Dire Secret by wind rider

Dire Secret

The paragraphs/sentences in bold and past tense are memories.

Makalaurë=Maglor; Maitimo=Maedhros.

The surfs shushed softly on the wet sand, as if the whisper of a lover. The light of the Two Trees glinted coily on the crests of the waves, inviting him to touch the water to see if he could have their light. The wind tickled every inch of his exposed skin, cool and tangy with the scent of salt and underwater life. Far above, the stars gleamed coldly, as if topping up the apparel.

And underneath it all, was music. Faint melodies, and little notes too, interwoven into a grand composition. No, it was not merely beautiful but haunting like the Vanyar claimed, nor was it so complicated that the Children’s minds could not comprehend as the Ñoldor believed. It was truly like the Ainur themselves said… and the Teleri.

Music…

My fingers twitch on the harpstrings. They emit a discordant jangling sound. I am brought back to reality with a start and a tiny gasp.

Maitimo, who sits opposite me with his book in hand, smirks. “Who are you pining about, Makalaurë?” he teases.

Ah, no. He must not know about it. From his ears to Atar’s! I cannot let it happen. I will not. We – Maitimo and I – were the best of friends in the past, but now… it is… simply not to happen. What would Atar do if he heard about my love to the sea? Would he interpret it as my changing allegiance to the Teleri? He has been so changed, so paranoid, after the creation of the Silmarili… He is no longer like my Atar.

Trickling laughter, small but light and lithe and free stature… Silver hair, dancing under the stars, glinting, waving like graceful silken banners in the playful wind… Children sang. Women sang. Men sang. There was no musical instrument around, but their beautiful, crystalline voices more than made up for it. They linked hands, twirled, bounced, jumped… Not even their exalted leader and his family were exempt from the wild conflagration of dancing and laughing and singing; and in fact, in a way, they were the instigators of it. Bright eyes, bright clothes, bright hair, bright forms… They were brighter than the stars and in a way prettier than the light of the Two Trees – more earthly, as it were.

He had never known the real meaning of ‘fay’ until then, when he last invited himself to their grand festival in honour of the sea, which the activity took most of the part of. The Ñoldor were skilful, the Vanyar were stately, but the Teleri topped all those with their flaunting their grace and carefreeness. There was a certain haunting beauty in it, and danger—

Like the storm, which ran rampant by the quays of Alqualondë, then. But its noisy cacophony of sounds somehow never overwhelmed the revelry, and instead complimented it. The high waves never went beyond the ship-free piers too. Had the Teleri known beforehand that Ossë would take joy on their merriment, in his own way?

But of course!

And of course I cannot—

I start, again. The harp is no longer under my hand. Maitimo has taken hold of it. And when I look at him, he smiles gently back at me. There is a promise in his beaming bright-grey orbs – as bright as Atar’s and as beautiful as Amil’s.

“I saved the precious artefact from your ruinous hand,” he grins. “Now run along to your friends, little brother. I say no word to anyone about it. But promise me, you will be in the palace for the festival next month?”

My eyes light up. Between us, the meaning is as clear as glass. “I took your hap from you, before you could ruin it when you were dreaming. Now go to Alqualondë, little brother. Your secret is safe with me. But promise me, you will not be absent from Anatar Finwë’s begetting-day celebration next month? I await you and your harp there. Entertain me with your best composition, and I will be happier to sneak you off next time.”

I nod fervently, agreeing. I am ready to go just in half an hour, horse and provicions and all. The Waves Festival is scheduled three days from now.