Of Light and Love

Maglor did not go far from the family camp, sitting down against a convenient tree trunk to rest from his strange ordeal and gather his turbulent thoughts. He sensed restful stillness not long after as the three young elves entered the Paths of Dreams, seeking nothing more complicated than a time of peace. But Maglor was far from the untroubled ease he so desperately sought.

Rising, he moved soundlessly through the woods until he found a small clearing with a placid stream, deep and calming, flowing nearby. Lulled by the sound of the water he paused to listen. Starlight sparkled on the surface, holding him spellbound with the simple joy of the quiet moment. A slow smile transformed his face from tormented to enraptured as the water’s song refreshed his battered fëa.

Dropping to the ground at the stream’s edge he trailed the long, slender fingers of his right hand through the coolness, startled when the song altered as his presence disturbed the rhythm. Experimentally he moved his fingers as if caressing harp strings and gradually found he could bring forth an entirely new music. Instinctively his left hand joined the right as when stroking the strings of his harp.

The resultant blaze of light and sound as starlight and water combined with the silvery-gold light caused Maglor to yank both hands from the stream with a cry of misery.

*****

He stood poised on the sea’s edge, his left hand an agony of unbearable fire; no less was the torment of his mind. Grey eyes reflecting the burning brightness he could no longer possess, he drew back his arm and cast the deadly jewel far out and into the dark water, watching until its radiance was swallowed by the depths. Stumbling down to the shoreline he strode waist-deep into the surf and plunged his flame-ravaged hand into the briny water, crying out as the salt purified his wound. Turning he waded back to shore and collapsing to the ground he wept bitter tears of loss and regret.

*****

Drained both by effort to maintain the now faltering form of his hróa and the painful past memories resurfacing, he lay unmoving within reach of the stream. Gradually he became aware of a presence nearby and again the water’s song changed.

Opening his eyes he spied not far upstream a solitary stag, drinking from the clear waters. It watched him warily as it satisfied its thirst, then lifted its proud head, crowned with a magnificent set of antlers, to stare at the quiescent elf.

Maglor began to sing to the stag, his voice nearly inaudible, a song of peaceful glades and tender leaves and grasses, dusky evening and dim dawnlight, and of safe slumber and restful midday. The tranquility of the song lulled the elf onto the Path of Dreams… 

*****

Water…this time a clear, sun-sparkling lake. A very young elf splashed unceremoniously and vigorously in the shallows, calling to him by a strange name. Nyello! Nyello! Pausing to ponder the significance, he at last absorbed the new name into his fëa. As he did so an inner trembling began deep within him. Puzzled he awaited the meaning of this odd feeling.

He was at the water’s edge before the full magnitude struck him, nearly bringing him to his knees. Reaching up in wonder he felt his now wet cheeks, tears coming easily and without measure. He dove gracefully into the water, not willing that the child should be disturbed.

*****

Blinking once he remembered the great stag and glanced to the place where he had appeared, but the glade was deserted. Sighing, Maglor stood up, stretched with feline grace, then knelt down on the grassy bank facing the stream.  His right hand moved instinctively into the wandering waters, but his left lay clenched on his thigh.

Again he began to ‘play’ the cool liquid flow, this time adding voice to the fragile melody. Slowly his body relaxed, the tightly-fisted left hand resting palm up and fully opened. Moving almost leisurely his left hand entered the water taking up the opposing position as on harp strings. This time, however, the effect was one of heightened beauty of both song and music.

Abruptly he halted and rising he disrobed and entered into the deeper part of the gentle stream allowing the water to rest against him as would a harp, reverberating sensations of such joy he began to weep. Grey eyes closed, long, dark braid trailing downstream behind him, he played a song of healing and unmerited joy, of a newly named self. 

*****

The day waned before Maglor emerged from the water, wrapped in a peace he had not known for millennia. Not bothering to dress, he sprawled on the grassy bank and hands behind his head gazed thoughtfully at the scattered clouds overhead.

The subtle song, deep and slow grew about him. Sitting bolt upright he listened intently before springing lightly to his feet and striding purposefully to the nearest of the great beeches. Placing his hands on the grey bark and pressing his ear to the trunk, a delighted smile crossed his face. After more years than he cared to remember, living amid forests deep in silent slumber, he had all but forgotten the voice of trees. As the ancient tree thrummed a welcome, Maglor sank slowly to lean against the massive trunk, lulled onto the Paths once more. 

*****

Kanafinwë accompanied his parents in solemn reverie along the broad, smooth path leading toward the Corollairë, on this his first visit to the Trees. They had timed it so that he would experience first the silver light of Telperion as the Hour of Mingled Light was nearly completed, signaling the Hours of Silver Light. Heart beating faster, the young elf was barely able to contain his excitement, his fëa drawn by the beauty before him.  

Kanafinwë: Atto! He sings! 

His atto and amil smiled at each other over his head at the joy in their son’s voice, the more so as he took his father’s hand as if to anchor himself from indecorous running in this wondrously, special place. 

At a respectful distance the adults halted and Kanafinwë looked up questioningly into the fair face of his tall father to determine the correct show of reverence. Though his favored hour was passed, Fëanaro felt the clear, refreshing Light of the Silver Tree to be closer to the heart of this, his second son. Unshouldering the child-sized harp from his back, he sank gracefully to the ground, his wife and son joining him. Handing the small, though exquisitely crafted harp to his son, he bade him play for the Silver Tree. Eyes alight with a passionate longing, little Kanafinwë allowed his fëa to lead his hróa as he paid honor with voice and instrument to the majestic Tree. Moments later he was rewarded with the sonorous, resonant echoing tones of Telperion. 

With shining eyes the elf-child rose and walked slowly to the edge of the overhanging branches. Holding both hands palm up, he stood motionless, waiting for… he knew not what. The nearest branch dipped slightly and from a sparkling silver flower, Telperion exuded a single drop of his light onto the small trembling left palm. Unlike water it ran not to the ground, but seemed to be absorbed instantly through his skin. Gasping in astonishment Kanafinwë remained immobile, staring at his hand and the faint silvery hue at its center which faded so rapidly that he was not sure he had seen it at all.  

It was in his fifth yen that he again approached the Trees, this time with puzzlement. His atto had a keen fascination with the radiance at the Time of Mingled Light which Kanafinwë did not understand. For fully three twelve-days he haunted the Corollairë, studying each Hour of Mingled Light and singing to the Two of his wish to know, but he was unprepared when Laurelin thrummed deeply in answer as her light prevailed. 

Rising swiftly he advanced to the outermost branches, his song filled with pleased wonder. Extending both arms, palms up to the Tree, he made known his desire to feel that which enthralled his atar so intensely. His eyes rose with yearning to the nearest of the great golden fruits that hung well above his reach. Easily he could have climbed the immense tree, but even the idea was unthinkable. 

Closing his eyes he continued his pleading song, prepared to wait however long was required now that he had at last been acknowledged by Laurelin. At the subtle change in her song, he opened his eyes, then blinked in astonishment; a shining golden globe on the downward arched branch now hung within his grasp. Open-mouthed he raised his hands to cup the fruit, his left making contact an instant before his right, nearly stunning him with a powerful jolt. Yanking his hands back he looked at the affected palm and to his utter amazement saw a tiny gleaming imprint. Before it faded from his sight it seemed to blend with a silvery reflection.

Dropping to his knees he was further shaken by the awareness of an overwhelming ecstasy as he heard for the first time the Song of Mingled Light. It was long before he descended from the Corollairë.

*****

The softly luminescent presence of the remembered Light filled the dreaming elf with joy, and his lips curved upward to form a blissful smile. Watching the face of the elf was an attendant from the Gardens, bearing food and drink which he set on the ground within easy reach.

Maglor sensed the other and startled into wakefulness, leapt to his feet as his hand instinctively dropped to his left hip to seize his sword, feinting to the right as if evading a blow. His hand meeting nothing but bare skin caused his eyes to widen in alarm. In a calm voice the Maia spoke to the elf.

Maia: Peace to you, Makalaurë.

Maglor, tensed and fully alert, did not reply, but stood warily. Glancing at the bag and flask, he gestured toward them.

Maia: For you, young one.

Maglor cautiously: Why are you here?

Maia: To ease your way, should you wish it.

Maglor still untrusting: My way…my way to the Halls of Waiting?

Maia: If that be your chosen path.

Maglor emphatically: Not by my choosing.

Maia: Then sustaining your hróa would be advisable.

Maglor frowned, then relaxed and sat near the food, but made no move to partake. With a sigh the Maia sat opposite him and extended the bag and flask. After a long appraising look Maglor took the proffered gift, loosing the cord and laying it upon the ground. It contained a thick wafer made of coarse ground grains and nuts mixed with honey and a savory meat, and two perfect creamy yellow plums. Breaking off a piece of the wafer he sampled the flavor and, finding it delicious, he then proceeded to make short work of it. The fruits were juicy and sweet so he rinsed his sticky fingers in the stream before trying the flask. His eyes widened in surprise at the first sip.

Maglor: Miruvorë!

The Maia merely smiled at his reaction and nodded.

Before stoppering the flask, Maglor offered it to the Maia, who declined wordlessly.

Maia: Your hróa remembers for you.

Maglor took one more small sip, savoring a fragrant taste absent from his life for ages of Anar, closing his eyes to better appreciate the subtle flavors, and the rejuvenating effects.

Maglor: Am I to return to the Gardens?

Maia: Is it your desire?

Maglor spoke not a word.

*****

Elsewhere the glory of the day was marred by the increased concern of Veryandil for his missing friend.

Veryandil: When will he return?

Oloriel: He said nothing of his return, Veryandil. It may be that he cannot yet seek the healing he needs.

Veryandil pleading: May we wait for Nyello, at least this day, Nana?

Oloriel glanced beseechingly at her husband who continued to remain aloof from the conversation. Sighing she knelt down in front of their son.

Oloriel: We shall rest here today, but even if your friend does not arrive we must journey on to Valmar and the King. Your message on behalf of Nyello may be important.

Linwë turned and walked away from the camp, Oloriel musing that he chose the opposite direction of that taken by Makalaurë. He obviously wishes for not even so much as a chance encounter, she thought ruefully.

Oloriel: Come Veryandil, help me prepare a fine meal for your atto, so that he may smile again soon.

Veryandil grinned and took her offered hand as they went to select from their provisions just the right foods. 

*****

Linwë was up early and had made all ready for travel long before his wife and son arose, his impatience obvious. Setting his son atop the sweet-tempered pony he furrowed his brow at the lingering look Veryandil cast back over his shoulder as they proceeded to the next guesting house. Linwë felt he wished more than ever to spend time alone with his spouse after these last very trying days, and so the pace was not as leisurely as before.

Veryandil lagged behind and had to be reminded that he should not stray too far.

Veryandil: How will Nyello find us if we get too far ahead, Atto?

Linwë: He is surely able to follow this well-traveled path and see the hoof-prints of our horses.

Then changing tactics he halted to wait for his son to catch up. Smiling he leaned down and in a low voice invited his son to play.

Linwë: Shall we ride ahead and make certain that the way is clear for our beloved lady? Who knows what may lie around that next curve.

Veryandil’s head came up in challenge and he urged his pony forward and into a smooth lope, with his father close behind. Oloriel watched as her brave ‘escort’ scouted ahead, and continued on at a sedate pace. 

*****

By early dusk they had reached their destination, one of the small guesting houses set not far from the gently meandering path. Leaping lightly from his tall horse, Linwë went to assist his wife from her mount. Veryandil slid from his pony to stand beside his parents. The softly glowing light from the windows beckoned to them, so bidding the horses a fair night they walked toward the house.

Another pair of elves deep, in conversation, sat in one of the eating alcoves, bowls of steaming soup and a plate of hearty bread before them. The smell was enticing to the weary travelers, so after greeting the host, who directed them to another alcove, they made their way to the pot on the hearth to dole out portions of the flavorful soup. Linwë and Oloriel noted with pleasure that Veryandil ate eagerly and even requested an additional slice of the bread.

Linwë in mind-speech: Our son improves away from the influence of …

Unable to hide his distaste he went on: …that Son of Fëanor.

Oloriel kindly: Beloved one, he truly loves Veryandil and would not harm him. That he took up again his hróa for the sake of our son speaks much of his care.

Linwë: But for that… verë avaleryaina (oath bound), our son would not have needed to be rescued.

Oloriel touched her husband’s hand but he drew back from her caress.

Veryandil sleepily: Atto, where are we to rest tonight?

Linwë: Come my son, and we shall discover the answer together. 

*****

In a secluded glade, not far from the guesting house where their son played with another child this day, they paused to enjoy the warmth of Anar. Oloriel laughed brightly at the serious gaze of her consort as he watched a gaily colored butterfly flit past. Kissing him softly on the cheek she moved to face him holding both his hands in hers.

Linwë still truly concerned for the safety of his wife and especially their young son, was in no mood to play. Oloriel spun away from him, dancing soundlessly across the grass, loosing her waist-long dark hair to float freely as she gracefully swayed and twirled, creating a cloud of flowing shadow through the glorious sunlit meadow.

Face rapt with pleasure, she halted before her love.

Oloriel sweetly: Heart of my heart, you stand as a great tree to my winging bird-flight.

Reaching gentle hands to his face she stroked his cheeks, then kissed each eye closed. He attempted to speak, but she placed a finger across his lips and freed his dark hair from its thick plait, then raised his arms, positioning them as branches of a tree. In his mind she showed him transformed into a mature yet still-young beech and she a lovely bird who wished to nest in his branches.

Stepping back she waited for his acceptance of her invitation. The tiny smile, closed eyes and motionless pose needed no words, spoken or unspoken, and she began her dance of love.

Fluttering about the 'tree' she familiarized herself with this her chosen 'home'. Trailing her fingers lightly down one arm, she noted with delight the slight tremor that ran through his body.

Knowing this to be a place of joinings she proceeded to disrobe her husband with painstakingly slow movements, till he stood before her splendid in his natural covering.

Dancing close around him, with fingertips and lips in brief contact with his bared skin, she explored the contours of his tensed body, each touch fleeting and unexpected, heightening his sensitivity. Tossing her head she let her hair brush across his now trembling flanks, then with fingers a mere hairsbreadth from his body traced delicate patterns along his hips and down his legs, then beginning at an ear tip followed the curve, descending slowly as weaving vine-like circles about him she dropped breathed kisses on his neck, shoulders, back and chest and paused…

Reaching out through their bond she beckoned his fëa to join the ‘play’. Though at first reluctant to release the unease he felt over the intruder in their lives, her gentle urging overcame his concern. Melding her brightly luminous fëa with that of her husband for a brief instant, she drew him to her. 

Fëa now poised with anticipation Linwë staunchly maintained his 'tree' form. Brightly bejeweled with colors radiant and glowing, the lovely winged fëa of his wife fluttered about him, a feathery light touch as she swooped close rustling his leaves with her passing breeze. He longed for this rare treasure to alight in his branches that he might enfold her in his growing delight.

Oloriel stilled momentarily to admire the wondrous beauty that was her spouse, her lover.

Reaching up she clasped fingers with his and gently pulled his arms down to encircle her, then kissed him deeply as she pressed herself against him freeing him to respond.

Laying her down on the grass Linwë tenderly returned the explorations and teasings with wholehearted thoroughness of fëa and hróa before leisurely completing with gentle passion the loving coupling, his mind filled with adoration for his delightful life’s-mate, wife and dearest friend.  

*****