Categories > Books > Silmarillion > All Things Old and New
Chapter 6
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Memories flashed through Morillindë’s mind, images of her friend dancing with Annatar, how his dark face lit up with laughter as he listened to tales around the fire. She remembered the songs she performed in homage to Ecthelion and Glorfindel, and the energy and the emotions that poured forth from her community, who were also remembering and praising the great heroes.
Elerrína was remembering now that moment when Annatar took her away from the fires, away from the dancing and the merrymaking, when the moon was setting and Arien’s return was nigh upon them. He led her into a wood where many other Elves had gone during the night, and where many still were.
She could feel, even now, his steamy breath on her face, his painfully hot hands moving over her shoulders.
“Eru help me, Elerrína, but I love you.”
That first declaration was the truest; that first kiss was the sweetest.
This was different from the love that Glorfindel had borne for her, which was full of honor and valor; this was a love filled with desire and passion. Glorfindel’s love had been spring flowers and cool water running beneath warm sunshine, laughter, light hearts, singing, and dancing; Annatar’s, however, was none of these. The intense passion Elerrína felt from him was dark and hot, a sweltering summer night with the moon high in the black sky, desolate, desperate, and furtive. Somehow, this appealed to Elerrína’s heart, even now, as she reminisced.
“No;” Elerrína said as she laid the white box back amongst the other tarnished treasures, “no, Morillindë, I cannot throw these things away. Neither can I give them away. If anything, they remind me of my own strength.” Morillindë understood this, in ways only a friend of many centuries could.
“I will take it all. May it remind me of where I’ve been and who I am.” With silent resignation, Elerrína sat the box on the floor before her feet and leaned back into the comfort of the divan.
A bare hint of grey was touching the horizon, the sea calm in the early morning stillness. The beginning of a new day; on the morrow, she, Morillindë, and one other, along with a small escort, would depart for Imladris.
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“Farewell, Eregithilien, my daughter. May Elbereth shine upon you always.” Círdan said farewell to Elerrína and her friends; traveling with her to stay in Imladris were Morillindë and a young Sindarin Elf, Lindir. He was skilled with harp and wished to play in Lord Elrond’s great halls. Morillindë thought him odd, but Elerrína doted fondly on the young harpist; when she tutored him as an Elfling, she became fond of him, feeling familiar, motherly affection toward the silver-haired youngster. He was impertinent and sometimes a bit mordant, truly an Elf after her own heart!
This journey was one for which Elerrína’s heart had been longing. It beat impatiently within her chest, but for all the longing, the impatience, and the drive to go, to get there, and to be there, her heart would just have to wait for that reunion with her old friend. She understood, too, that there were refugees there from Eregion, and of those even of Gondolin. Her heart, beat by beat, grew ever more anxious for all the many reunions.
With sudden regret and sadness, she realized that the painfully obvious absence of their friend and king Ereinion would overshadow her reunion with Elrond. Never would it be the same as once it had been, when Círdan had taken her into his tender care, and thusly had befriended Ereinion, the High King of her people after Lord Turgon. She, Elrond, and Ereinion, a terrible trio – laughter and tears shared between them, love and friendship and everything else beside. They were her brothers, and Círdan the patient and loving father.
The sound of the sea grew ever more distant; eventually Elerrína could no longer hear the gulls. Her heart ached. She could tell by the others’ expressions that they felt the same as she. Her poor Lindir, who was born by the sea and had never left – Elerrína thought surely she witnessed tears in his eyes. Who could blame him? Who would want to leave the beauty and tranquility of the Havens for lands further inland, which were plagued with war, famine, disease, and trivial things that made life far more miserable than it ever ought to be?
After they had traveled some distance in companionable silence, Morillindë felt some light conversation was in order; else, everyone’s hearts become needlessly heavy.
“Elerrína, you never did tell me: why is it that Master Círdan calls you Eregithilien, Lady of the Holly Moon? Never once did you mention it in Eregion.” Morillindë looked on her friend with genuine curiosity. Why had it never occurred to her to ask before now?
Elerrína suddenly shrank, her face falling into a pout. “It is embarrassing,” she mumbled as she rode ahead of the others.
Morillindë exchanged looks with Lindir. The unflappable Elerrína had a secret that would reduce her to a brightly blushing mess. Well then, all should know this!
“Ho, Arturil! Stop Elerrína!” Morillindë shouted out to the young Elf at the head of the escort. “She has a secret to tell!”
Arturil, misunderstanding the nature of the jest, blushed fiercely. “The Lady need not speak if she wishes to keep her secret.”
Elerrína turned her head to look back on her friends. She smiled at Arturil. “Thank you, my dear. I always knew you had a chivalrous side!” She galloped on as Morillindë crossed her arms indignantly.
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Morillindë had been incessantly irritating Elerrína about this for days now. Why could she not just let it rest? She was so tired of hearing Morillindë go on and on with her pleading to know this big secret. It was not really a big secret; it was just a ¬little secret – a secret joke shared between Círdan, Ereinion, and herself. They were the only ones who really understood it, because, well, they were there when it happened.
Besides, this was excessively embarrassing to just share with the whole camp.
Oh, but the value of peace-and-quiet on this trip was beginning to outweigh the invariable embarrassment she would incur.
After a week of continual hounding on Morillindë’s part, Elerrína finally gave in and resigned herself to sharing the big secret that admittedly, everyone wanted to know now. She wished rather to tell them all a cute little story about a curious cat who caught more than he bargained for, but this was all fun and games around the campfire. So maybe she would never live this down – since when was she so uptight?
She stirred the campfire around with a stick nervously, painfully aware of the seven pairs of eyes on her, waiting for her to start the story. With a sigh, she threw down the stick.
“After Maedhros and Maglor’s attack on my home at Sirion, I went with a host of my people to Balar.”
“Oh great, a history lesson,” Iaurwath snorted, which earned a glare from Elerrína.
She continued.
“Of course, Círdan was bringing us all over on his fleet, and I was on his ship.” She heaved another sigh and looked up to the sky as she relived the moment in her head.
“It was night, and I was out on the deck of the ship looking out at the water… And I became very violently ill.” An eruption of laughter interrupted, but she continued nonetheless.
“This, of course, attracted Círdan’s attention, and he came over to me, put his arms around me, and he cautioned me not to look at the water but to look at the moon instead. ‘And do not look at the reflection of the moon in the water, either,’ he said, ‘for that will only make matters worse and you will be sick again.’
“And that was during the harvest, the Holly Moon. So he called me his Little Lady of the Holly Moon, his Eregithilien – a combination of my Quenya and his Sindarin.”
She had tried to make the story sound like a profound life event as opposed to what it really was – a glorious regurgitation of lembas and the twisted humor of an old sailor.
She found the laughter of her companions contagious, and found herself laughing despite asking, “Was it really that funny?”
In Morillindë’s opinion, yes; and it was definitely worth waiting a week to hear. As long as Elerrína lived, Morillindë would not let her live it down, and the lives of Elves are long – very long.
Elerrína was remembering now that moment when Annatar took her away from the fires, away from the dancing and the merrymaking, when the moon was setting and Arien’s return was nigh upon them. He led her into a wood where many other Elves had gone during the night, and where many still were.
She could feel, even now, his steamy breath on her face, his painfully hot hands moving over her shoulders.
“Eru help me, Elerrína, but I love you.”
That first declaration was the truest; that first kiss was the sweetest.
This was different from the love that Glorfindel had borne for her, which was full of honor and valor; this was a love filled with desire and passion. Glorfindel’s love had been spring flowers and cool water running beneath warm sunshine, laughter, light hearts, singing, and dancing; Annatar’s, however, was none of these. The intense passion Elerrína felt from him was dark and hot, a sweltering summer night with the moon high in the black sky, desolate, desperate, and furtive. Somehow, this appealed to Elerrína’s heart, even now, as she reminisced.
“No;” Elerrína said as she laid the white box back amongst the other tarnished treasures, “no, Morillindë, I cannot throw these things away. Neither can I give them away. If anything, they remind me of my own strength.” Morillindë understood this, in ways only a friend of many centuries could.
“I will take it all. May it remind me of where I’ve been and who I am.” With silent resignation, Elerrína sat the box on the floor before her feet and leaned back into the comfort of the divan.
A bare hint of grey was touching the horizon, the sea calm in the early morning stillness. The beginning of a new day; on the morrow, she, Morillindë, and one other, along with a small escort, would depart for Imladris.
----------------------------------
“Farewell, Eregithilien, my daughter. May Elbereth shine upon you always.” Círdan said farewell to Elerrína and her friends; traveling with her to stay in Imladris were Morillindë and a young Sindarin Elf, Lindir. He was skilled with harp and wished to play in Lord Elrond’s great halls. Morillindë thought him odd, but Elerrína doted fondly on the young harpist; when she tutored him as an Elfling, she became fond of him, feeling familiar, motherly affection toward the silver-haired youngster. He was impertinent and sometimes a bit mordant, truly an Elf after her own heart!
This journey was one for which Elerrína’s heart had been longing. It beat impatiently within her chest, but for all the longing, the impatience, and the drive to go, to get there, and to be there, her heart would just have to wait for that reunion with her old friend. She understood, too, that there were refugees there from Eregion, and of those even of Gondolin. Her heart, beat by beat, grew ever more anxious for all the many reunions.
With sudden regret and sadness, she realized that the painfully obvious absence of their friend and king Ereinion would overshadow her reunion with Elrond. Never would it be the same as once it had been, when Círdan had taken her into his tender care, and thusly had befriended Ereinion, the High King of her people after Lord Turgon. She, Elrond, and Ereinion, a terrible trio – laughter and tears shared between them, love and friendship and everything else beside. They were her brothers, and Círdan the patient and loving father.
The sound of the sea grew ever more distant; eventually Elerrína could no longer hear the gulls. Her heart ached. She could tell by the others’ expressions that they felt the same as she. Her poor Lindir, who was born by the sea and had never left – Elerrína thought surely she witnessed tears in his eyes. Who could blame him? Who would want to leave the beauty and tranquility of the Havens for lands further inland, which were plagued with war, famine, disease, and trivial things that made life far more miserable than it ever ought to be?
After they had traveled some distance in companionable silence, Morillindë felt some light conversation was in order; else, everyone’s hearts become needlessly heavy.
“Elerrína, you never did tell me: why is it that Master Círdan calls you Eregithilien, Lady of the Holly Moon? Never once did you mention it in Eregion.” Morillindë looked on her friend with genuine curiosity. Why had it never occurred to her to ask before now?
Elerrína suddenly shrank, her face falling into a pout. “It is embarrassing,” she mumbled as she rode ahead of the others.
Morillindë exchanged looks with Lindir. The unflappable Elerrína had a secret that would reduce her to a brightly blushing mess. Well then, all should know this!
“Ho, Arturil! Stop Elerrína!” Morillindë shouted out to the young Elf at the head of the escort. “She has a secret to tell!”
Arturil, misunderstanding the nature of the jest, blushed fiercely. “The Lady need not speak if she wishes to keep her secret.”
Elerrína turned her head to look back on her friends. She smiled at Arturil. “Thank you, my dear. I always knew you had a chivalrous side!” She galloped on as Morillindë crossed her arms indignantly.
-----------------------------------
Morillindë had been incessantly irritating Elerrína about this for days now. Why could she not just let it rest? She was so tired of hearing Morillindë go on and on with her pleading to know this big secret. It was not really a big secret; it was just a ¬little secret – a secret joke shared between Círdan, Ereinion, and herself. They were the only ones who really understood it, because, well, they were there when it happened.
Besides, this was excessively embarrassing to just share with the whole camp.
Oh, but the value of peace-and-quiet on this trip was beginning to outweigh the invariable embarrassment she would incur.
After a week of continual hounding on Morillindë’s part, Elerrína finally gave in and resigned herself to sharing the big secret that admittedly, everyone wanted to know now. She wished rather to tell them all a cute little story about a curious cat who caught more than he bargained for, but this was all fun and games around the campfire. So maybe she would never live this down – since when was she so uptight?
She stirred the campfire around with a stick nervously, painfully aware of the seven pairs of eyes on her, waiting for her to start the story. With a sigh, she threw down the stick.
“After Maedhros and Maglor’s attack on my home at Sirion, I went with a host of my people to Balar.”
“Oh great, a history lesson,” Iaurwath snorted, which earned a glare from Elerrína.
She continued.
“Of course, Círdan was bringing us all over on his fleet, and I was on his ship.” She heaved another sigh and looked up to the sky as she relived the moment in her head.
“It was night, and I was out on the deck of the ship looking out at the water… And I became very violently ill.” An eruption of laughter interrupted, but she continued nonetheless.
“This, of course, attracted Círdan’s attention, and he came over to me, put his arms around me, and he cautioned me not to look at the water but to look at the moon instead. ‘And do not look at the reflection of the moon in the water, either,’ he said, ‘for that will only make matters worse and you will be sick again.’
“And that was during the harvest, the Holly Moon. So he called me his Little Lady of the Holly Moon, his Eregithilien – a combination of my Quenya and his Sindarin.”
She had tried to make the story sound like a profound life event as opposed to what it really was – a glorious regurgitation of lembas and the twisted humor of an old sailor.
She found the laughter of her companions contagious, and found herself laughing despite asking, “Was it really that funny?”
In Morillindë’s opinion, yes; and it was definitely worth waiting a week to hear. As long as Elerrína lived, Morillindë would not let her live it down, and the lives of Elves are long – very long.
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