The Elf's Lullaby by Anérea

Wandering Lullaby

A different version of events is related...

(The narrator is no poet. I’m sure the bard's original version was absolutely beautiful, and utterly heart wrenching.)

I heard another version of this tale from a ragged fellow traveller with whom I shared a fire one cold clear night in the North. Ragged he was, but his voice… Oh! His voice was like a bolt of finest gold silk that had seen too many years yet despite being worn to tatters it still retains its finely crafted air. I will not even attempt to sing his ballad—I can't remember all of his rhyming anyway—but I will relate the tale for you as best as I can recall it.

He sang of the babes becoming lost in the wood, and of the elf finding them. But the elf found them in time, guided by the trees, or so he sang, the night before as the storm broke. He hunkered down with them, all bundled up in his cloak, and then fed them his own bread and cheese. The storm raged about them but the old oak was big, its branches broad and spreading. When the rain eased at nightfall he pulled out his harp, singing sweet lullabies to fend off the darkness. Soothed now at last, the two babes drifted off into sleep.

Sunshine returned with the morning, the world washed bright and clear, the bard sang. And after a breakfast of apples the elf led the twins towards home. But as they drew near he caught a charred scent on the breeze, of things burned that shouldn’t be. Settling the twins to rest in a glade near the edge of the wood, he bade them wait for him there. He left them his harp to play with, despite knowing full well they would not be distracted. (Do you remember how it was when we were that young? How much more we picked up than grown-ups realised?)

The elf found the small hamlet to be lifeless, the buildings all scorched and deep glistening black with the wet. The people had clearly fought bravely as not a few orcs lay dead 'round about, but the bodies of the villagers lay thickest. He searched for survivors, calling at each blackened doorway, but he knew deep down he’d find none. With a heavy heart he hunted then instead for shoes and cloaks for the babes.

The elf returned to the twins feeling a sense of… the bard used a strange but beautiful sounding word, Apavélana I think it was. He said it meant “having met this already”. I didn’t quite follow this bit, it was something about the elf not being able to do this again, not now, not alone, but that he knew someone who could and who would. I wasn’t too sure what the bard meant but I didn't want to interrupt him.

He helped the twins into the shoes—one pair too large, the other slightly charred—and fastened the capes about their shoulders. Then, with one tiny hand in each of his and no words needed between them, the trio began their long journey, towards the Misty Mountains it was, to some magic hidden valley.

Well, the bard stopped there, looking up at the stars with a faraway look in his eye and a strange half smile, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether his tale was true, or something he’d made up for himself.

Chapter End Notes

Apavélana is undercat's Quenya suggestion for déjà vu. This was originally going to be narrated by Maglor, but when it came out otherwise, I wished to keep this lovely word, which fits better than a sudden burst of French anyway.