Clear Visions by Himring

Chapter 1

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‘My elders tell how our forefathers were awoken by your brother’s music and how he sang of the land beyond the Sea to them,’ said Andreth to Aegnor. ‘And I have heard that in the time of Malach, whom you called Aradan, it was not rare to hear songs of the Blessed Realm sung in the Great Hall of Barad Eithel. But I have never heard you sing such a song and, when I asked my parents and grandparents, I was told they had not heard them either. Are your kindred slower to sing of Valinor to mine than they used to be?’

Aegnor, towering above her like the sun rising over a mountain, frowned down at her in thought.

‘My brother Finrod only learned later that you had believed that you might come yourselves to Valinor and how disappointed your forefathers were that, having travelled so far, against so many odds, their way to Aman was still barred and impassable,’ Aegnor said. ‘I believe he had second thoughts, then, and may have thought it kinder to sing less of Aman to Beor, after that. And I have heard hints of dissension in Hithlum—Magor, I was told, accused the court of turning his people’s head. My people have learned more caution, perhaps, than they exercised to begin with.’

‘Turned our heads?’ Andreth scoffed. ‘That sounds to me more like you decided we needed to be treated like children. And kinder? Surely, after several generations, we have had time to get over our disappointment?’

Aegnor inclined his head, as if withholding judgement.

‘Another thing,’ he said. ‘When we sing as Finrod did—when you saw of what he sang—I am not sure how clear it was to your forefathers that what they saw were memories. Even then, Valinor was no longer as he showed it to you, as well he knew. When we Noldor invoke our memories of Tirion in song, we are hearkening back to a past that is irrevocably changed. Sometimes we like to forget this, for a while, but the knowledge that there can be no returning is hidden deep in the song. If we deceive ourselves, a little, perhaps, we may deceive you more and you might become enmeshed in that hidden emotion, taking past for present…’

‘Very well,’ said Andreth, undaunted. ‘But have you not just warned me of this and will I not now know to take better heed?’

She raised her chin.

‘Sing to me of Valinor, Lord Aegnor!’ she said, half laughing, challenging him, as if to a dare.

Aegnor shook his head ruefully and Andreth smiled, sensing that he was unable to deny her request.

‘I am not as strong a singer as my brother,’ Aegnor said.

‘Excuses, Lord Aegnor? Did you not charm us all with your song yesterday evening?’

‘You are too generous, Andreth! Indeed, among my own kindred, I confess I have no reputation for song at all! But let us go to the lake. Aeluin was hallowed by Melian shortly after she came from Aman. Its waters may assist, where my voice fails…’

From where they stood speaking, it was only a short distance to the shore of Tarn Aeluin. Andreth reached the water's edge first; Aegnor, still hesitating a little, followed. He knelt in the grass on the brink and gestured to her to kneel down beside him. He held out his hand for hers. With clasped hands, they bent over the surface of the lake. Andreth gazed into it, thrilled as much with the sensation of holding Aegnor’s hand—a touch so real, the first time she had felt herself linked to him so closely, as if two worlds intersected in those linked fingers—as with the expected revelation.

It was before noon, in springtime. In its pure waters, Aeluin reflected dark pine-clad mountain slopes in intense contrast with the blue brilliance of the sky above. The reflection was so clear and sharp that Andreth almost felt she could touch the tops of the trees with the tip of her finger.

Beside Andreth, Aegnor softly began to sing and, at once, she felt that this was different from how he had sung yesterday, joining in the evening’s entertainment. She was distracted, trying to work out the difference, and when she looked again the image in the water had changed.

At first, she could make out nothing. Then the surface of Aeluin cleared again, but what it showed her was no longer any scene in Dorthonion. It could not be anywhere in Beleriand at all. She perceived the strangeness before she could distinguish any detail; it was the light. It was silvery, but could definitely not be moonlight, although she would have found it hard to say why.

She became aware of Aegnor’s song continuing, reverberating in her mind as much as in her ears. He was still beside her and yet not. She seemed to be climbing steps that led up from beside a fountain. The fountain and the steps were made of reddish stone, she thought. There was something odd and intricate about the design of the fountain, however, and about the way the steps curved. And how smoothly polished they were, how they gleamed! She passed by trees that seemed ordinary trees, but could not make sense of the seasons they seemed to show. Other plants there were whose like she had never seen. And why did there seem to be gaps in her vision? It was as if parts of the scene were missing entirely.

Aegnor’s song in her ears seemed to nudged her to cross a bridge and she followed it as it led her into a courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard a figure stood, as if waiting. The woman's dress was silver and her cloak was white. Her crown seemed to be made of pearls and feathers. She lifted her head and her eyes widened, as if she could see Andreth, although Andreth could not really be there. Or if she was there, then the woman could not be. And Andreth seemed, for a fraction of a moment, to be looking into the blazing eyes of an elf who had never seen Middle-earth…

She yanked her hand out of Aegnor’s. His song fell abruptly silent.

Andreth sat back hard on her heels and put her other hand out to steady herself. She felt ordinary, familiar blades of grass and the soil of Dorthonion reassuring beneath her palm. She sighed with relief.

Then, recalling herself, she looked across at Aegnor. He was looking at his hand, which was still in the same position, fingers curled about absence, her withdrawn fingers. There was a faint frown on his forehead. Perhaps he was hurt. Perhaps he regretting giving in to her.

‘You showed me your home in Tirion,’ Andreth said, still shaken. ‘You showed me your mother.’

Aegnor nodded silently.

She put her hand back in his. He had tried to give her more than she had asked for, with his song, than she had dared hope for, even. But now she felt, as she had not before, the division as much as the connection—how tenuous a bridge their clasped hands were across those two worlds, after all.