Renewing The Song by Naltariel

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Building A Dream

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Chapter 5: Building a Dream

 

 

The storm had completely stopped. The air was fresh, the sky was clear, as if the world had been washed clean by the raging storm that had passed a few hours ago. Daeron was standing on the shore, wondering at the beauty of the sea as if he had never seen it before, smelling the intoxicating scent of salt water mixed with sand. The sea that had been calling him, reminding him of his destiny as a Firstborn, never lost patience with him, although he had ignored it at first. He had heard tales of Elves, maddened by the lure of the sea. And now, he knew why. He had been mystified by the same force as they. It was for this reason that he had traveled here, following the course of the river until the fresh water met the saltier, stronger one, the one in which all waters must end, just like all Elves must end.

 

Sighing deeply, he bowed and gathered the timber he had just hewn for building a ship. A tree he had cut down not without tears or regret, as if cutting chopping off his own limbs. So deep was his attachment to the nature he would leave in a few more weeks, or perhaps days. Tears fell carelessly from his eyes, soaking the wood he was holding. How he hated himself for doing this! He wiped his eyes while whispering irrational apologies to the trees that were now but dead timber ready to be shaped and chiseled to suit his purpose.

 

Maglor was standing a few paces away from the Sindarin minstrel, observing him with sympathy, mixed with envy. Sympathy, for he could sense Daeron’s deep remorse for leaving this land he loved. Envy, because he wished so deeply to be able to have the same chance as he, to sail to the West. How ironic, he thought. He doesn’t want to leave, but having no chance against the calling of the Sea he must go, while I desire to go with all my soul but am banned from doing so. Perhaps this is but a just punishment for both of us. Me, for being a kinslayer, and him for being a betrayer. Maglor smiled ruefully and approached Daeron.

 

“Need help?” he asked.

 

“Thank you,” replied Daeron, clearly relieved, as he was having difficulty in building the ship. He was a loremaster and a minstrel who had hardly built anything but poetries and songs.

 

And so, both worked, sawing woods, driving in nails, exchanging only gestures and brief instructions. They worked until late in the evening, until Ithil lit the clear night sky with her cold light. Stars were spreading their magical glow, twinkling approvingly at the sight of two former adversaries working side by side, each for their own purpose. Daeron, to build a ship to carry himself across the Sea; Maglor, for giving his impossible dream wings through the Sinda he barely knew.  Each worked with caustic tears inside their souls, weeping silently for their fate. Daeron, because he wished to stay, yet he could not, Maglor, because he yearned to go, yet he could not. Fate played her cruel game with them and they could only struggle vainly in her clutching hands.

 

At last, hunger and tiredness called them a halt.

 

“Perhaps we should continue tomorrow,” said Daeron, panting heavily. Being less strong in body, he could barely speak from fatigue. He put down the heavy timber he was carrying and sat beside Maglor.

 

Maglor nodded and laid his hammer aside. Sweat had moistened their hair and faces and covered their bare chests, as their tunics had been long discarded. Both sat on the sand, panting in exhaustion from their long labor. They were silent, busy with their own thoughts, enjoying the fresh sea wind cooling their hot skin.

 

The melancholy light of the moon, along with the gentle breeze from the sea, brought remembrance of the past, the moment that he treasured above all else, the time when he was enjoying the happiest days of his long, wretched life on this exiled shore. It was when his foster children were young. Elrond and Elros never seemed to tire or need rest. Their young Noldorin blood would not allow it. The brighter half of a day was never enough for them to explore, play, and learn. Oftentimes, they managed to escape from his guard to play hide and seek under the moonlight, until he found them and scolded them. Nay, Maglor smiled, he never had the heart to scold them; he simply loved them too much. Gazing into their eyes which were shone in feigned guilt, he would give up immediately with a deep sigh. Then the little half-elven would bounce around him merrily and beg him to sing for them until they fell asleep.

 

“Ada, please sing for us.” Hearing the magic word was all it took to shatter his resistance, and his beloved children knew his soft spot very well. And so, no matter how loud he pretended to groan and grumble at their incessant requests for a song, the three of them knew how much he valued the “singing time” as the most sacred and precious time of their day. Covering them with blankets, he would sing to them many tales with his enchanting voice. Songs about the creation of Arda and the marring, songs about the making of the stars, songs about the awakening at Cuivienin, songs about the surpassing Light of the Trees, songs about the perfect jewels, songs about...

 

He never finished his singing. It was not because the two elflings fell asleep- they always fell asleep in the middle of the songs - nor because he was tired. He simply could not make himself sing out the most sorrowful song he had ever composed. The Noldolante. The first Kinslaying. The first time he killed his fellow Eldar. The first step to the path of no return, to the abyss of condemnation. The first time he knew that he had done, and would do everything to fulfill his dark Oath. The first time he caused children to lose their parents. Children like his beloved little Elrond and Elros. Did the other children have foster parents to love them like his sons? Would someone comfort them when they cried? Sing to them before they fell asleep? Hug them when they were lonely? Or perhaps they were lost and died from starvation like Dior’s sons? Or perhaps they would die from grief over the loss of their parents? How cruel he was, to bring such suffering to those helpless little souls! It was in these moments that Maglor, son of Feanor, the kinslayer, fully understood the consequences of his deeds.

 

And thus he always ended their ‘singing time’ with soft kisses on their foreheads and the sight of his peacefully sleeping sons blurred by his tears.   

 

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“You miss your foster sons,” said Daeron suddenly, jerking Maglor back to reality.

 

“How do you what I have been thinking?” asked Maglor, frowning. He looked curiously at Thingol's former loremaster.

 

“The skill was passed to me by Melian, as well as to Galadriel,” he answered. “Forgive me for prying into your thoughts. I cannot help myself.” It was an honest answer, for he had felt drawn toward Maglor ever since the Noldo revealed his story to him. Perhaps it was because no one had opened themselves to him since Lúthien. Perhaps because he was sympathizing with Maglor.

 

“Don’t do that again,” said Maglor irritated. He rose and stretched out his hand to help Daeron get up. “Come. Let us go back to my hut. I am hungry, and I think you are too.”

 

“Thank you.” Daeron took his hand and rose, feeling discomfited for receiving so much kindness from his supposed adversary. The ‘kinslayer’ had never stopped puzzling him ever since they met. He used to think that all sons of Feanor were haughty and heartless, the kind of Eldar who had fallen into unforgivable rebellion against their conscience and the wisdom of the Valar. Instead, he found someone who was kind and helpful, someone who was regretting his past deeds and admitted his responsibility for what he had done.

 

“Er… Maglor?” Daeron called his name tentatively. It felt awkward to call him by his name, yet calling him ‘Lord Maglor’ would sound more bizarre.

 

“Yes?” Maglor turned from his steaming soup, which had occupied his mind for the past few minutes. Although it was a leftover, it tasted very good. The Noldorin males, including Maglor, were well known to possess great ability in cooking, and Daeron was grateful for the fact. He had not eaten for some time and started to feel dizzy with hunger and fatigue.

 

“Why do you help me?”

 

Maglor shrugged, but said nothing. He knew why he helped the Sinda, but he did not want to discuss such a private matter with him. Not now. Not ever. He would keep his feeling for himself.

 

“You better get some rest,” Maglor finally said, pointing to his bed. “You can sleep there.”

 

“But where will you sleep?” Daeron asked, feeling more uncomfortable than before, because Maglor lent him his only bed. There was no couch in that simple hut where he could rest decently. 

 

“I will sleep outside.”

 

“But…”

 

Maglor raised his hand, stopping his argument. “Just rest. We’ll have to continue the ship tomorrow. As for me, I enjoy sleeping outside in such fine weather, so don’t worry.” Although his voice was not stern, he spoke with authority- for he was once a Lord among his people - allowing no objection from Daeron.  

 

“Thank you.”

 

Maglor smiled faintly and went outside. He had lied. He was not going to sleep. He would spend this night working on the ship that would carry the Sinda and his dream across the Sea.

 

 

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