New Friends and Future Adventures (FA20)

King Nolofinwë had called for the Gathering Feast, signaling the beginning of the Mereth Aderthad, to commence at the kindling of the first stars on the evening after the official Gathering. While the elves of Endor rejoiced in the glory of the new Sun and Moon, they were still the Eldar, the people of the Stars, and the time of Star-Kindling was a hallowed time for them.

The disquiet stirred amongst the Noldor by the sons of Fëanáro at the Gathering had kept Findárato from visiting the Ossiriandrim as he had intended the previous evening. He decided to avail himself of the few hours left before the feast, and true to his promise, he took Cálion with him.

Lygnô, the chief of the visiting Ossiriandrim, was very gracious in addressing both the great Noldorin lord and the young child accompanying him. His dark hair was almost black, plaited into one long braid down his back; but his eyes were a very pale blue. They reminded Cálion of the ice mountains of the Helcaraxë, but there was a friendly warmth, not coldness, in the Laiquendë's eyes. Cálion found Lygnô's speech fascinating. With the tighter vowel sounds of the elf's native language, Cálion thought his Sindarin rather strange.

Lygnô noted that he had a grandson who was about Cálion's age. Cálion perked up, he hadn't had much opportunity to play with anyone close to his age. However, he couldn't muster the courage to ask Lygnô if he might meet his grandson.

While their leader welcomed the Noldor joyfully, Findárato found the Laiquendi camp full of contradictions. Laughter and song was everywhere, and most of the elves they passed smiled and bowed, some offering kind words in their own tongue. Others, though, cast suspicious glances at the bright lord in blue and silver walking in their midst. Findárato also felt the heavy weight of watchful eyes on him; and looking up to the branches above his head, he did not doubt that his every move was being watched by unseen observers.

At first, Cálion was excited to be able to accompany his father to extend the welcome of their House to their visiting kin. He imagined himself a grown elf like his cousin Artaresto, who often joined his father or uncle Aikánaro on their journeys. He imagined himself a tall Noldorin warrior standing proudly at the side of his lord and father welcoming foreign dignitaries.

He soon found, though, that diplomacy was a rather boring affair. The Laiquendi leader, the one who had smiled at him when he had been hiding behind a boulder, was kind enough; and for awhile, Cálion found it interesting to be led around the encampment, seeing all of the strange and different things the Laiquendi did. As Lygnô stopped them once again so Findárato could watch an Ossiriandrin archer fletch an arrow, Cálion suddenly found that the limits of his attention had been passed. He wanted to be able to wander around by himself, not stand here and listen while his Atar and this elf talked of things he did not understand.

Slowly, he took one step back. Then another. Findárato did not seem to notice that his foster-son was no longer by his side. Usually his atar was acutely aware of everything going on around him. Cálion did not take this seemingly fortuitous event for granted. He turned and quietly walked off in the opposite direction.

Lygnô stopped in his explanation of the archer's work when he noticed the young Noldo wander off. He looked questioningly at the lord beside him and was about to say something, when Findárato smiled and shook his head slightly. Lygnô noticed a mischievous twinkle in the other elf's eye and understood. He returned the Noldo's smile and nodded his head. He was actually surprised the young one had lasted this long.

Lygnô's estimation of the elf before him grew the longer he talked with him. If he already trusted Lygnô's people enough to let his son wander amongst them unattended, then he was an elf worthy of having as friend. Lygnô warmed up to the Noldo quickly after this, and the two had a very pleasant time discussing many things.

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Cálion was also having a very enjoyable time. He wandered around aimlessly for awhile. Following his nose, he watched níssi cooking sweet smelling cakes in preparation for the First Gathering later that evening. It being the first full gathering of the long-sundered kindreds, Nolofinwë had asked everyone to supply something for the feast.

One nís, whom Cálion thought particularly thoughtful and kind, offered him one of the cakes she was cooking. The cake tasted very good: it was nutty and sweet, and had some dried berries in it. It was not like the fluffier breads and cakes Cálion was used to, it was heavier and he could still taste the wood smoke on it.

Cálion thanked the nís, Almadel was her name, and stayed to help for a little while. She let him pat the little balls of dough flat before she wrapped them in large leaves and buried them in the hot embers.

After a while, Cálion left, happily munching another nut cake, and continued his wandering. Nearly the entire encampment seemed to be working in preparation for that evening. He passed more níssi cooking; he saw some néri sitting grinding the flour needed to make the cakes. (He found it rather amusing when he tried to picture his father and uncles in the same position.) He saw some néri sitting and carving things out of wood.

Cálion was enjoying wandering around the Laiquendi camp, but he was somewhat puzzled not to see any children close to his age. Some of the níssi had infants and very young children with them, but there was no one older than a decade and younger than their majority in the camp. As Cálion was puzzling over this, he thought that perhaps he ought to start looking for his father and Lygnô again. But first, he thought, he was going to go back and see if Almadel would give him another nut cake.

Almadel's fire was in a quiet corner of the encampment clearing, near to the edge of the surrounding woods. Cálion approached her from the shade of the trees, away from the heat and light of the late afternoon. Because of the shade he was able to see into the forest a ways, and was somewhat startled to see two gold-shot eyes peering out from the trees. They were not directed at him, but in Almadel's direction. Cálion stepped back into the shadows and watched the scene play out before him.

Very cautiously, two dark heads hung down from the branches several feet from where Almadel had placed her finished cakes. One head, obviously female, turned back towards the darkness of the trees. Cálion saw the golden eyes bob up and down. Noiselessly, two young elves dropped from the branches, and began sneaking up while Almadel was busy at the fire.

Suddenly, a voice was heard calling, "Lindan!" The two young elves raised their heads, dark eyes wide. They looked back at their gold-eyed compatriot, and ducked back into the woods.

Cálion grinned. He was, himself, not entirely opposed to snitching treats from the cooks; and had he not been a guest here, he most likely would not have planned on asking Almadel for another cake.

Perhaps this place was not going to be so dull, after all. There was only so much fun one could have when all of your cousins were years older than yourself.

Cálion was brought from his musings by hearing his foster-father's voice calling him. He turned and saw Findárato and Lygnô seated under a very large tree at the other end of the clearing. He walked over and sat down next to his foster-father.

Lygnô asked Cálion many questions about what he was being taught of the history of Endor, and if he had started to learn to play yet.

Cálion looked to his foster-father as he answered the last question. "My father is teaching me to play the harp," he said. "Although I am not good enough to have my own, yet. But, Master Daeron of Doriath says that I will be soon!" He added eagerly.

"Have you not learned to play the pipes, yet, hên?" The lord of the Ossiriandrim asked. When Cálion shook his head, he reached into a pouch at his waist and brought out a beautifully carved reed whistle almost twice the span of the young elf's hand. "Among my people," he said as he handed the instrument to a wide-eyed Cálion, "this is the first thing our children learn to play. We make them out of the reeds which grow along the banks of the Seven Rivers. They say that those waters are especially blessed by Ossë; and well I do believe it, for I have never heard a sweeter sound than even the most crudely shaped Ossiriand reed flute. It would honor me, hên nîn, if you would keep this one in memory of our joyous time here."

Findárato gave Lygnô a grateful smile over his son's head, and received a nod and friendly smile in return. Cálion, however, was entranced by his gift. He turned the whistle over in his hands, admiring the workmanship. Even to Cálion's young eye, it was apparent that this was no hastily made toy given to keep a child occupied, but a fine instrument, crafted with all of the love of music within heart of its maker.

Cálion looked up to Lygnô with shinning eyes. "But I do not know how to play, hír nîn," he said quietly.

"Then, if you would like to learn," came the reply, "I shall have to teach you while we are here."

Cálion looked with wide eyes to his foster-father, who nodded his assent. He would have jumped up immediately and thrown himself at the dark elf if he hadn't suddenly remembered that he was far too old to act so childishly. Besides, he was with his father visiting foreign dignitaries; he had to act grown up, for the honor of his House!

Nevertheless, his joy radiated from him as he thanked Lygnô and put the whistle to his lips to blow a few tentative notes.

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The first great feast of the Mereth Aderthad began just as the first stars lit the sky. Isil had not yet risen, so the sky was one large expanse of purple, fading to deepest blue. The elves gathered at the foot of the Ered Wethrin, on the western shore of the Pools of Ivrin. Great tables ringed the wide open field, filled with delicacies made by each of the Elven kindreds. In the middle of the tables, a large open space was left for dancing. The soft light of silver and gold lamps illuminated the area, although they would be extinguished once all the stars had appeared. There was no throne, or partition, or dais to separate noble from common, Amanyar from Úmanyar. This was as it was meant to be; for Mereth Aderthad was a family reunion, and Nolofinwë was the host, not an autocrat.

Hundreds of elves wandered around, talking and laughing and singing; until, finally, the clear rich tone of a bell was heard, and all turned to the north end of the Feast. The Noldorin king stood there with his hands raised in a call for silence. Beside him stood his nephew Makalaurë.

As silence descended, Nolofinwë began to address the crowd, his voice easily carrying over the area. "Dear kin, elves of Aman, Beleriand and Ossiriand. It has been near two decades of Anar since the sundered kindreds of the Quendi have been once again reunited in Endor. It is in thanksgiving for this very blessing that we are gathered at this Mereth Aderthad, this feast of reuniting. We ask the blessing of Manwë and Varda the Blessed Lady, and of all of the Valar, and of Ilúvatar Himself, on those of us gathered here: May this time of rejoicing forge friendships and strengthen bonds which will last unto the end of Arda."

With that, Makalaurë lifted his voice into the clear evening air and began the hymn to Varda Elentári: "A Elentári Tintallë..." He began each phrase alone: drawing it out and letting it rise and fall, floating along the range of melody as if on the waves of Belegaer, or the winds of Manwë Súlimo. Then he would be joined by the entire Noldorin host in a moving polyphony unknown in Endor.

In some phrases, their voices joined in an exaltation of love and wonder; only to change, by some indefinable shift, to a cry of such longing that it brought tears to the eyes of all who listened. Makalaurë had no harp in his hands, and no instrument accompanied the singing of the Noldor. This rich and wavering mode was something unknown to the Úmanyar. It was infinitely simple, and infinitely complex. It was a contradiction and a paradox; the ultimate expression of life: blending and weaving joy and longing, love and supplication into one beautiful harmony which pierced the heart like a sword. None who heard the song of Makalaurë that night were left unmoved. All those hearing it felt a deeper wisdom and greater peace than they had known before; as if they now had a clearer understanding of the Great Music, of both the harmony and the discord.

After the Quenya hymn ended, Daeron took up Makalaurë's mode, and the light voices of the Lindar added their Sindarin to the hymn: "A Elbereth Gilthoniel..." While they followed the Noldorin mode, they changed it and re-infused it with lightness and innocence. Gradually, the Noldor joined back in, until the entire open field was filled with elvish voices lifted in praise. Makalaurë's voice wove and mingled with Daeron's and blended with the gathered Quendi; the two greatest singers of the Eldar.

High above the stars opened as flowers in the sun, and shone brighter in the praise of their Lady. Thus began the Mereth Aderthad. The great Feast of Reuniting, the joy and splendor of which was long remembered and sung.

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The Feast was the greatest thing which Cálion had ever seen. He wandered around for a while, looking at all of the different foods, and watching as elves of all the Kindreds mingled and swirled to the music. He saw his father dance with his aunt Artanis, before they both went off to try and persuade their cousin Turucáno to dance as well. He heard his aunt Eärnyellë laughing gaily as Edrahil, another one of Findárato's friends who had followed him into Exile, twirled her around the lawn, in apparent disregard of anyone or anything in their path. Cálion watched as his cousin Artáresto danced with several of the young Sindarin ladies. He even danced with Itaril once; and his father's cousin, the Lady Iríssë, asked him to dance with her.

His entire family was busy having a good time, but he was becoming bored. He remembered Lygnô had mentioned that he had a grandson about his age. Cálion idly wondered if he were here. Then he remembered that he had been too afraid to ask, and shook his head at himself.

That was when he saw Lygnô walking towards him, followed by two younger elves. Cálion thought that perhaps they were two of the ones he had seen trying to steal a nut cake from Almadel earlier in the day. His supposition was confirmed when he found himself being closely regarded by the same pair of gold-shot eyes he had seen looking out from the darkness of the trees. He now saw that the eyes belonged to a young nér about his age.

Cálion saw that the other elf following Lygnô, who stayed fairly close to the young nér and seemed somewhat shy, was the young nís he had first seen hanging up-side down from a tree. Her dark eyes were of a color hard to discern in the starlight, but her hair must have been a true black, for it gave off a bluish cast in the starlight.

"Mae govannen, young Inglorion," said Lygnô as he and his companions stopped in front of Cálion. "Are you enjoying the music and the feast?"

Cálion smiled. "Yes I am, my lord."

Lygnô saw that the young Noldo's face was still somewhat downcast, and smiled to himself knowingly.

"I know I mentioned before that I had a grandson your age, and thought that you would like to meet my grandchildren." He motioned for the two children at his side to step forward. "I would like you to meet my grandson Lindan and my grand-daughter Meordel." Then he turned to his grandchildren and introduced Cálion, "Children, this is Cálion, the son of Lord Finrod."

"Mae govannen," the two young Laiquendi answered together.

"Mae govannen," replied Cálion. Lindan had not taken his eyes off of Cálion, and the young Noldo was starting to become curious about his intense inspection.

Amusement sparkled in Lygnô's pale eyes. He was not worried about the dearth of conversation between the young ones. He knew that as soon as he left them alone, they would all be off together as if they had known each other their whole lives. So, without further comment, he bid his grandchildren and his friend's son enjoy themselves, and went off to join the dancing.

The three young elves stood starring at each other for several minutes.

Meordel was becoming unnerved as her cousin and the other nér just stood there observing each other; her eyes moved from one to the other. Just when she was about to say something, the golden-haired elf spoke.

"Did you ever get a nut cake from Almadel this afternoon?" he asked.

Lindan grinned impishly, and then scowled. "No," he said. "My father was looking for us, so we had to go hide."

Cálion raised an eyebrow at the two Laiquendi in front of him.

"We were supposed to be gathering herbs for our mother," Meordel chimed in. "But we were getting hungry because someone made us miss the midday meal." She glared at Lindan, who looked at Cálion sheepishly.

Lindan turned back to Meordel and wrinkled his nose. "Well," he said, "how was I to know that the tunnel was that long? Besides, Nandion was supposed to be keeping track of how long we'd been gone."

"I hardly think Nandion is at fault for forgetting the time, when he was busy stopping you from throwing yourself down a hole into the Narog!"

"Since when are you Nandion's defender?" Lindan asked heatedly.

"Since he's not here to defend himself," his cousin answered in kind.

Cálion just blinked at the two elves before him.

Meordel turned to the Noldo with a sweet smile and asked, as if nothing had happened, "So, how did you know we were sneaking up on Almadel?"

"I saw you. I was going there myself when I saw you hiding in the shadows," he said, gesturing to Lindan. "Then I saw Meordel and another ellon drop from the trees."

"You saw me?" Lindan asked, puzzled.

"Well, I only saw your eyes. I haven't seen many elves with gold in their eyes before. You do kind of stand out."

Lindan's eyes narrowed at Cálion, fists balled at his sides. "I wouldn't talk about standing out, if I were you, Ngilchen," he said.

Cálion was nonplussed by the Laiquendë's reaction.

Meordel sighed and took Cálion by the arm. "Come on, Cálion," she said. "Let's leave this surly old orc to be charming by himself. Do you like to dance?"

As she began to lead Cálion away from her cousin, she leaned in and said in a loud whisper, "Never question the woodcraft of a woodelven warrior, my friend. Especially one who is still in training!"

Cálion grinned at young warrior-in-training. Lindan crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

When Lindan didn't follow his cousin and their new friend, Meordel turned and raised an eyebrow at him. Lindan only lifted one of his in return.

Finally, he shrugged and an impish grin appeared on his face. He laughed and threw one of his arms around Cálion's shoulders. The three young elves ran off to find Daeron, who was sitting tuning his harp off to one side of the main dance.

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Findárato, Lygnô and Lygnô's son, Laicognô, stood watching their young ones laughing and dancing around the Doriathrin minstrel.

"Your son seems to have made friends with my grandchildren fairly quickly, my lord Finrod," observed Lygnô.

"I am indeed grateful to Lindan and Meordel, my friends," the Noldo replied. "Cálion was one of the youngest ones to survive the Crossing. I have often lamented lately that he does not have anyone to play with closer to his age than Itáril Turucániel, who is nearly three decades his senior. In Valinor it was not this way," he shook his head remembering his own childhood surrounded by cousins, younger brothers and friends. "I know my foster-son enjoys spending time with your children, Laicognô."

Lygnô's son smiled and shook his head. "Like Cálion is to you," he said, "so is Meordel to me. She was my brother's child. He was slain with our king, Denethor, upon Amon Ereb ere the first rising of Ithil. We had grim tidings to bring home from that battle, yet even more sorrowful were those waiting for us at home. Evil creatures of Morgoth had apparently escaped from the battle and roamed south. They raided deep into the lands between Legolin and Brilthor, taking many of our women and children unawares. Some, like Meordel, we were able to save; others, like her mother, we were not. After that, Elwen and I took her in." He smiled brightly as he said, "Meordel and her cousin were inseparable already, so it was no hardship on either side."

Findárato looked consideringly at Laicognô. "I was very impressed by your archers as I walked through your camp today," he said, nodding towards Lygnô. "Would you consider sending some of them with me to Tol Sirion? My uncle has given me the Pass to guard and I am planning to building a fortress there, but the woodcraft and the arts of our Lindarin kin are very desirable things for us to learn, I think."

Laicognô looked over to his father, but it was Lygnô who answered the Lord of Sirion.

"I do not command my people as you Noldor do, my lord," he said, still looking at his son, almost as if there was a silent conversation passing between their eyes. Lygnô smiled, and finally looked at the Noldo beside him. "Indeed, I am not even a king. My people followed me here of their own free will. It is for them to say whether they stay here or return to the Seven Rivers. They are, however, awed by you Golodhrim and somewhat wary of the kin of Fëanor. Rumor of his arrival and challenge of Morgoth has reached us in the south, and with what we have seen of you here, some of us feel we have cause to be wary of such fell lords."

Findárato nodded thoughtfully, and there was silence again for several minutes.

"But," said Laicognô, "I have seen that there is honor and friendship to be found in your House, my lord. I would come myself with you to Sirion, with my family, to both teach and learn."

A bright smile lit Findárato's face and he laughed, taking the Laiquendë's arm in friendship. "I am honored, Laicognô. And I, too, wish for a growth in the friendship between us and our peoples. Besides," he said, looking once again to the dancing children, "Cálion will be ecstatic."

The three Elves laughed again, and continued talking long into the night.

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Notes:

Nolofinwë: Fingolfin

Lygnô: My created leader of the Ossiriandrim who come north to the Mereth Aderthad. He is not a king, the Laiquendi refused to take a king after Denethor was killed in the first war of Beleriand. His name means "pale one" in Nandorin, coming from the same stem as Sindarin "luin"/"blue".

nís/níssi: female elf (Q)

nér/néri: male elf (Q)

hên: child (S)

Ossë: A Maia of Ulmo, who had charge of the inland waters of Arda and had a special love for the elves of the Third Kindred.

hír nîn: my lord (S)

Makalaurë: Maglor

"A Elentári Tintallë...": The Quenya version of the hymn Gildor and his company sing when Frodo meets them in the Shire.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel...": The hymn Gildor and his company sing when Frodo meets them in the Shire.

Manwë Sulímo: Manwë's title Sulímo means "lord of the winds"

The Noldorin Mode: The moment that I first heard the Corsican chant modes I was reminded of the Noldor. There is something very Exilic in it. Incidentally, I am tending towards the opinion that, as far as Elvish music goes, polyphony (the harmonizing of different melodic lines) is an Amanyarin development on traditional monophony (multiple voices singing one melody). This is true to the actual development of polyphonic music from plain-chant monophony. Just because plain-chant consists of only one melody line, though, it does not mean that it is incapable of a haunting expression. Take the work of Hildegard von Bingen as a stunning example of the height of medieval plain-chant. Much of the more commonly known Gregorian chant is also monophonic plain-chant, or a cantus simplex. A single vocal melody is also better suited to instrumental accompaniment. (FYI- The song that the elves sing when Frodo and Sam see them in the FotR-EE sounds very Corsican. I guess the film-makers had the same idea I did!)

Iríssë: Aredhel

mae govannen: well met (S)

ellon: male elf (S); Sindarin was the common language at the Mereth

Ngilchen: Star-eyes (Nan.)

Laicognô: keen bow (Nan.) (This name is a combination of cognô/bow and the root laik/keen. It was not meant to be Lai-cognô. I suppose you could call him "greenbow" if you wanted, but that would most properly be Lecognô; the lai/green being Quenya, not Nandorin.)

Denethor: the son of Linwë, and king of the Nandor who crossed the Ered Luin. He was killed, along with all of his closest kin, on Amon Ereb in the battle before the rising of the Moon.

Legolin and Brilthor: the middle two of the Seven Rivers of Ossiriand