Warbler by maeglin

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Spiders

Not so long before the Battle-under-Stars....

 

Galadhon's long strides took him quickly towards the dais, where mighty Thingol and mightier Melian rested upon their carven thrones.  Their daughter rose from her smaller seat, and fairly floated down the steps towards him, not seeming to touch the floor. 

"Uncle!  I am so glad you are back!" she cried, leaping into his arms.  "Word came to us of many Orcs gathering to the northeast, where we guessed you still wandered, and we feared for you."  

The Prince gave his young cousin a fierce hug before setting her down.  "Indeed, many and fierce.  But I had already found the one I sought," - he raised his eyes to the King - "and so, had little to fear."  He gently set Luthien back on her feet, smiling at the girl. 

"Now I must speak to your parents of matters that are perhaps not for young ears?"  He looked to Melian for confirmation, and got it.  The girl looked back too, and seeing her parents agreed, began to pout, but quickly obeyed, walking slowly towards the Great Doors, seemingly as the victim of a great injustice who nonetheless was determined to exit with head held high.

The tall warrior had to laugh at the half-grown elleth's show of princely gravity.  "But do not stray far, my Princess, for your old Uncle Galadhon wishes to hear from you all that happened while he was away!"

All injustice apparently now set right, Luthien skipped from the Great Hall, humming.  Every Elf in the Hall smiled, and the one who was not really an Elf at all beamed.  Never for a moment would Melian regret her choice.  Galadhon, too, looked fondly after the girl, knowing quite well what he defended, and why he - and every other warrior and scout in Beleriand - took such risks.  

Thingol called them all back to attention.  "How did you find him?"  

"In truth, he found me.  He seemed to know I was seeking him, and why, though I know not who could have told him."  

As he remembered, the warrior's face took on a strange cast.  "The borders of Nan Dungortheb are no place for a child, and I should not be wandering there, he said.  Never mind that I came on the King's command, he was himself unarmed, and so short that he does not reach past my shoulder.”  

Melian lifted her white hands in a gesture meant to calm.  "Peace, Galadhon.  Tinfang was not unarmed, nor intended any insult either to you or to us."

Thingol now spoke. "Knowing Tinfang, he probably forgot the matter altogether on the way back, and is now here in Menegroth, with half a hundred children at his knee.  So you succeeded, Nephew, and I thank you.  Is he close by?"

Galadhon nodded.  "Yes, my King.  He awaits your call."

Thingol signaled his Door-Warden to find the minstrel.  In a low voice that only those close by could hear, he said "Well, let us not make him wait.  He never did like that."

Melian's face betrayed a rare flicker of surprise, but remained silent.

Not five minutes had passed before a signal from the doorwards, at which Thingol and Melian stood, just moments before a slight Elf entered the Hall.  

"Welcome, Tinfang Gelion.  We are glad to see thee, returning to Menegroth again after thy long wandering." said the King.

Tinfang beamed as he approached, humming softly, at times turning his silver head to admire the sculptures.  One seemed to catch his interest and he wandered off to the side, seemingly enthralled.

The younger Elves in the Hall begin murmuring, and even the Queen frowned, but the elders, those who remembered the Great March, seemed amused, Thingol himself among them.   

The King sent a thought to his wife.  "That has ever been Tinfang's way, my Lady.  I remember another who had little sense of time, and I would never presume to hurry her."  At this, Melian smiled and took the hand of her beloved.

Finally Thingol spoke.  "Tinfang, you are frightening the statues and disturbing the youngsters.  You can greet them properly later, can you not?"

The minstrel turned and beamed, and remembered where he had been going.

"Oh, hullo, Elwë.  I love what you've done here.  And your daughter is a hoot!" 

The Elves in the hall looked aghast.  Many indeed were the songs singing the praises of fair Luthien, but suffice to say, "a hoot" was not one of them.  Nor did more than five Elves in the Kingdom, one of whom was Lord Eöl, call the King Elwë so casually, or indeed at all, ever.  

But the King only smiled, and said "And you, no doubt, have been filling her head with nonsense.  Soon she will think she is a nightingale in truth, and that she can fly!"

 At this, a slight frown crossed Tinfang's face.  Well, she is, and she can!  he thought to himself.  But the moment passed, and he was smiling again before he stopped at the foot of the dais.  

"Nonsense?  Who, me?"  His laughter was silvery, but only Daeron, and of course the Queen, could discern its many notes.   "But it's been a fair while since I've seen you, Elwë, and longer still since you sent a kinsman to seek me.  No matter, though, I have been busy."  The minstrel then proceeded to describe the wonders of the spider-webs of Nan Dungortheb unsolicited, and at some length.  "For even the creatures of the Hunter can be beautiful," he finally finished.

Thingol kept calm only by remembering that however insolent, Tinfang was a hero.  During the March, the singer had proven himself a peerless scout.  Extraordinarily observant and utterly fearless, he had seemingly been everywhere at once in those days, and had warned the Teleri many times of dangers ahead, saving countless lives in the process,  That he would have journeyed alone through Nan Dungortheb was no great surprise.  That he would have stayed there for a half-yen, without sending any word, however, surely was.

Tinfang seemed to read this thought, for he answered "The spiders have much to say, if you listen.  They sing of a Great Mother, who once dwelt in these lands, before ever we came west.  They sing that she will return one day.  Though they do not know when that day will come, I do not doubt them.  So I listened to their songs, and learned much of their thought. They hate the Quendi, it is true, and kill us when they can, but they are not inclined to venture outside the valley.  At least not until this Mother returns.  But nor have they any love for the yrch or for the other creatures of the Hunter, and will not let them pass.  And though of course they do not think of their home as such, Nan Dungortheb is effectively a northern fence for your land." 

Those looking on were horrified.  The spiders had eaten many an Elf, some even on the northern boundaries of Doriath.  Others who had seemingly escaped their clutches had suffered an even crueler fate; fear that would not lift, a crippling affliction that began with terrible nightmares but spread quickly to swallow waking life, and without exception, ended in fading.  No cure had ever been found.  Yet Tinfang had not only dwelt in that deadly valley for a half-yen, but spoke of its inhabitants almost as allies.  The murmuring began again, much louder this time.

But Thingol signaled for silence, and took up his staff of Doom.  Silence indeed fell, and the King spoke gravely and with Power, as one who had been chosen by the Valar.

"And such counsel, Tinfang, which only you can provide, is why we would have you by our side once again.  We would have you once more as our foremost scout, as you were so long ago.  Kneel, and rise as Tinfang, Lord of Iant Iaur, and second only to Beleg upon the Northern Marches."

Tinfang looked for a long moment upon both King and Queen before replying.  

"And come, and go, at your call, and sing only those songs as you wish me to sing?  Nay, Elwë, I am not made for such constraint.  I will tell you what I have learned in these last years, that may aid you in defending this realm, and then I will go back to the Marches and speak with Beleg.  There is much he should know as well." 

This was more than Daeron could stand.  "How dare you speak thus to the King?  Who has sacrificed so much for our sake?  So you can enchant a few spiders, well and good.  So you can weave the air, and bend the light somewhat, so that it appears to our eyes that the stars kindle at your command.  I can do the same, and know well that it is but a glamour.  I …"

Tinfang turned, his fair face marred by sadness.  "Dairon, well do I remember the boy who once listened to me with delight, called me Warbler, and made up a song that the others in Cuivienen, who had not his gifts, called silly.

 

He pipes not to me,

He pipes not to thee,

He whistles for none of you.

His music is his own.

 

Have you forgotten it?  You now sing for others, as is your choice, and your right.  I choose otherwise, as is mine." 

The Queen stepped forward now, seeming to grow and fill with light, and spoke in a voice softer than the King's, but even more potent.

"We are all of us part of the Song, all part of the Great Music.  You have your part, as does Daeron, and the King.  And though I am of the Ainur who sang the First Music, I too have but a small part to play.  None of us but Eru can claim mastery of any part of the Song, even our own."

Tinfang stared at the Queen, astonished.  Then he laughed merrily, and the sound was like many bells of different tones all ringing at once.   

"Ai, Melyanna, you are too funny!"  Though I am sorry indeed to see your Sight is occluded.  "But as you wish, O Queen, I will not stay to argue otherwise."  

He pulled his flute from within his robes and began to play.  A swift, merry tune, but as he stood there, both flute and minstrel faded.  The Elves in the Great Hall could see straight through him for a few minutes, but he grew ever fainter and soon vanished entirely, though the music continued on for a bit longer.  Then he was gone, never to return to Menegroth.

Chapter End Notes

Tinfang is canonically (Book of Lost Tales, Vaire's conversation with Eriol) "half-Fay" or half-Maia, just as Luthien was.  The italicized lines of poetry are from JRRT's poem Tinfang Warble.  (for those of you who didn't know, Tinfang is also mentioned as one of the greatest three bards of the Eldar -- along with Maglor and Daeron -- in the Lay of Leithian.)

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