By Stars' Light by Erfan Starled

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Chapter 8

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Finrod followed Calyaro around the mere, making his way through a bog of willows and reed beds into the canyon of the falls. Gathered cold and pure by the shoulders of the mountains, the waterfall scattered icy mist and spray in its descent.

 

At the foot of this cliff, the musician was standing with his face to the spray. Finrod put a hand on the soaked shoulder, already wet through himself.

 

Calyaro stared at him blankly and then ran the back of his wrist across his eyes.

 

“Prince Finrod…”

 

“Calyaro,” he nodded to him in greeting and eyed him. “The King is uneasy and asked that I speak with you.”

 

“Ah. Alqualondë, is it?”

 

“Alqualondë,” agreed Finrod. “By the King’s command, you understand, you are not to put words to the tale, or play that prelude.”

 

Calyaro’s mouth twisted. “He need not worry. People will want to hear of King Finwë’s tragedy and the Trees’ passing. They will not ask for what happened at the harbour. I will have requests for the Nainië Elenion but all who know about Alqualondë know better than to ask for it in song.” The unconscious arrogance was immense.

 

The next moment it fell away altogether. He studied his fingers and added softly, as if talking to himself, “I was not sure I could play that prelude even once, but I owed them that much… I only wish I had followed him into worthier battles.”

 

Finrod could not understand how he could feel sympathy for one of Fëanor’s following at the Haven, but he had liked Calyaro, across the distance of age and scarce acquaintance. He had always liked to hear him play. He had not known until tonight that his hands had made a full recovery. On Tol Sirion, there had been no evidence of him taking up practice again.

 

“Is there something else?” Calyaro asked, with scant civility. “I hardly think it would take a Prince to deliver the King’s command?”

 

“You worried them greatly. The King counts you in my following and desired me to speak with you,” said Finrod shortly. He thought it amazing that the kinslaying was not general knowledge already. It could not be long until the story leaked; once it did, the tale would spread among the Sindar like wild-fire. In the meantime, he would see the King’s order obeyed.

 

“Then you have my apologies.” The grey eyes took on an older look, and remote, as if he was hearkening to shadows. “But if that is all, I came here to be alone…”

 

Finrod did not expect himself or any King’s messenger to be summarily dismissed, and he eyed Calyaro with a frown. “Is that how you addressed your previous lord?”

 

“Fëanor? We hardly stood on formality. Except by the end when no-one lightly approached him. Even Maedhros.”

 

“Well, your lord is dead and you have chosen to answer to me. Your arrogance is misplaced if you think it’s your place to dismiss me from your company.”

 

Instead of another apology, he stiffened and spoke bitterly, “Yes, he’s dead! And better had you left me where you found me!”

 

Finrod answered coolly. “You certainly weren’t fit to leave in a pile of bloody rags for the Lords of the Haven to find. Is that what you wanted? To be brought before King Olwë as sole scapegoat? You need only have said!”

 

A sharp chopping gesture greeted that. “I would willingly have faced Lord Olwë, or Lord Manwë himself! Do you think I wanted to save myself after what we had done? And better their judgement than learn of his death…” His voice sounded rusty, as might happen to anyone who sang so long and so intricate a piece.

 

He turned away, but not before Finrod saw his tears spill and fall, unmistakable even merged with the spray from the falls. Finrod had reached out to pull him back in rebuke but instead let his hand drop. He made to go but then paused long enough to add, “The falls are cold. You should not stay here long.”

 

Disturbed and unwilling to pity him, he retraced the springy grasses in their watery ground along the way he had come. He had gone perhaps ten score paces when he heard Calyaro’s clear tenor above the play of water.

 

He slowed to a halt as if his feet were chained by the song. The verses picked up the falling minor cadence of the last chords he had played back at the lake in a very private epilogue.

 

 

Uryala úruva, rúcina háya,
Massë nárotya?
Massë calatya?
Mana ré, vinya omentielva nó elenilanta?
 
Lírinen, enyalin alcaretya,
Ar lómissë,
Írë tintilar i eleni, yar cenner tye mahta
Undu oioliltalelta
Enyalin úretya.
 
Sára mettatya ar sára endatya,
Yón ataretya.
Enda verca,
Náro úrin,
Áni tana i tië
Ya lertan hilya
Liltien elvëa úressë menelo
Tennoio lehta Ambar-lúmello.
 
 
Burning brightly, fled far hence,
Where thy fire?
Where, thy light?
When, our reunion before stars’ fall?
 
In song I remember thy glory
And in the night
By stars’ shine, who saw thee fight
Under their endless dance,
I think of thy heat.
 
Bitter thy end and bitter thy heart,
Son of thy father.
Wild heart,
Bright fire,
Show me the path
That I may follow
To dance star light in heaven’s heat
And keep earthly time no more.

 

The words cut through blanketed emotion like cold crystal. Grief twisted like a knife in his heart. Amarië was all his thought, lost love a piercing sorrow that stole his breath and hurt his belly.

 

Finrod sat long in his tracks where the song had struck him, until the cold damp slowly percolated into his awareness. Stiffly he rose, body mirror for his heart. He had his fill of songs for one night. 

 

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Chapter End Notes