Song’s Ending

For many years the pair of tall strangers followed the trail of the babe whose birth had occasioned such rejoicing that even the Powers had attended to raise their voices in chorus in honoring the tiny being.

Nothing had indicated that this growing child was much different than any other of his kind. More children were added to the family at short intervals, who, each and all, subjected their eldest sibling to the same familiar treatment as the others, and even his parents often deemed him one of many. As was the way of their people, the eldest son followed in the craft of his father in the working of wood; tools, furniture, eating utensils and, when he had time for himself, the crafting of toys for the amusement of the younger ones.

Sprouting a beard heralded the transformation from child to youth, but though gentle and kind to all, he showed no special interest for any of the numerous females he encountered, unlike the majority of his peers who wed at an early age, and so he remained single. Still there was no sign of the revealing of the majestic presence proclaimed at his entry into the mortal housing he now inhabited; the Song subdued now to a hushed murmur.

And yet…the subtle song within this outwardly common mortal child called them. Though unseen, the two were also aware of the ever present attendance of the Powers; attesting to their belief that this mystery would one day be explained.

******

Shortly after the beginning of his thirtieth year, the young man departed his long-time home and participated in a strange water immersion ceremony. Others had already gone into the shallows of the river to meet with the oddly dressed young man standing in waist-deep waters, and returning to the bank had encouraged their fellows to also ‘repent of their sins’. Greatly puzzled as to the meaning of this unknown phrase, the elves sat quietly under a nearby tree and pondered all that they now understood of the tongue of these people and how the wetting of the body could cleanse one of wrongs committed. Did these Mortals truly believe that wicked deeds attached themselves physically to the exterior of the hróa?

As the young song-bearer stepped into the water, the waiting man called out, addressing the newcomer as the ‘lamb of God’.

Daeron spoke softly, “There is much of this language that has hidden meanings.”

Maglor nodded in agreement, “Though this one at least recognizes the singularity of he who holds the music within him.”

Daeron mused, “That few seem to know that the One is in the world, speaks much of the deafness of Men.”

Their conversation ended abruptly with a declaration made in a resounding voice praising and accepting the existence of his ‘son’, followed by the sound of a great wind sweeping down upon the hróa of the song-bearer, though no breath of movement troubled the air.

Open-mouthed the pair leapt to their feet, fully alert to the overwhelming presence of the One and, once again, the attending of the mighty Powers at this momentous acknowledgement.

Confusion and distress were written clearly on their flawless faces as they strove to comprehend how the One could remain above, even as he descended, and still be part of the One contained within the mortal flesh. It was inconceivable, though they heard the Song separated into three themes and yet the same Music.

Behind them a gentle voice spoke, “The One is not as you can know. Even we who were with him at the beginning of the Music cannot perceive all his ways.”

Whirling about they saw a vague shape glowing softly that resolved itself into the shining presence of one filled with Power. Maglor drew a sharp breath, and then bowed his head in recognition of the voice.

With respectful awe, Maglor replied, “Eonwë, messenger of Manwë, teach us then these mysteries that are known to thee.”

Eonwë merely stated, “Wandering ones, the knowing of these matters is beyond any, save the One only. All shall watch, and await the revealing of this splendid and glorious working of the One.”

With that last word, he shimmered brightly and vanished.

Daeron stared incredulously at Maglor, his expression demanding an explanation. After a brief pause and a heavy sigh, Maglor offered to his traveling companion, “Eonwë is Maia, and dwells in Aman. He would come only at the bidding of Manwë.

As the young man emerged from the river the two elves noted a remarkable change had taken place. Eyes before that were placid and calm now gazed with a fiery passion and purposeful determination. As he headed toward the wild lands, the elves followed him discreetly, well beyond the range of human sight. Turning once the man fixed them with his bright eyes, nodded and continued on his way. The pair halted abruptly, stunned by the silent acknowledgement.

Daeron whispered, “He could not know of our presence.”

Speaking softly, Maglor answered, “It seems he holds more of the Music than before.”

With a troubled look, Daeron responded, “How is this thing possible? The One is… One.”

Maglor studied the distant figure, “Perhaps the unraveling of this mystery is to be found in the lore of Men.”

They traveled through the uninhabited lands for some time, neither speaking nor now attempting to avoid the Man of the Song, and respecting his apparent desire for solitude they did not approach him. When dusk cloaked the region, he built a small fire, but of food or drink there was no evidence.

*****

Five six-days they shadowed him, as he walked, but now tarrying for increasingly more lengthy times. Occasionally the two elves hunted or gathered of the meager gleanings of this inhospitable area, but always remained within sight of the odd being. Meanwhile they noticed the song-bearer grew steadily thinner and weaker, no food having passed his lips and only infrequently he knelt to drink from a small pool or stream. The next day he rested beneath an out-jutting rock face, seeming too starved to proceed further.

Glancing at his companion, who nodded in agreement, Maglor, cautiously, approached the weary traveler. Pausing a goodly distance off, Maglor noted the distasteful aroma of a long unwashed human body, the layers of dust covering his clothing and skin, skin darkened from long hours under relentless bright sunlight, cheeks sunken, robe hanging loosely on his gaunt frame, and the elf was perplexed by this self-imposed torment.

Soundlessly he approached, but drawing near he deliberately dislodged a single small stone to announce his presence. Gracefully sinking to the ground to sit opposite him, Maglor waited for acknowledgement.

When at last the filthy dark-headed man raised his eyes to the newcomer, there was a surge in the power of the Song. Maglor in quiet wonder appraised this unique human, then unbinding the two pouches he carried, he laid before the stranger the contents, the small chunk of lamb cut into bite-size strips in one, a hand-full of dark red berries in the other, laying beside them a full water-sack.

The man’s eyes hooded momentarily, then with a gentle gaze and slight smile he responded to the silent elf, “Kind is your offer, Child of the Elder People, but until the time of my testing is fulfilled, I shall not break my fast.”

Maglor nodded without understanding and retied the pouches taking them with him, but leaving the water-bag within reach of the gaunt sojourner. As Maglor rose to depart, the Man stated, “After my trial, I should be glad of what you have brought.”

Rejoining Daeron he related the interchange, though neither elf could discern the meaning of his cryptic declaration.

*******

For yet another six-day-and-four the wanderer remained where he had halted. On the second day, Daeron fashioned a simple shelter from his own cloak for the unspeaking Man, and Maglor traveling a goodly distance each day would refill all the water containers, leaving fresh water for him as well.

Then, in the midst of one sweltering day, the elves felt a presence, the unspeakable evil of old, and their courage failed them. Fleeing to a shallow cave some distance away, they turned to see the reaction of the Man.

A leaden darkness surrounded him, but a faint radiance shone from him. He seemed to be speaking and then in the space of an eye-blink, he and the woven gloom vanished from their sight. Speeding swiftly to the deserted campsite they searched without success for tracks or signs.

For the balance of the day they sat in profound distress nearby. Then as the sun dipped behind the steep hills, with a unexpected troubling of the air the emaciated man reappeared in the exact spot he had occupied, and utterly spent, he crumpled to the ground.

For some days the elves tended him, with food and water to strengthen his body, and Songs to heal the hurts of his spirit. Finally, one bright morning, he announced that the time had come to attend to his purpose.

Once again they trailed far behind the lone Man as he resumed his traveling on foot to many regions round about, acquiring a small group of loyal followers and frequently attracting curious crowds. His unobserved watchers could sense the change in him as he performed many unusual deeds, which only increased the feelings of hope among some of the people and animosity in others.

“How can these who keep company closely with him not know of his true nature?” Daeron queried his fellow traveler.

“The Secondborn have not the openness of thought, nor do they remember save in legends of yore, the existence of the Valar and lesser Powers,” answered Maglor. “Perhaps of the One they know nothing.”

Daeron shook his head in disbelief and continued, “Even so the strength of the Music grows daily within him. It would be thought that the nearness alone would bring hearing to their ears.”

“Doubting and many questions are also strong in the most loyal of his followers, though they sense in him an unknown quality,” countered Maglor.

*******

A steadily growing disquiet intensified in the pair, as the tumult surrounding his appearances escalated to a near fever pitch. Whether among those seeking to be healed of various ills or the increasing hostility of those who denied his claim that he was indeed the One, the clamoring voices were raised in demand.

At times the Elves, soundless in their approach, would hearken to the words spoken by the One to his inner circle and marvel at the examples used to illustrate some vital meaning that seemed ever to escape those who yearned most to understand. Likewise the two ageless Elves were puzzled by the intent, though they grasped the ideas easily enough.

Daeron sat deep in thought for some time after the latest questioning and answering session among the Man of Song and his chosen circle. When at last he spoke, his voice was low and doubtful, “Your cousin, Finrod, Lord of Caves, spoke at times with King Elu of the coming of Men. From a mortal woman called Andreth he said he heard of vague rumors of a time when Eru himself would come into the circles of Arda to heal the hurts of Melkor. But how it might be achieved none might guess.”

Maglor stared at his companion in confusion, “How could it be that this Man, though he contains within him Music of the First Making, would in the confines of his body encompass the fullness of Ilúvatar? We of the Blessed Realm have heard tell of the glory and majesty of Eru, perceived by the Valar in his very presence. They, who were from their beginning the beloved children of his thoughts, know much of his ways and never have they so spoken of such an occurrence.”

Daeron replied evenly, “The thought was conceived among the race of Men. For them alone it may apply. Loremaster of Doriath I may be, but the Secondborn figured little in our tales.”

They spoke no more then of this unimaginable thing, but grew ever more concerned at the evident displeasure shown by the powerful leaders among this tribe from which he descended. Similar, though more potent, was the fear amid the ruling people from another land. Oft times the Man of Song would seek solitude from the ever increasing demands by the throngs that gathered wherever he went. If during these times of seclusion he noted the silent vigil kept by the elves, he paid no heed, and for their part the nearness to the Music delighted their world-weary souls.

*******

The resounding welcome accorded the Song-Bearer by the people of this splendid city of Men boded well, but ere long seeds of discord blossomed in a tangled mass of bitter words. Their well-honed senses detected ever increasing danger in the swelling discontent of the leaders urging the crowds to express their dissatisfaction with his unwillingness to rid them of the oppressors in their land. They sought a warrior, not wisdom.

Having many times observed the Man in his isolation from others, they were deeply troubled when, after leaving two as guard, he entered into a private place of many trees and falling to his knees, wept in great anguish with bitter tears. He begged to be spared an ordeal that he faced with utter dread and yet, at the last, conceded that his desires be overruled. The immortal pair would all too soon discover the horrific outcome of this act of submission.

*******

When the Man of the Song was taken by the rough soldiers of the foreign rulers, it only served to alarm the two strangers further, and the clamoring throngs who cried for the release of an admitted criminal instead of the innocent one perplexed them.

But his appearance some time later, beaten nearly beyond recognition, appalled them with the cruelty of Men. With horror they watched as he was made to drag a massive wooden cross up a steep road, finally staggering to a halt and collapsing, unable to bear the weight in his weakened and abused condition. Another was commanded to take it up and so the slow procession wound its way to the crown of a bleak hill outside the city walls.

A voice spoke to the pair as they prepared to come to the aid of the one who housed the Music, doubtlessly forfeiting their own lives in the cause, as they were vastly outnumbered and only lightly armed.

“Stay your hands!” Eonwë ordered the elves. “The One has ordained that which shall transpire.”

To the utter horror of the watching elves, warriors of the ruling tribe fastened the Song-Bearer to the wooden cross with great spikes, then raised the massive beam to an upright position. Vaguely the two were aware of a multitude of Valar and Maiar gathering about this appalling sight. Some in the crowd jeered or taunted the Man of Song, others wept helplessly.

Maglor was rigid with rage, Daeron trembled with anger.

Maglor railed against the enforced inaction and spoke in harsh tones, “This is unspeakably wrong. How can it be ordained by Ilúvatar? Not even a clean death in battle is allowed this Man who is like no other! Celebrimbor died ere the orcs of Sauron raised him as a grim banner of their triumph. Men sicken me with their cruelty! Would that I could forever leave this land of Men!”

Daeron could not take his eyes from the tormented Man, but answered, “Now I wonder not at the edict of King Elu against entry in his realm by the Secondborn! That such torture could be conceived by any of the Children of Ilúvatar is beyond belief. Even orcs were not so revolting in their mercilessness to others of their kind!”

Hours of anguish passed as the Mortal mourners and mockers, and the silently attentive Powers and Elves, waited.

Of a sudden the Man was emptied of Song, and crying out in that instant in a voice shattered by grief and longing asked why he had been forsaken.

All Mortals present paused as if awaiting some sign. When it came not, the scoffers jeered and mocked him, but then the Man impaled on the cross raised his bowed head and uttered clearly that ‘it was finished’ and his spirit fled his battered and abused body.

Mighty was the grief of the assembled Powers as they witnessed the spurning unto death of this unique Man within whom dwelt the pure, unsullied Song of the Beginning. Their outpouring of sorrow darkened the sky and shook the earth.

Maglor and Daeron stood momentarily transfixed in disbelief. Turning, they slowly departed, wandering in dazed pain.

Eonwë found them some time later, far from the city, Daeron singing softly of heartache unequaled in the millennia of Arda. Maglor sat wide-eyed, shocked nearly senseless by a combination of torment and wrath.

Resting one hand on the shoulder of the stunned elf, Eonwë spoke gently, “Your request was acknowledged, Wounded One.”

Blankly Maglor stared up at the Messenger.

Eonwë continued, “To leave the realm of Men.”

Bitterly Maglor retorted, “To the Halls of Mandos?”

“To the Ring of Doom and judgment, Elf of Exile,” said Eonwë, “Manwë will hear your supplication.”

“Whatever the King decrees it will be far better than this dread land,” Maglor admitted.

Eonwë smiled slightly before saying, “Yet hope has been born this day for Men.”

Maglor noticed that Daeron had ceased playing and singing.

“Would Daeron be welcomed to the Blessed Realm as he is no Exile?” Maglor asked.

Eonwë glanced to Daeron, who simply shook his head regretfully.

Eonwë held out a hand to Maglor,“Come.”

Maglor arose resignedly and the two vanished from sight.

*******

Daeron made his way slowly back to the forests where he had long dwelt in relative peace, and so for many long years, did not hear the startling news of the return of the Song-Bearer and his astounding promise to Men.