As was his wont at the brightening of the stars, he began a song of remembrance and praise. Long had he grieved the overpowering of the stars, first by the cool gleam of Ithil, and then the fiery radiance of Anor. Dearest of all his memories were those forever tied to the silver starlight; that glittering gift, the jewels of Elbereth bestowed long ages past to bring light to the deep-dark world of his kindred. And so on nights when Ithil appeared late or not at all, he spent the time of stars in song, both of pipes and voice.

Alone in a hidden woodland glade he lifted his grey eyes, glimmering with reflected starlight, toward the black velvet sky. His ebony hair, long and unbound, his face pale as Ithil, long-fingered hands caressing the slender wood shaft of his intricately carved flute, he began to play a song of such exquisite beauty that the trees stilled their rustling leaves to better absorb the vibrations.

Of a sudden his music ceased. Wide-eyed, he leapt to his feet. As a stag hearing the snap of a twig and sensing an unknown presence in the forest, he froze in place. Straining to hear, he tilted his head slightly, fully alert to the many unforeseen dangers he had encountered in these past ages, as Men intruded ever closer to his present abode.

But this sound was not of Men or other living beings. Neither was it of earth or wind or water. Noiselessly he sprang onto a low branch of the nearest of the great trees and quickly ascended to the utmost height that would bear his slight weight.

So faint was the sound that it was nearly unheard by even his keen ears, and he leaned precariously in the direction from which it issued. Instantly he recognized it as star-song, but one he had never heard before. The drawing of his fëa was so strong that he all but tumbled from his high perch. Though he knew the multitude of songs sung by Varda’s stars this new music caused his heart to leap, and tears to spring unbidden to his eyes. Through his hands clinging tightly to the great beech as he leaned toward the sound, he felt an answering thrumming, as around him the forest awoke from long slumber. Racing swiftly to the leaf-strewn ground, he bent to retrieve his pipe that had fallen from nerveless hands before his ascent to the tree-top.

With reluctance he turned away from the song of wonderment and sped fleet-footed to his talan, hastily bundling spare clothing and provisions enough to last for several days into a neat pack before allowing himself the freedom to pursue his heart’s calling.

*****

At the forest’s edge he halted, the bright sunlight harsh to eyes accustomed to the dappled light under trees. There he waited for the remainder of the day, breathing more easily as the dusky shadows flowed over the wide expanse of grasslands. Still he waited patiently for some sign and was rewarded when in the gathering dark a point of intense light glowed hotly and from it came the enchanting music; music of welcome, of glory unknown, of joy. Like as to the silver notes of the horn heralding the soon arrival of King Elu Thingol was this sound, the light as a banner borne aloft for all to see. Yet he knew as he listened with trembling limbs and rapid breath that this clarion call announced the coming of no king in Arda.

Heart-torn and fearful he crouched at the foot of a great tree. Long had it been since he ventured forth from the woods, and the misgivings and unease that filled him gave him pause. Yet the music held the more power over his minstrel’s soul, so when full dark came he ran swiftly, heading unerringly for the source of the song.

*****

The journey of seemingly endless days was long and wearying, across many barriers, desolate lands, and forbidding terrains before the footsore traveler neared his destination. Like an elegant swan under the compulsion of migration, he rested only when his supplies ran low or, most often, to seek shelter from the burning heat of the day. Far now from the shielding of trees, the desert lands cruelly punished him for daring to invade their domain and only the small islands of shade called in this land ‘an oasis’ afforded even a minimal respite. The calling of the music drew him inexorably on, but he felt certain this hard land would break him in the end; though for all his misery of body, his fëa grew ever lighter.

Sinking gratefully to the ground under a small tree on the crown of a low hill, he looked down upon the small town. Puzzled he frowned at the apparently

ordinary sight before him. Many times he had skirted such places in these strange lands, and this appeared no different from countless others. The short, dark-haired, swarthy skinned inhabitants reminded him of the second invasion of Men into his first homeland, some of whom had betrayed those to whom they swore oath of allegiance. Troubled by his memories, he waited for the coming of night and the Music.

For now he knew that the Song was proclaiming an event undreamed of by most of his kind. As lore-master for his King he had been present when Finrod Finarfinion had related the details of a conversation with a mortal wise-woman. In utter amazement he listened to the absurd ramblings dealing with the history of Men. But Elu would know all that pertained to this weak, short-lived people and so he sat quietly and recorded in his mind the details. If found noteworthy, he would later transcribe them onto parchment sheets, including them in the room of scrolls and tomes.

No heed was paid the lone watcher on the little hill, as scores of travelers descended on this town, until it teemed with more life than it could contain, many spilling over its bounds to construct flimsy temporary shelters, or seeking greater protection in the numerous small caves in the surrounding area. But of this activity the stranger could not discern the cause; there did not appear to be trading or festivities of any sort, nor did there seem to be numbers of injured as from a recent battle. He dared not join the throngs as his uncommonly tall, slender form and fair skin would have marked him as a foreigner; a likely danger in any unknown land. And still he waited through the day for the bliss of the Star that sang of welcome. Each night the Song altered, proclaiming new themes and wonders.

******

Driven at the last to seek provisions, he cautiously approached the bustling town. Though receiving many a curious stare and not a few muttered comments, which he neither understood nor appreciated, he stocked up on those food items he thought would be palatable, reluctantly parting with his intricately carved wooden eating bowl and spoon in exchange. He was ready to leave when a tremor ran through his lean form; a faint song unheard, yet felt keenly. With great care he scanned those nearby, finally moving to stand by a wall, relatively obscured from view, yet able to see the comings and goings.

A large group of weary travelers was just entering the town heading through the selling stalls. From this collection of plodding, begrimed people came the ever increasing presence he had felt. Every sense alert, he strained to isolate the bearer of this wondrous music. They passed in pairs or families, clustering together in this strange town as ever closer came the music. The source was as unexpected as it also was common; a male leading a plodding grey donkey on whose back rode a female with her clasped hands supporting her swollen belly. From the woman the song flowed, though he could not understand in what possible way she differed from the others. As they trudged by he followed as unobtrusively as possible.

After helping the female to alight from her sturdy mount, he watched the male enter the courtyard surrounding a fairly large complex which seemed to house a vast number of the nomads, but return shortly shaking his head and speaking to her in their own tongue. She was in obvious discomfort and appeared near to the time to give birth to her child. As she stroked her rounded belly, she seemed to be pleading with him, looking around at the crowded street in dismay. Again the male ventured into the courtyard, this time with a less distraught mien. Assisting her onto the patient beast they proceeded to wind through the town and out the far end heading towards a series of caves of varying sizes nestled into the hillsides. The male peered into several openings before he found what he sought. Helping her dismount again they disappeared into the cave.

The watcher crouched down nearby to wait.

Even before the star blazed bright, he heard the song changing. An eager, almost blazing theme, filled with unearthly voices, growing in power, and exceedingly lovely. Glancing up he saw the heavens arrayed with stars brighter than he had ever seen them, though he remembered when only gloriously brilliant stars lit the world.

He reveled in the magnificence of sound surrounding him and then, in less than a heartbeat, an absolute stillness reigned.

From the cave he heard the groans and soft cries of a female in pain. A male voice attempted to sooth and encourage, but she was in the throes of childbirth and did not heed him. After an interminable amount of time her moans ceased, to be supplanted by the mewling cry of a babe new-born.

The song issuing from the mouth of that opening drew him from his hiding place as surely as Spring follows Winter. Silently he approached and peered inside. The song was within the child!

Music, the like of which he had never heard before, flooding his senses, rapturous, glorifying, worshiping, praising, welcoming; announcing the birth of this unique child. Voices so majestic and marvelous that the songs of his people paled in comparison, so full of love and joy, that he wept for the sheer beauty of the song. It swelled greater than he could bear, and he backed slowly away from cave mouth.

So enthralled with the music he was that he heard not the faint footfalls approaching. A soft, discreet cough caused him to spring instantly to his feet and leap back, assuming a defensive stance with his knife drawn. Frowning curiously he lowered his blade as he faced an even taller, more powerfully built member of his own kind.

“Mae govannen,” he ventured.

For a moment the air was tense between them, then the newcomer relaxed his glare and responded with a similar greeting.

“The Music,” the taller one said by way of explanation. He received merely a nod in return.

“You have a name?” the watcher inquired.

“Not one you will welcome,” was the terse reply.

“I am Daeron,” he offered.

When his companion flinched and looked away from his eyes, he beckoned to the ground.

As the Music reached new, unimagined heights with the revealing of the Star, Daeron heard a soft moan from his fellow watcher, followed by a deep-throated groan. Loosing a small harp from his pack the nameless one tightened the strings and sat expectantly, fingers gently resting on the harp. As the notes began to spill from the harp, Daeron opened his bundle and drew forth his flute. Together the two gifted minstrels accompanied the Song

from above.

When the profound beauty of the Music was joined by the rich voice of his un-named companion, Daeron ceased his piping to stare, studying him closely.

“Maglor Fëanorion?” he breathed heavily.

No response did Daeron received but a tremor down the back of the other.

Briskly he rose to his feet, grabbing his pack, but halted at the cessation of the harping and the firm hand laid on his arm.

“Wait?” It was less a demand than a plea; the furrowed brow and questioning gaze stayed Daeron.

Daeron glanced from Maglor’s face to the ornate sword on his left hip.

Maglor sighed deeply, lowering his eyes. “The past I cannot escape. On this night of nights can we not put it aside?”

Daeron nodded slowly as he surrendered to the joyous song of peace and goodwill.

Maglor spoke softly, “The Valar attend.”

Puzzled, Daeron queried, “What cause is so great that it would bring the Valar from their abode?”

Maglor whispered, “The coming of Iluvatar into the confines of Arda, my friend.”

Daeron stood aghast, and in a voice filled with shocked indignation declared, “It is a mortal babe twas born this night! Certainly the One would not dwell in such a frail form if in truth the One has deigned to so bless Arda!”

Tilting his head to one side Maglor asked quietly, “Do you not hear the words?”

“The language is not known to me.”

“The Valar proclaim in their tongue the entering in of Ilúvatar to the circle of Arda.” Maglor stated simply.

Daeron only stared at Maglor open-mouthed, disbelieving he heard him aright.

Maglor began then to smile and sang in Sindarin of the words he heard. Daeron listened intently, piecing together the perplexing language.

A sharp intake of breath was startled from him as he discovered he could understand the words even before Maglor interpreted them. Beaming, he joined the singing, side-by-side with a sworn enemy, past grievances lost in the privilege of greeting the One.