The Poems As We Said Them by LadyBrooke

Chapter 1

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“The traditional way of writing down spoken language like poetry is flawed because it does not represent how it is actually preformed, and therefore represents all poetry as being the same without consideration for who made it.” Celebrían pointed at the poems in the book as she spoke. “The Dwarves’ poetry is never said the same way that the Noldor’s is. Nor is the Sindar’s the same as that of various groups of the Avari or the Silvan, even before we take into account differences throughout time, especially in the case of Men.”

“How would you suggest fixing such a problem?” Elrond asked, frowning. “I can see the problem, but I cannot see how you intend to fix it.”

“It’s quite simple, actually. When we record something as music, and not just as a poem, we use notations to mark how things are performed,” Celebrían said and flipped open a different book. “Your foster father was actually quite good at telling the differences between the styles of the Noldor and the Sindar of Doriath as regards their music, after he wrote down how they were performed.

“I would suggest using the same principle with poetry, so that we can see the differences. It wouldn’t be marked exactly the same as music, nor have I finalized the exact notations, but we would be able to see the differences in a way that descriptions cannot, when the scribes actually bother to record such.”

Elrond nodded. “You are welcome to the use of any of the books in my library, and I can send a scribe to help you. But I would ask a question, if I may.”

“Which is?” Celebrían asked.

“Why did you think of such a project in the first place? Forgive me, but it does not seem the kind of project your mother would encourage you to undertake, nor that she would allow you to come dwell in Imladris for,” Elrond said.

Celebrían laughed. “Mother wasn’t the one who approved of me coming here. Father did. You knew him during the war, didn’t you?”

Elrond nodded. “I did, along with prior meetings in Ereinion’s court. We rarely had the chance to talk at any length.”

“You should talk to him at some point, I think you would get along,” she said. “But Father lost almost everything when Doriath fell with most of its people. The poems and stories that were written down… They were mostly written down by Maglor, at least the copies that survive. The ones Daeron made were carved in the stone and are under the see.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Forgive me, but you have always seemed more Noldo than Sinda, no matter that you are my descended from my cousin. And the Noldor always think their way is best – even Mother does. It’s one of the few things she and Father argue about.”Celebrían shook her head. “It’s not even that it’s inherently wrong. It’s just that it doesn’t show everything.”

“This library holds most of Maglor’s writings that he had when I was a child, along with the few papers that remain from the rest of the Houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin, along with a few writings from Doriath” Elrond said after a delay.

“Maedhros told us once that when the flames came, Maglor lost almost everything he had brought from Valinor or that Caranthir and the Ambarussa had sent when they met new people. The little that is left…we know that some said these things or wrote these things. I could not tell you how they meant it or how it sounded when they spoke.” He smoothed out a page as he spoke, Maglor’s sprawling handwriting twisting around Caranthir’s cramped hand, asking questions that remained unanswered.

“We can’t turn back time and discover what is lost.”Celebrían looked at the shelves, seeing the bound papers with burnt edges and the water stains making others illegible. “But we can learn how to preserve it for the future, and teach others to do the same, so we can become the storykeepers of our people.”

Elrond looked down at a different page in front of him, Nimloth’s handwriting forming what he supposed was a poem from Doriath, though he had no idea if it was one she wrote or one she had heard herself as a child. His mother had guarded it in a drawer in her room, and by the time he had seen it, it was too late to ask her as well.

Celebrían placed a hand over his. “You should ask my father if he knows anything about it. Nimloth was one of his favorite family members, and he would not begrudge you stories of her or any of her work.”

“Perhaps he will remember how it was recited.”

“If he does, I’ll have to work out the notations for it, and then there will be less to wonder about in the future, at least as concerns this one,” Celebrían said. “I suspect I will enjoy the work.”

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Chapter End Notes

Celebrían is the originator of Middle-earth's version of ethnopoetics, which I find a fascinating subfield of anthropology/linguistics/folklore studies. Her version is not exactly the same as ours - since of course, she actually does have access to people who do remember some of the original poetry, including her own father, and therefore she has a somewhat different focus than ethnopoetics now (because, of course, nobody is doing much in the field of ethnopoetics concerning say, Ancient Sumer. We don't have the access or knowledge to).

Elrond might own the library, but Celebrían is going to force some sense of order and cultural context upon things, along with recording everything.