Chapter 3 – The Gift

            “What happened to the elven princess?” Dunie asked with the ingenuous curiosity of the young as the tale came to an end.   She smiled at Daeron as he turned to look at her.   It was an innocent question by a mortal child who could not possibly know that the answer would cause him pain.   None of them were aware of the sadness in that tale, or the shadow that still hovered over his heart.   He was indeed a gifted storyteller; they did not know it was himself that he had spoken of.   How could they know?   He had done his job exceedingly well.   He always had, hiding his feelings behind his gift whenever necessary as he had done today.   “Did she dance for him?”

            “She grew into a very beautiful maiden, her hair falling about her like twilight shadows as she would dance upon the grass with such grace and joy that the stars themselves would weep to watch her. She . . . she fell in love with a Man, who saw her dancing under the stars one night.”

            Vaya’s face lit with pleasure at the pronouncement, being young and rather a ‘romantic’ herself though she might deny it.

            “Oh!   How lovely!” she sighed, gazing at Daeron, unaware of his true feelings about this lovely, romantic tale.   “I am so happy for her!”

            “What happened to the elf who sang to her?” Niphredil asked, remembering how happy the beautiful elven baby was when the shy young elf had sung his song.   “Why didn’t she fall in love with him?”

            Daeron’s brows knit as he thought of the quiet, gifted young elf growing to adulthood, his gift shaped and honed by the love he had borne for the elven princess, the one person whom he had loved more than life itself and always knew in his heart had never been meant for him.   Why indeed.

            “He . . . he grew up as well . . . singing and playing for her whenever she desired to hear his music.   He always loved her, wanting nothing more than to make her happy and be near her.”

            Daeron bit at his lip, unable to answer Niphredil’s second question, and he felt a swell of bitterness and sorrow rise within him at the answer to the first.   He had wanted her happiness until it meant that she could only find it with Beren.   It had hurt him to realize that though he had given everything he had to her, everything he was, it had not been enough to capture her untamed heart.   It had taken another to do that, another who was not even of their kind, another who had come to her ragged and torn, even as Daeron was now.   ~Would she look at me in pity now?   I wonder . . . . But no, ~ he told himself, ~it had not been pity for Barahir’s son that had moved her. ~

            The ache of loneliness that was his familiar friend nearly overwhelmed him.   This was why he had allowed these mortal children to ‘find’ him.   He had needed to hear other voices than his own; see other visages than the one that stared back at him from the water when he washed his face.   Even if they were not his kin, and though they could never understand who or what he was, he needed them.   He needed these mortals that ruled all the lands now.  

            A small self-mocking smile touched his lips as he thought of this grand irony of his life.   A mortal had taken from him the one thing that had mattered, leaving him lost and alone when she was gone and now the thing he needed most was their company, the companionship of mortals, to ease this vast solitude that threatened to undo him.   He could never leave Arda.   That was his curse.   He would never feel content in Valinor, and so he stayed, watching his own kind slowly vanishing, fading, or leaving these shores forever.   Indeed they were the Forgotten People now, and he was the last.

           He felt the children’s eyes upon him, and Daeron realized that he had been staring intently at the gentle blue swell of the Sea, not the western sea that haunted his thoughts, but a smaller inland one far to the east, far from what had been his home.   He had no home now; he was indeed a wanderer in the shadows.   His smile softened when he felt the gentle touch of Niphredil’s small fingers on his cheek.   He reached down and clasped her fingers in his for a moment.   An ephemeral touch, yet it was what he had always yearned for: someone who could see him beyond the gift, someone who could see what he was in himself.   Even if it lasted for a mere moment of time, someone had seen ‘him’ and dared to touch him.

            “Will you sing for me?” Niphredil asked.   “I will dance for you if you do.   Please, Daeron.   I want to dance for you.”

            The child didn’t understand the look that crossed The Singer’s face.   She could not know how those very words affected him.   She would dance ‘for him’.   She would do it to please him.   He felt a rush of hot tears, wondering how this mortal child could say such simple words and move him so.

            “I am a good dancer,” the girl continued when he hesitated.   “Watch me!”   She slid from his lap and ran across the sun-washed sand.   Then she began to move, not with the grace of Luthien, for none had her grace, but with the enthusiastic charm of a child,   exuberant and joyful.   She spun and dipped, a smile on her face, her eyes ever on the tall Singer to make certain that he saw her, that he saw her dance for him.

            Vaya pulled Dunie to her feet and they joined Niphredil in the dance.   Giggling, the twins leapt to their feet and were soon leaping and twirling about the three girls.   Only Lothar and Shai remained seated with Daeron.

            “Sing for us, Daeron,” Niphredil called as she spun about, the sun captured in her shadowy locks.   “Sing for us!”

            Daeron watched the children who danced a few feet away from the edge of the water, the sigh of the sea and the cry of the gulls the only music they truly needed.   He wanted to sing for this child who was dancing to please him, but he felt that if he did his voice would fail him.   For though her words were a balm for his grieving soul, it sharply reminded him of the one whom he had wanted to hear say those words so long ago.     Once, when they had been younger, she had danced for him, all grace and beauty as she moved over the grass to his music.   But that had all changed when Beren had arrived in Doriath and stolen her heart away from Daeron, though in truth she had never been his.

            “I will play for you instead,” he called softly, moving to his bag and taking out a wooden box. Inside was a small flute of polished wood.   He tenderly removed it from the protective cloth that was wrapped about it, moved to sit upon the sand and, drawing his knees to his chest, he began to play.

            As the first notes filled the salt-tinged air, the children turned to him, mesmerized by the song, for it sounded as though someone’s heart had been broken beyond repair.   Their eyes filled with sudden tears and true sorrow touched them for the first time in their young lives, though they knew not why this should be.   Then The Singer’s silvery eyes looked upon them with pity, and the tune changed to a lighthearted melody perfectly suited for children to dance to.

            They were delighted with this, their sadness lifting like a veil and vanishing like smoke on the wind as the new song filled them.   Soon Lothar and even Shai had joined in the merriment.   For a time, all was forgotten but the tune of Daeron’s making and the children’s movement on the sand.   Then at last the notes died away, carried by the slight breeze across the sea, and silence fell.

            As the day was later than they had supposed, they all bid The Singer farewell with the promise to come and see him on the morrow to listen to more stories and hear more music. They had invited him to come and celebrate Niphredil’s birthday with them, for their parents would surely want to meet The Singer, to see that he was no ghost or demon.    Daeron merely smiled at them and waved as they slowly disappeared, heading for their homes.   As he turned from replacing his flute, he heard someone running toward him.   It was Niphredil.   She threw her arms about his legs and hugged him.   He was startled by the embrace, but bent to hug her back quickly.

            “Thank you for the story and the music, Daeron,” she said, her eyes shining.

            “Thank you,” he said quietly and smiled at her, knowing that she could not know what gift she had given to him.   It was then that he decided what he wanted to do for this special child.   He moved to his pack and rummaged in it, drawing out at last a square of silk the color of faded pale violets.   He moved back to Niphredil and handed it to her.   “Happy birthday,” he murmured, feeling a contentedness in his heart knowing that she at least would treasure this gift, though the one he had intended it for had never known about it.

            Niphredil opened the square of silk and gasped.   Inside was a white gem hung on a delicate silver chain; the gem, a pale white stone, seemed to glow slightly, as though a small star burned in its heart.   She had never seen anything so lovely and alluring before in her life.

            “It’s for me?” she asked, staring up at him with disbelieving eyes.

            “Yes.   I want you to have it.   It will help you to remember me.”

            “I won’t ever forget you, Daeron,” she promised with a childlike solemnity as he gently fastened it about her neck.   “It looks like something a princess would wear,” she breathed, plucking the gem from where it lay on her chest to gaze at it in wonder.

            “Yes,” Daeron agreed softly, “something for a princess, but it is yours now.”

            The child flung her arms about him once more, and her sparkling, happy eyes filled him with joy, an emotion so new that he wondered if he had ever felt it before.

            When at last she had vanished from his sight, he sighed.   Slowly he bent, making certain that his belongings were safely tucked in his pack.   He took out the box that contained his fishhooks and placed the one from the rod in the box.   He removed the string as well, wrapping it about the small ball of string that he kept, placing it in the pack with the box.   Then he swiftly laced the bag’s ties and took up his cloak, shaking the sand from it before putting it on. He tied the long leather laces of his sandals together and hung them about his neck.   Bending, he picked up his pack, slinging it over his chest and one shoulder, tucking the fishing pole behind it and securing it.   He took up his staff and then stood, staring at the image of the footprints in the sand where the children had danced to his music.

            Tomorrow they would return, if their parents would allow it, for he wondered what they would make of the story of The Singer that had told them a tale and played a flute for them to dance to.   If they returned, with some adults in tow no doubt, they would find no trace of him but the ashes of his fire and the hollow of his bed.   It was time to move on.   Time to tell them that he would not be here tomorrow.

            His loneliness had abated for now, and he had enjoyed the time spent with these mortal children this day, but he had no desire to linger.   He drew a deep breath, his eyes moving to the sparkling waters of the sea.   Far out, he could see the small white boats the villagers used while plying their trade, and yes . . . .   It was time to go.

            He lifted his hand in farewell and turned to move in the opposite direction.   He began to sing.

            The children heard the voice dimly, and turned.   The villagers, hearing it as well, stopped their work to listen to the dulcet, magic-filled tones, marveling that they could hear it in the light of day since they had heard it only in the twilight hours before, and their hearts lifted in their breasts as though they had touched something enchanted.   But Niphredil’s bottom lip quivered and fat tears spilled over her rosy cheeks, for she knew that the song was one of farewell.   He was leaving.

            “Good-bye, Daeron,” she whispered, for her emotions were too strong for words; yet in her heart of hearts she had known that he would leave.   “Good-bye!”   It was Shai that picked her up, holding her comfortingly in his arms as she cried; it was he that noticed that she clutched at a necklace which rested about her slim throat, and the stone that shone pure radiant white as though a star rested there.

            The tall Singer walked at the water’s edge knowing that his parting gift had been heard; received with relief by some, for they liked not the strange feeling of magic that accompanied that ethereal voice, and sorrow by others, who knew how a part of them would feel empty once the song was done. Daeron smiled as he sang.   The water of the Sea of Rhun washed over his feet, gently erasing his prints as he headed south.   It was as if he had never been there, but for the memory of his voice that lingered in the villagers’ hearts.

 The End