim, little one?

Veryandil brightly: Atto taught me and he is pleased with my progress.

Maglor: Join me in the lake while I bathe.

Veryandil dashed out the doorway the short distance to the lake and quickly disrobing plunged into the deep blue waters, coming up spluttering and shaking hair from his face. Maglor proceeded at a more casual pace having left his garments in the pavilion and, diving neatly into the water, with strong strokes followed the shore toward the bathing cove. Veryandil trailed behind, but Maglor with hearing attuned to the splashing and laughter behind him paused, then ducked under the surface and swimming underwater came up beneath the child. Erupting from the water he grabbed Veryandil who squealed with delight, setting him to stand on his shoulders. The water being only chest deep to the tall elf, he now stood and encouraged Veryandil to dive off into the deeper water. Gaining balance instinctively, Veryandil dove inexpertly off his impromptu ‘rock’, tumbling rather than diving.

Maglor retrieved a spluttering and frowning Veryandil. Then with a few well chosen suggestions, told Veryandil to try once more. This time the results were far more satisfactory to both, and with a couple of more attempts both swimmers grinned.

They continued on to the cove where Maglor unbound his hair; Veryandil imitating his friend. The shallow bowls of lightly scented cleansing liquids for hair and body were placed in easy access to the bathers. Ducking under the small, gently spilling waterfall they rinsed themselves, then Maglor laid his head back letting his long, night-dark hair float out around him to free it from excess tangles. Veryandil swam into the midst of the jet-black strands, pretending to be caught in a net. Maglor dragged his wriggling ‘catch’ close and shook him free, dumping him unceremoniously back into the water. Veryandil surfaced back in the ‘net’, to once again be ‘thrown back’. The third time Maglor suspended him upside-down by his feet and with a show of measuring his ‘fish’ proceeded to the bank, exclaiming aloud: This one would make a nice meal.

Veryandil protested: I am not a fish, Nyello! I am Veryandil! Do not eat me!

Maglor: Ai, Veryandil, you are indeed not a fish, though I netted you three times. Thinking of a tasty fish made me hunger for the feasting that awaits us. Let us find our clothing and you shall lead me there.

*****

Fresh garments were laid out on their return; for Veryandil tunic and trousers of leaf green; for Maglor tunic and leggings of misty grey. In unspoken accord, neither put on the soft soled shoes, preferring the feel of the ground underfoot.

Circuitous was their trail, leading past a deep spring-fed pool where they paused to admire the colorful fish swimming lazily through the underwater plants; up a gentle slope awash with flowers of blue, yellow and pale pink; climbing onto a broad low tree-branch to spy the passage of a deer. After it disappeared into the woods, Maglor leapt lightly from the branch plucking Veryandil from his perch.

Veryandil often ran ahead with leaping strides, stopping abruptly to investigate some object that caught his attention.

Veryandil rounded on his friend with sudden inspiration: You could be a mighty stag and I Herú Oromë in pursuit.

Maglor caught off-guard: What know you of the hunt?

Veryandil: Once I saw a dance-tale of Herú Oromë, the great hunter, and the proud stag he captured.

Maglor dryly: Captured?

Veryandil missing the tone: Herú Oromë chased the stag until it surrendered to him!

Whirling gracefully Maglor dipped his head and shook it in imitation of a stag. Veryandil called to his ‘hounds’ as the ‘stag’ sped effortless over the ground, Veryandil in instant pursuit.

The stag would halt motionless until the hunter drew near, then bound off into the open woods or across a clearing. Each time the hunter closed in, the stag fled before him, bringing the small hunter unbeknownst ever nearer the area of the healing pavilions. 

Panting heavily the stag froze with head down as the hunter cautiously approached his now winded prey. Drawing his bow he let fly an arrow. True and swift it flew and buried deep just behind the sweat-streaked red shoulder. One last jerky leap and the great stag crumpled heavily to the ground. The hunter cried out to his hounds to stay from the fallen game.

Running forward, Veryandil threw himself onto Maglor in sheer exuberance only to pull back in confusion.

Veryandil: Lordly Stag, I have captured you!

Maglor moved not a muscle. Veryandil in concern stroked the dark head of his friend and called softly: Nyello.

Maglor whispered: You have not given thanks for the gift.

Veryandil wide-eyed did not answer.

Maglor: That we not forget the cost.

Veryandil: Are there proper words, Nyello?

Maglor rolled over and clasped the child to him.

Maglor: If life is taken it must be remembered that to each living thing the life is most precious.

Veryandil seriously: I shall remember.

Maglor rising with fluid grace offered a hand to Veryandil raising him gently to his feet. Picking up the wrapped harp from where he had placed it prior to his ‘capture’, he asked Veryandil to lead the way. Quickly a guide-stone was found by the little hunter and they emerged shortly into the wide grassy glade where rested the healing pavilions.

Veryandil raced ahead to alert his parents of their arrival, Maglor following at a more dignified pace.

*****

The presence of others than Veryandil’s parents discomfited Maglor and he hesitated some distance from the gathering of elves. Memories of dark deeds surfaced suddenly; with quickened breath and racing pulse he reached again for his sword hilt, and experienced a moment of panic at finding himself unarmed.

Veryandil ran to his friend, his stride faltering as he saw the look of apprehension on Nyello’s face.

Veryandil with concern: Nyello?

Then assuming he had erred in his reception, he drew himself up tall and bowed before formally welcoming him to the feast. Maglor focused on the small child wearing the serious adult expression and bowed his acceptance. Maglor accompanied Veryandil to the group of elves, though now heartily regretting his agreeing to this ordeal. The obvious unease of the tall elf approaching was sensed by all present and with polite words most wandered off coming back singly or by twos after his tension lessened.

Plain though delicious the food, but warm and merry the company and gradually Maglor relaxed enough to enjoy the uncomplicated festivities. When one of the elves brought forth a flute and began to play, Veryandil edged close to Maglor and asked if he, too, would play. Warmed by the love of the boy, Maglor smiled at Veryandil. When the flautist ended his tune, Veryandil with great pride announced that his friend, Nyello, would gift them with harp and song.

Maglor met and held each pair of eyes in turn before turning his attention to the tuning of the harp. Soft voices stilled as he began to play. Tiny runs of notes his elegant fingers coaxed from the strings, altered as he again held each individual gaze for an instant; then with incredible skill he wove the varied pieces into a theme, joined by his utterly magnificent voice. How long the song lasted none could tell, but each elf felt the focus of the song was his own, and the songs of the others blended with their own to complete the joyful union of harp and voice.

As the music ended, no one moved nor even drew deep breath; the awesome art of this unknown harper-singer staggering them with its wonder. Veryandil went forward with eyes wide in admiration and sat before Maglor. When Maglor smiled, he asked boldly: Nyello, will you teach me to play and sing like you?

Maglor made room for the child between him and the harp and with a gesture invited him to seat himself where he could reach the strings. Without words Maglor demonstrated a simple fingering, then taking the small hands helped Veryandil pluck a few notes. Maglor dropped his hands to the side and allowed the boy to continue unaided. The bright look of delight on Veryandil’s face pleased his watching parents; even more so when Maglor added his fingers to the harp and wove the child’s efforts with his own into a merry tune.

Veryandil stood when they brought their music to a close, and turning wrapped his arms around the neck of the Harper and whispered his thanks into the nearest ear.

After, there were other songs and a couple of frolicking dances of which Veryandil partook with the zeal of the very young. Gradually the guests drifted off for the evening; Maglor delaying until Veryandil’s need for rest was apparent to all. Bidding them farewell, he melted into the tree line, but then paused and placing his harp aside sank gracefully to the ground at the foot of an obliging tree. At peace and untroubled he entered onto the Paths of Dreams.