I am bound to silence......yet my heart sings

[atarielxaldarion]

Nobody was up this early. The birds themselves were wakingn up only just from thier warm nests, fleging thier wings to prepare for thier first flight. Yet why did I feel that I had been deprived of that first flight, the first time that I could spread my wings and soar? I was silent, as usual. Sometimes I felt like crying out to the whole city,

"Can't you feel this force decending on us? The very eccense of our beloved Rivendell is departing" I shook my head. There was no chance of that happening any time soon. It was morning, and I sat near the cherry blossom tree near my home, dreaming up what might have been. But what might have been? If my mother had not vanished, I woulden't be like this. I was cold, an empty shell. I was nothing.

Yet I knew, that even if my voice was silent...my heart would echo a wavering note that would shimmer like the summer spray, from Rivendell to the Undying Lands. Sadly, it isn't as easy as that.

[curandir]

Some where between Rivendell and the ocean shores, lived an old man named Barmer; his mortal years near spent. He lived alone, in peace, for his own part; and had been seen wandering often on the western borders of Imladris: A place of great tranquillity, to his mind. The Elves who were not prone to let hostile forces probe their ways were kind to him; and left him mostly alone. He was no threat to them.
It was only rare occasions that saw him communicate with the ‘ancients’, as he called them; as even compared to him they were. He could speak no tongue of Elves; more a Common dialect of the folksy remnant of Arnor. The brief exchanges were usually with the wardens, though now they paid him little heed.

On this morning, Barmer, would take his last walk eastward, to see the elven land for the last time: A dawn pilgrimage. To see one of the fairest folk would give him solace for the final journey into nothingness… his father’s halls were no more; and no mound awaited his fall.

The old man smiled as a bee flew, in stop start flight, past the brim his hat: There was, however, more than the humming of insects in the air; though what it was, Barmer, didn't rightly know.
Was it the silent call of one still near, to another, still held dear but lost?


The blossom trees were pink with tender petals; and they drifted on the breeze through even the Beech and Oak tree groves. The firs higher up, were not to the mortal’s liking and never before had he seen the last Homely House where Elrond dwelt. The smiths and sundered kings were unknown to him; this was as far into that land as he had ever been.
Barmer was getting tired; having walked for nearly two miles and since before dawn. His pace had been slow and measured, yet he had not up until now stopped on the way. It was early and the suns first rays broke the peaks of, Hithaeglir, the cold misty mountains that marked the extent of what the Noldor once called 'The Land Outside'. There were still some in Rivendell who cared to remember it.
He looked about him, for a place to sit and take way bread, made by his own wrinkled hands. Other than that all the elderly man carried was a small flask of water; enough for the road.
The human had not noticed whom else had risen early that morning; but then, until now neither had she...

[atarielxaldarion]

She was still silent, even though she had spotted a newcomer. His feet on the hard earth has alerted her, for the morning was so quiet, and elf could hear the very beat of a bird's wings. She was silent, as she always had been. Atariel' stood up in one swift movement, allowing a butterfly to dry its's new wings in the sun. She took joy in other's joy, for it was the one thing she could never have.

I walked over to this old man, he looked no danger to me. I did not break my silence, waiting only for him to speak first. He looked frail, yet he carries wisdom, of that I was sure. I turned my glance upward, to the long willowy trees that my father loved. I had always loved the Silver birches, with a soft soothing light. They had always reminded me of my mother. And so, I waited, hoping that this man would speak, and know what I would answer.

I knew, once, a girl called Sorsha. We had been opposites, and when she had come by Rivendell I knew that she was not worthy of my voice. Yet when she looked at me, I felt the same glow in our eyes, the same glow of loss that so many of us had these days. She did not speak, and yet I knew her name.

It was almost the same with this man. my eyes flickered over the spashes of summer spray, yet my eyes always returned to him.

[curandir]

Searching about for a place to sit, the old man was startled; an Elf maiden approached. The elderly face of Barmer softened in wonderment: He had never seen an Elfin lady before. So it was hers, the note I felt…

She drew closer and all the while she looked at him, with knowing eyes. As with the wardens, her elf-eyes could sense no threat from him; and she was swift to examine him. The withered man took one step back and had become almost afraid; but when their eyes met, all fear was lost and only tranquillity remained.
Barmer now felt more comfortable; yet when he looked once more into her eyes she would not speak.
Barmer bowed as low as his old bones would grant him leave. He found on this morning, in this place with her, they hurt not. He knew that he must say something quickly, or else perhaps look away…

“I…” Barmer suddenly realised that she listened intently, and would draw nearer.

“Good morning.” His voice was uncertain; but welcoming for his part.

The Elf maiden’s eyes were made bright and around her a veil of subtle radiance, which came not from the sun. She looked to him but a young girl, as beautiful as any he had seen; and even in his mere Eighty Three years, he had seen many. The old man took one more step back for it was as if to touch her would make him disappear. No elf warden’s had ever approached him so closely; and his legs began to tremble when she did not answer him.

It was these words that would found him, before he would become so overwhelmed; it seemed to him an eternity, although barely a moment in time had gone:

“Are you hungry my child?”

The words were innocent in their mistake; for he was naturally inclined to see her as youthful, whether she had lived a hundred, or a thousand years: She would never fade like he; aged in the eyes of men, as an autumn leaf. To look upon the pair, Barmer could have been her grandfather, or great grandfather; and a lucky one at that.
He pulled a biscuit from his cloth travel sack, wrapped in a broad waxy leaf and held it out for her… Why shall she not speak?

[atarielxaldarion]

He had seen me, of that I was sure. Why else would that spark of fear have entered his eyes, as if for a fleeting moment, I had startled him? It was quiet until he spoke, almost disturbing the very air that had settled around my shoulders like a blanket.

He looked good of heart. Yet I did not say this just beacuse he was kindly, but he had the look of a man who had seen many battles, and seen much loss. I listened as he offered my some food, probably his only loaf. I knew how small the gesture was, yet it seemed to me that it was a wonderful act.

"I thank you, sir. Yet I have eaten already today" I spoke, for the first time in moons. I could feel the air lifting off my chest, and enormous weight lifted. And it was all because of him.

"I am sorry if I startled you" I said softly. "My name is Atariel'. May I be so bold as to enquire of your own calling?"

[curandir]

"Startled me, yes... You did…”

The old man suddenly smiled widely. Lines of care melting away a brief moment, gifting a glimpse of a youth lost. His teeth betrayed the illusion, with at least two gaps and mild show of rot. He could never be mistaken for an Elf; but he had a friendly grin, none the less.

“My name is, Alfrinn.” He spoke as if it were a name neglected for some time. Most people knew him as Barmer; though those were few in these times. Aldrinn lived alone.

In the beginning, Barmer, had ventured to these lands so he could be at peace a while, and have time with his thoughts. The air was clear and blessed with a wholesome aura, he’d grown to savour; but He would never have stayed in this place, for he did not belong: His home was a half days walk eastward near, High Moor.

“I hope you don’t mind my resting here a while?"

The Old man was thirsty and hungry from the walk; and his ankles ached with rheumatism. He had always found a visit to these parts made his symptoms less severe for a time: The lands of elves seemed to hold something vital; for new growth and healing.

"My legs are not all they used to be… Atariel’” The smile returned in earnest, as he awaited her approval.

[atarielxaldarion]

i smiled slightly, the sun caressing my brow. It was soothing, in a way. I had always loved the night more than the day, yet it was these hot summer days that reminded me of my childhood. I remember straying to this very tree, laughing as my mother followed. She had been a tall, willowy woman, always full of laughter.

"It is a lovely name" I said quietly.

"You may rest here for as long as your heart pleases, I am not one to stop you" I caught a fleeting image of a younger man, much younger, but then it had faded as quickly as it had appeared.

I looked round, warmth returning to my face. "Would you like something to drink? Or eat? I am sure you must be hungry after such a long jouney"

[curandir]

He smiled again as she complimented his name. It had been so long since he had spoken it aloud that he had near forgotten its simplistic beauty. Thee name, Atariel', was to him as the sound of a sweet song never heard; though he knew not its meaning in the togues of men: The grace of Elven words were beyond him.

“I have all the food and water I need, my dear…”

Barmer groaned slightly as he sat down in the shade of the nearest tree. Removing from his knapsack, the flask and bundle he brought for sustenance. He drank a draught of refreshing water he had collected from the clear waters of the Bruinen tributary. He had followed its course down towards Imladris.

“Will you sit with me a while Atariel? I do not talk often to people these days and I fear soon never again…” His eyes were sad when he spoke of it.

Looking up at her elfin grace, the sheen of the sun in her long blonde hair; he was reminded of a girl he used to know. In his youth, while strong and with vigour’s promise; but now he was old and she was gone. Could an Elf understand the sting of loss?

“I…” A tear rolled without warning down his pock marked cheek and disappeared into the hair of his beard.

“I don’t mean to burden you, my love…”

[atarielxaldarion]

I glanced upward to the cherry tree that had seen so many winters with me. I had used to love the snow, and take long walks in it, but now I feared the winter. I spotted immediatly a small thrush, bringing insects to her young. Was I represented as the insect, or the bird?

He wished to talk to me. Well, I suppose I would make good use of my company, and speak while I could.

"I will. My fear is that also" She looked at the old man, and realised what he meant. "I do not speak of death" I said quickly. Maybe, maybe just once... somebody could actually understand. Yet I would leave my past for a few more minutes, and listen to his.

I looked at the tear, sliding down his cheek, and gently handed him a square of cloth. "I am already burdened, sir. For although I cannot cry, I have indeed felt pain once too often for my liking" I smiled feebly. "Please.." I hesitated

"Please tell me.... my burden is already heavy. One more ounce will not make a difference"

[curandir]

Barmer, took the cloth and dabbed his cheek. The well of emotion had been a surprise to him also; but then he had not had the opportunity to air his thoughts to another soul for a long time: Assuming Elves had souls to human reckoning.
The elderly hermit blinked and no more tears came: He pondered her words…

“…but, you are of immortal kind, my lady…” For the first time his words reflected her true age.

“…do you know of sorrows?”

Even with his proximity to the elven lands, Alfrinn, had little idea of them, other than what he could glean from old songs a tales. He knew much of men and the sufferings they endured; but Elves were as gods walking the earth, in the eyes of a rustic man.
Maybe, they can be taken from the world, even though they do not fade?

“Do not your spirits endure, while those of men; are but fleeting guests?”

[atarielxaldarion]

I smiled, in a way that nobody had ever seen before. It was wistful, and filled with sorrow... like crying without tears. It was true, I was immortal. But would my life stretch out into nothingness, or actually mean something, one day? It was still a mystery to me.

"Yes, it's true. I am nearing 300 years of age" I said.

"Even the immortal have troubles, and can be taken as easily as your own kind... Alfrin"

I quietened for a few seconds, quietly contemplating my answer. Elves were a different species from human. Did he think they were so different, though?

"Our spirits never wane, yet sometimes I wish they did" I said softly. Itwas true, I thought I could never live again when my mother disappeared. I had wanted to go to the undying lands, before I was 100! It was almost ironic, but it wasn't funny. Nothing was any more.

[curandir]

“300 years… then, to you I am but a child; and yet look at me…”

The sorrow in the maiden’s eyes; brought another tear to his. He had no idea that elves were vulnerable to worldly dangers and the torment of evil things. They always were portrayed in the songs and stories of his youth as being, of the world; but somehow distanced from it in this day and age.
A sudden realisation came to him.

“…I guess that in the end I may be granted freedom from my pains..." He looked down at his own hand, liver spotted, with loosened skin stretched across his bones.

"...but would you wish to... wither away like me?”

Barmer, knew nothing of Valinor; the ties of elves to arda itself: He thought that any soul that past beyond, was in the void and gone. He found that he now cried for her; and had forgotten his own grief. The old man did not fear death but saw it almost as his relief… Is there no escape for them?

“You will remain forever beautiful, Atariel'…”

[atarielxaldarion]

He spoke to me, and yes. He was a child compared to me. Yet it did not seem that way, almost the other way around.

"Yes, that is true. Yet you speak of only appearance. For I am sure you are many years less on your mind" I said. I smiled serenly when the tear fell down his cheek.

"Do not grieve about the past. For soon you shall see your loved ones. And I never shall" I knew that my mother was not in the Gray Havens. She was gone, possibly dead, and she was not coming back. Not for me, not for anyone.

"I would wish to find my mother again. I would wish that she was in the Gray Havens instead of out in this world, captured by orcs, demons, anything evil enough. Yet sometimes I think, that maybe she still is here, and that I have become such an empty shell that I cannot feel her, or nor can she recognise me. For even elves change, Alfrin"

I sighed at his last comment. I will remain forever beautiful.

"I will remain Atariel'. I cannot pass to the Undying Lands till I have seen her face once more. And so I shall remain beautiful, and I shall remain in Rivendell for as long as the city lasts"

[curandir]

Barmer knew not of the Grey Havens. He did not until now, know the extent of Rivendell: A city of elves. Talk of that could wait a while; his thoughts were in concern for the lives of Men and Elves...
To spend even fifty years, not knowing a loved ones fate, is a grievous doom. She speaks as one who has also spent many years in solitude. How long has her burden lasted?



“I am sorry to hear of your loss.” He wiped his eyes. “To not know her fate must be… terrible for you, Atariel’.”

A breeze stirred in the boughs above: More cherry blossom fell like lilac snow about them and distracted the old mans eye. Bird song and the beauty of things that grow was also a reason for Alfrinn’s pilgrimage to these, the fairest lands known to him. How could a land seem so merry and yet hold such great regret and sorrow?

“Have you no father then?” The question was genuine. “My parents are gone, forty-eight years since my mother died; and their passing was never in doubt to me. Men have long had to come to terms with the certainty of their loss: As for seeing them on the other side, your guess is as good as mine… I hope you are right, Atariel’.”

If her mother was in fact proved dead and maybe no longer lost in the world; would she not await her child also… somewhere out of sight?

[atarielxaldarion]

I turned my head slightly to the side, impervious of the sweet songs. My heart had turned toward this old man, relating to his history's sorrow. My Father... what a sweet word on the lips that was. My father... My father was the best I could ever have wished for. He taught me how to fight, how to live my own life. He had always been my savior.

"I have a Father, which I am blessed with. He is fighting the war of the Ring as best he can while trying to look after a troublesome thing like me" I laughed softly, embracing the moments and memories close to my heart.

"My Father tried to find me a husband many times. You must know, that it is unusual for an elf to not be married by my age. I suppose nobody would want to marry an elf who does not speak" I said quietly.

"This is the first time I have spoken in thirty years, sir" I said softly, the laughter drained out of my face.

"And I think it shall be another before I find another to confide in" I whispered, holding myself as if I was on the brink of a cliff. I looked at the old man quietly.

"I have a request, Alfrin" I said. "May I sing for the one who has lifted my hopes so?"

[curandir]

So long without a word! Could it be that she could speak to him because her words would die with him? Barmer, would talk a lot; and to himself for the most part of the last ten years. He was an inquisitive soul, but often his shyness stayed his tongue: With his friends and family gone he was bound to ramble alone. To think he came here in the hope of seeing an Elf for the last time. He would hear one speak for the first time, in half a lifetime of men.

Alfinn, was glad the sweet girl had a father to comfort her; though what the Ring War was he did not know and dared not ask.

“I have spoken to none save myself, for the last two years; but thirty is a very long time indeed. Your voice is beautiful; and a song would be a dear treat for my ears, sweet Atariel’…”

His mother, much of eighty years ago, told young Alfinn of the songs of Elves. ‘The voices of sweet birds in spring’ she had said; 'and seldom heard'. It would be a privilege to hear it a lifetime on.

“…please, excuse me a moment, before you begin: I am so hungry; and would love to listen after taking my fill…”

The old mans tummy rumbled: He had not eaten since he woke six hours since. He hastily opened the leaf wrapping and ate his way-biscuit, as greedily as he dared, for he was in need of it.

[atarielxaldarion]

I bowed my head, defeated for the moment. I had spoken to this man because he would understand, for I did see the loss in his eyes. In his few years, i thought he had seen more grief than I, and I felt selfish. He looked so fragile, able to be blown away by a small gust of wind, and I looked so stong. It wasn't fair.

"Ah... but in perspective, dear Alfrinn, you have probably not spoken for as long as I" I said quietly. For it was true. What was thirty years to an elf? What was two precious years for a man? It was worth a lot more than my silence.

I smiled at his words, he looked hungry as well! Poor Alfrinn had traveled so long to see Rivendell, and all he got was me. The quietest elf in all of the City. It felt like an honour, a privilage of which I was not worthy of. I felt worth more than ever. I felt like a queen.

"Eat as long as you wish, for I have seen the hunger on your face!" I said, laughing.

[curandir]

Eat he did; two oat-meal biscuits and then started on a Pear, heavy with ripeness. To get the best from a Pear; one must be patient: Stay up all night if necessary. There is a brief window of perfection; before which is hard and with grim texture: After is too soft and lacking in substance. Juices ran down Barmer’s chin; he was just too late.
That was the risk one takes…

“Thirty years, may not be long in the minds of elves; but what of this war of which you speak…” Alfrinn knew nothing of the rings and Sauron, save dark rumour; and migration of goodly folk.

“…If you remain silent for another thirty years under the sun; or indeed without it…” He did know it would be a world changing event; whatever it was and for her to miss this brief moment of peace before the storm would be a great shame indeed.

Alfrinn had finished eating and wrapped the remains for composting upon his return to High Moor. He looked once again into her eyes and was bold enough to look for hidden reasoning. We are not so different, you and I…

“Don’t make my same mistakes, Atariel’. You should sing, now… and not go back to your silence…”

Even though he now appreciated her age; he still couldn’t help but talk to her as a grandfather, for all else that came with the fading of men was bitterness and regrets felt too late for comfort…

“…there is precious little time for it, my love.”

[atarielxaldarion]

I was quiet once more. I shut my eyes tightly, imagining of what I would sing. What? Should I tell of my past? No. It was too sad. Should I tell of Beren and Luthien? No. So what should I sing? I opened my eyes.

"It's too late for me, even now" I said softly. "I have already made your mistakes, Alfrinn" It was quiet for a few moments, and I knew what I would tell. I hoped that even now there was still hope for me. Yes, the small glimmer of love that could enter my uncaring and selfish mind and actually revive the soul that had been dead for so long. I was not thinking about my mother. I was thinking about the sunny child who had played round this tree many years ago.

When my Mother had disappeared. I had died.


"You are not bound to loss and silence.
For you are not bound to the circles of this world.
All things must pass away,
All life is doomed to fade...

Ar sindarnóriello caita mornië,
Ar ilye tier unduláve lumbule...
You have fallen.
And I cannot reach you.
Every step I willed you on,
Every moment I lead you to this.
You never left my mind,
Not once, not ever"

This was the first time I had ever sung this song. It seemed to make even the roots of my cherry tree vibrate with the sound I was making. It was sad. But it was true.

[curandir]

The song was at first, optimistic; after the phrase in elvish, which Alfrinn could not understand: The mood turned grim. Her voice lifted his spirit, none the less; and it was beyond the description he had been given.
She sang of her mother; that was clear enough…

“I wish you had a happier song, Atariel’…” If he could, Barmer, would have granted her that much; but it was far beyond him.

“…you still grieve; and yet I believe she would want you to live.”


The words were sincere and came from the heart. Alfrinn would never forget the Elf maid; so fair and yet far from reconciliation. He would gladly lose the memories of this day, if only her troubles would end and her mother returned; her mourning cease. What could mortal man do, if even the elves could not control their destiny; if the rumoured shadows would one day prevail: A dark age; under a dwindling Sun.

Barmer, with new wisdom; now clearly knew his mortality was a gift. His ancestors; four generations in the lifetime of the Elven lady, had passed away. The gift was such that, Afrinn, could not remember them: freedom, from an eternity of grief.

[atarielxaldarion]

"She was clever. I know now where she went. i thank you, Barmer" Atariel' said quietly. "I do not have a happier song to sing. for that I am duly sorry" Atariel' smiled gently, and kissed Barmer on the forehead. "I hope you find peace" She said quietly, and walked away. Her blue eyes filled with tears, sweeping down her petal white face.

She went into her house, and silently packed.

[curandir]

Eruvad, walked bare footed through the blossom, towards the lonely house. He knew full well that at this early hour in the morning Atariel' would likely be sat alone somewhere; as she had done for many years since her mother had disappeared. He wore the clerical robes of his order and as he walked they stirred the carpet of petals, leaving a trail behind him. As the the young monk walked with short steps; his head level did not change and he seemed almost to float like a spirit to the door. He knocked lightly on the door.
Maybe, she has gone for awalk herself...

After a brief moment, Eruvad, scanned all about him for chance he may catch a glimpse of her. He was tall, being the son of a high elf; though being third generation in exile, and his mother one of the Sindar; the light of the two trees was faint in his eyes.
He drew his hood back revealing the long black hair of the Noldor; although his held the sheen of silver, inherrited from his mother.
Where is she?

Now turned away from the house, the thoughts of Eruvadhren drifted to his parents; and that was why he had come to seek the lady Atariel'. They had decided it was their time to cross the great sea and for his father to seek his pardon from the Valar.
His parents were known to her: Mirildor and Celebrín.

"Atariel'?"

Eruvad would not go with them, for he heard not the calling of the see; not yet: He had much to do and much to think about before he could follow them. There was great evil in the world and in part to blame was his father, decieved by Sauron in disguise.
Eruvad was learned in the arts of healing, rather than the shaping of stones and forging of artifacts. His father had told him when very young to use his skilled hands for good and not in the making of powerful things. A lesson well learned.

[atarielxaldarion]

Atariel' raised her head, lgithly tilting her neck toward the sun. Her blue eyes scanned the area, searching for the one who had called her name. She got up gracefully, her willow thin arms placed on her green dress. She walked out of her small house, and sighed as the sun's rays caught her. She recognised the voice calling, and it was that of Eruvad.

Atarile' was an elf. She had lived for three hundred years on this earth. If that had not taught her anythibg, she had learned to come when she was called. Atariel' walked smoothly out into the gardens, and sat down. She swallowed, and tried to call, but to no avail. Her voice was gone again. Who knows when it would come back. She waved with a thin hand to the elf.

[curandir]

Turning round and glancing back towards the house: There she was; Atariel', in a spring green dress. She sat squat in the garden surrounded by flowers and waved to Eruvadhren and made no sound. Her voice had not been heard by any in Rivendell save in song since the death of her mother.
Of course Eruvad had learned to talk in ways she could easily reply to.

"Atariel', there you are... My parents are leaving for The Havens; would you come and say goodbye to them?"

The young monk knew that they would both miss her very much; and although their parting would not be forever it could, even to the elves, seem a very long time. Mirildor and Celebrín had tried to help the grieving Elleth where ever they could. Loving friends may not replace a mother but they can at least give another port of call; and in the times after her mother's disappearance, that was all anyone could give. The refugees from Eregion had followed Elrond to Rivendell after the sacking of the Jewelsmith city; and there they had met Golradir and his wife Atariel'. They were witness to the naming of their child, Elvain, 'beutiful star'. The two of them, their son now grown up, had taken to her as a child as she wore a holly leaf often in her braided hair. In some way it reminded them of the innocense of their former home, before the taint of The Dark Lord: He came to them in the form of Annatar 'Lord of Gifts', with promises of beauty and wisdom; and with them they were decieved.
It was once a great and cultural centre, built close to the mansion of the Dwarves; and was considered a place of fellowship. Once, many elf children had worn the ereglas in their hair; until the forging of the Rings of Power and the destruction of their realm.