Untidy Souls by StarSpray

Chapter 1

Ours are untidy souls. Both are covered with scars.
- Marina Tsvetaeva, "Poem of the End"

.

It was said that the first Elves awoke to the sound of flowing water, and to the sight of the stars, glittering and cold and beautiful in the black sky. Those were the first memories of the first of the Quendi. They were not Elu's first memories—his earliest memory was of his mother's laughter and his father's grin, teeth flashing white in the warm orange firelight. But they were the first things he became aware of in this new body. He had no memory of entering it or even of leaving the Halls—instead it was as though one second he was standing, if spirits could be said to stand, before one of the countless tapestries that lined the Halls of Mandos, speaking, if spirits could be said to speak, with Námo himself and with Nienna, and the next second he was inhaling new lungs for the first time, smelling flowers and damp grass and rich earth with a new nose, and hearing the soft flow of water over stone with new years. Upon opening new eyes he saw first the stars, and then the shapes of leaves and branches waving in the gentle wind—the coolness of which the first thing he felt upon new skin, as it slipped softly through the weave of the plain soft grey robes in which he was clad.

How strange to have a body again! It felt heavy and ungainly, and for what seemed like a very long time all Elu could do was lay in the grass and gaze up at the stars, sorting through all of the sensations assaulting him at once. Then a shadow came between him and the stars, and he felt the brush of silken hair on his cheeks before Melian's face bent over him, bright as a star herself and smiling as she held out her hands. "Melian," he breathed, as he grasped at her hands, the jolt of solid living flesh against his as thrilling as had been his first glimpse of the stars.

"I have been waiting for you," Melian said. She was clad in silver, with pearls and white feathers woven into her hair. "More than six thousand years you have tarried in Mandos, my love."

Mandos was fading from his memory already, like a dream upon waking. He felt as though he had slept for more than six thousand years, and yet at the same time like it had been no time at all. "I am sorry," he said.

But Melian only smiled at him, bright as moonbeams on clear water, and said, "Come. Walk with me."

They walked hand and hand through the forest beneath the stars, beside the small river that flowed winding and laughing along. Elu glanced back only once, to catch a faint glimpse of high dark walls and a small door closing, before the trees closed in behind them. Before them, as they walked, the wood opened up, with little underbrush except for the occasional cluster of berry bushes or honeysuckle. Paths began to appear, lined with pale stones or merely just a grassy verge between the trees. The river branched into many tiny streams that flowed into ponds or lakes or rejoined into other rivers to flow off and away. Fireflies winked among the sweet honeysuckle blossoms. Elu glimpsed dancers through the trees that were there and gone again in a blink. To the sound of the river and the breeze in the branches were joined faint faraway singing in languages both familiar and strange, and the occasional hoot of an owl on its nightly hunt, and tiny frogs peeping in the trees and by the ponds. The trees were massive, great beeches with towering trunks that recalled the many pillars of Menegroth long ago—as of course they would, for were not those pillars modeled on the beech trees of Lórien?

It was all very beautiful, but in the end trees were only trees and Elu found himself gazing more and more at Melian, rather than their surroundings. She was both precisely as he remembered her, and not quite so. But it was not until she reached out her hand for a nightingale to alight on her long slender fingers that he realized what was different. This was Melian as he had first seen her beneath the trees of Nan Elmoth, when her body was no more than a fana that she could take on and off as she would a gown, and her power lay over her like a veil of starlight. It had not done so when Elu had last seen her, in Menegroth. She had not been so outwardly bright, then—she had been more like one of the Children, almost, than one of the Ainur. The change had been so slow in coming that it had been nigh imperceptible, except perhaps to Melian herself. He was not accustomed to thinking of Melian as diminished, but…

She looked at him and smiled, perceiving his thoughts. "It was the price of bearing Lúthien, and of bringing forth the Girdle. I bound myself to the land, and to you, so that I might protect it while I could. No, do not grieve for it." She leaned in to kiss him. "I do not regret it. And I was careful—I knew better than Gorthaur did, who poured so much of himself into his Ring that he could not survive its destruction. I did survive, and I remain still in the world to sing and laugh beneath the sun and stars."

They did not speak of the past again as they wandered through Lórien. Such was the nature of the garden that when Elu realized that he was hungry, they came upon a grove of cherry trees laden with fruit, or upon bushes laden with berries of all kinds both familiar and new. And because neither of them wished just yet for other company, they met no one, although there were almost always voices singing just on the edge of hearing, and at times in the distant trees figures could be seen flitting through. And when evening came Melian brought him to a bower beneath a willow tree, its pale green fronds hanging like a curtain between them and the rest of the world.

The next morning dawned bright and golden, mists catching and illuminating the wisps of mist that hovered over the streams and ponds of Lórien, and catching on the dewdrops to make the grass and the flowers sparkle as though someone had adorned them with diamonds. Elu woke to a chorus of birdsong, with Melian's hair lying over him like a silky veil. When he stirred so did she, and greeted him with a kiss. "Good morning, my love," she said.

"Good morning." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down, enveloping them both behind the shadows of her hair. It was well after dawn when they finally emerged from beneath the willow tree. Thus they passed many days, which Elu did not bother to count. Occasionally he woke to find a new set of clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock or stump. When he asked Melian where they came from, she only laughed—she laughed a great deal, when she was not singing. The clothes were sturdy and well-made, and embroidered with intricate designs, of flowers and stars and autumn leaves.

At last, Melian turned to him one golden afternoon as they sat beneath an oak tree watching squirrels busy in its branches. "Well, my love, how much longer shall you be content to wander the world barefoot and crownless? There is a throne awaiting you, and many eagerly looking for your return from the Halls, our grandchildren not the least."

Elu leaned against the rough bark of the tree, and stretched his bare feet out in front of him. His hair was loose and unadorned, and he felt no particular desire for the weight of a crown on his head, nor even of braids or ornaments. "The throne can wait a little while longer," he said. "Though I am surprised our people did not rejoin Olwë's."

"Many did, those who remembered the Great Journey," Melian said. "But even in Alqualondë they hold you to be the High King of the Nelyar, as Fingolfin is High King of the Noldor in Tirion—and Ingwë is High King of all the Eldalië, to whom even you must answer, O King of the Sindar of Beleriand."

"You may tease," Elu said, laughing, "but I am no longer so prideful that I would grudge such a thing. Or at least, I do not think I am—and when you warn me of such things, next time, I shall listen to you. But I shall never begrudge Ingwë his lordship. He was always the wisest of us."

"I am glad to hear you say so!" called a clear voice from down the path. Ingwë himself appeared, gleaming like a star in the shade of the trees. His long golden hair was plaited down his back in a simple single braid, and he wore plain robes of soft green and grey, and was adorned by no finery, except for small golden rings lining the edges of his ears that glinted in the dappled sunlight.

"Ingwë!" Elu cried, springing to his feet. They met and embraced in a patch of bright sunlight, both of them laughing through tears that fell unheeded. "Well met, my friend!"

"Well met, indeed! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to return to us," said Ingwë as he stepped back, tilting his head back to look up at Elu, who still towered over him, as he had even by Cuiviénen when they were young, before Oromë had found them and before thoughts of journeying or of kingship or even of pride had entered their minds. Before Elu could reply he went on, "No, don't apologize! I would have you come back to us whole and in your own time, than too early and still hurting."

"Yes," Melian agreed, stepping up to kiss Elu. "Call for me when you want me, my love," she said. "I have a fancy to fly with the wild geese this morning." She inclined her head with a smile to Ingwë, a not-quite-bow, and wandered off into the trees, singing of sunlight on bright wings.

Ingwë slipped his arm through Elu's. "Come and walk with me. We have much to speak about."

They ended up beside a wide lake that reflected the clear blue sky up out of the ground. Butterflies flitted around the flowers growing near the edge; there was one portion of the bank that had been formed into a small beach of white sand, and this was where they sat. "Do you remember the place we used to meet beside Cuiviénen, with Finwë?" Ingwë asked as he picked up a handful of sand to let it run back through his fingers.

"Among the reeds," Elu said. "Finwë was always trying to weave them together into something." His baskets and mats had been functional, if not very pretty. Finwë's talents had lain elsewhere, in carving wood or shaping the clay that the Tatyar had discovered in the beds of some of the streams that fed Cuiviénen.

"I think he was trying to impress Míriel," Ingwë said.

"I did not see her in the Halls," Elu said after a moment, "though I spoke long and often with Finwë."

"She dwells with Vairë. And at least she has seen you—you are wearing her handiwork." Ingwë smiled as Elu looked down at his tunic, embroidered with niphredil so real-looking one could almost smell their sweet fragrance, in surprise.

They talked of many things—but very little of Middle-earth, or their own shared past. Instead Ingwë told Elu of all that had passed in Valinor since the end of the War of Wrath, of the doings of Tirion and Valmar and Alqualondë and of Menegroth—a new Menegroth whose building, aided by Aulë himself, had been begun in the early years of the Second Age. "It played a large part in the full reconciliation of the Noldor and the Sindar," Ingwë said. "There is still delving happening in the deepest parts, because they keep discovering new caverns to explore, many filled with strange and beautiful crystals and gemstones. It is from those caves that the gemstones adorning Dior's crown were taken. Or rather—your crown, whenever you arrive to claim it."

"I have been in no hurry," Elu said, "but if Dior is ready to relinquish it, I will come to this new Menegroth presently." He was curious to see just how closely it resembled his halls of old.

"I hope you will also come soon to Valmar," said Ingwë, smiling.

Elu laughed. "Of course! And to Tirion and to Alqualondë and wherever else I am wanted or welcome to go."

"There are many old friends eager to see you again—and kin."

Melian returned to them near dusk, and Ingwë led them down another winding path to join his traveling party, which included his daughter Maltariel. Many were elves that Elu had known before the Journey, and all greeted him with laughter and delight. They had built already a roaring bonfire, and as the stars winked into the sky and the moon rose big and yellow to peep through the trees in the east, there was much singing and laughter and dancing, and feasting, too. Many of the songs were familiar, but most were strange and new. By morning Elu had learned most of them and was in possession of a new flute and a sturdy pair of boots.

As the dawn turned the air golden, slanting through the trees, Elu slipped away from the party to walk a while alone. He could not recall the last time he had truly been alone—even in Mandos there was always someone nearby, even if there was no speech. And even before then, a king's life was not a solitary one. Now he made his way down a winding path lined with red poppies, away from even the faint sounds of music. There was no concern about getting lost—wherever he wished to go, he knew Lórien would lead him, unlike the overgrown and meandering pathways of Nan Elmoth long ago, that now lay deep beneath the waves of Belegaer. Elu stopped at the edge of a pool to watch the reflection of the sky on its surface brighten. Lily pads floated along the edges, little barges for tiny green frogs to rest. Occasionally the calm surface of the water was broken when one dove down into it, vanishing with a tiny plop. Somewhere above Elu's head a bird was singing a song he did not recognize; it took flight in a bright flash of yellow, or perhaps pale orange, and disappeared away into the trees. He breathed deep, closing his eyes, and smiled—and then laughed, because he was alive and the sun was bright, and the world was beautiful.