Renewing The Song by Naltariel

Song for The Sinners

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
- - - -Arthur O'Shaughnessy

Chapter 1: Song for the Sinner

Not all those who wander are lost…

The waves were rolling in endless harmony, engulfing the white sand on the beach, and then withdrew. White foams shaped themselves into the peak of their glory, and were falling forward in futile attempts to drown the land. The song of their voice when they crashed on the shore was unsurpassable in its beauty. Not even he, one of the greatest singers, could sing out such melodies. Sweet, enchanting, terrifying, binding him into their undeniable spell. And the gulls. They were crying out, flying around with their vast wings, reminding him again and again of the white form of Elwing when she fled. The reddish horizon in the distance seemed so near, so promising. There he would find his home. The place where he belonged, the place where he should never have left. 

And he heard the Sea called out again, each time was stronger than before, tormenting his soul, mocking his inability to answer its lure. The road to his home, the Blessed Land had been forever shut to him, banishing him eternally for his wicked deeds. Three times he had committed kinslaying, under the foul oath of his father. Three times he had killed his fellow Firstborns mercilessly. Three times of kinslaying, twice for not heeding the Valar’s order, and once for swearing the foul oath that bound him to this eternal pain. Maglor, son of Feanor was cursed to wander endlessly.

‘Would there be a release from this doom one day?’ he said to himself. His finger drew the shape of some letters in the sand, and he waited until the tide washed them away. He had repeated this ritual countless of times during his pilgrimage near the ocean. Most of them were done half-consciously, reflecting his guilty conscience, which yearned to be purified. He did not know which punishment was worse, his remorse or his Ban to the West. But it was not matter; he had to bear them both until the end of Time.

The wave came, splashing salts on his fair face. But this time, it did not touch the calligraphic runes on the shore. They seemed to exclude the small area where he drew the word, intentionally. He waited and waited, but the word remained, refusing to be erased. The Sea was mocking him again. Was it a sign that he would be forever unforgivable? ‘Nay, it could not be! Are the Valar so merciless?’ he wondered inside.

Perhaps it is you who refused to be pardoned.

He had heard these silent words for years, ringing inside his head. Yet he never understood their meaning. And now he was more concerned about who the speaker was. Perhaps it was the Sea? Ulmo, the Vala Himself?

Finding no answer, he rose and headed towards the small hut where he lived. Unnoticed by him, that as he turned away, the waves reached the word he inscribed, flattening the contoured sand carved by his finger, wiping away the very name he had called himself for ages: “Kinslayer”.

It is time for renewal.

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Chapter End Notes

The quotation is from JRR Tolkien’s poem.