Noldolantë by Grundy

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Prelude

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Alqualondë was a confusing mix of the familiar and the strange – more sprawling than Tirion, and more populated, yet somehow more intimate, a place where it was the custom to greet all and sundry as friends. It had taken Makalaurë several days to accustom himself to the dimmer light, for the light of the Trees passed through the Calacirya, but did not illuminate the city of the Teleri to the same degree as that of the Noldor or the Vanyar.

The architecture, though clearly influenced by that of the Noldor, was not much like Tirion. Oh, the harbor had a scattering of graceful towers, two of which were lit as beacons to guide returning ships safely home. But for the most part, the Teleri built out, not up, and wood was more noticeable than stone on most structures.

Even the promenade he walked on was wooden, weaving lazily over and around the water, connecting various quays and the more solid plazas finished in stone and studded with coral. He’s told it’s a popular place to stroll on all but the worst storm days.

He has yet to see any of them, for storms such as the people here speak of with awe, reverence even, do not reach Tirion. His hosts assure him he can expect to see at least one when winter comes.

He had been homesick when he arrived, and tried hard to focus on the honor it was to be taken as a student at the Collegium. It was difficult, though, when he sat his lessons alone, separate from the other students, for he had yet to master the tongue commonly used here.

In those days, it had been all too easy to believe the whispers in Tirion that this was no honor, but an implicit rebuke to his father. But Grandfather had been so sincerely pleased when his new law-daughter arranged the favor that it was hard to think he had any thought but that his eldest son would be pleased also.

For it had been vexing Curufinwë Fëanaro that his sons all seemed to be developing talents in which he himself did not excel and so could not instruct them. Maitimo, of course, was the easiest for him to understand, and if diplomacy and statecraft came easy to him, Fëanaro could at least console himself that it was less that he had not talent for it than that he had no time for it. And of course, Finwë himself was supervising the education of his eldest grandson.

But then there was Celegorm, whose love for the woods and wild places and affinity for animals was far beyond the casual interest their parents had for such things – and Ammë was more noted for her love of nature than Atto. Carnistir’s talent for needlework and tailoring seemed to unnerve their father more than please him, which had ceased to puzzle them once Celegorm overheard Indis compare him favorably to Miriel.

And, of course, there was Makalaurë himself, whose gift for music and song was unmatched among the Noldor. He has studied all he could learn there, but he was not so full of himself as to think that he knew all there was to know, or even all that was known to the elves. So he had eagerly accepted when Aunt Eärwen had offered to arrange a place for him in Alqualondë.

He found himself being hosted by Olwë and his queen Suyelirë, both as pleased to welcome him into their home as if he’d been a nephew rather than just the nephew by law of their daughter. Fortunately, as a friend and regular correspondent of Grandfather’s, Olwë spoke Noldorin, so while he was assiduous at practicing Telerin with Suyelirë and her sons, he did have the occasional relief of conversation not stilted by his own lack of competence. (Eloquence could come later, for now he would settle for being able to find a reasonable word without fumbling about.)

On his first weekend visit home, he had a quiet discussion with Maitimo about whether Atto’s insistence on not only Noldorin, but Noldorin as it had been spoken in Miriel’s day, might not be standing in the way of his sons’ educations. After all, unlike their Nolofinwion cousins, they have learned neither Vanyarin nor Telerin. Fëanaro had given them some cursory lessons on the elven tongue spoken prior to the completion of the Journey, but that wasn’t exactly useful for modern life.

Fortunately, the masters of the Collegium do not mind what elven language he speaks, so long as he is fluent in music. The notation used does not differ from Alqualondë to Tirion, nor do the gestures usually used when conducting. And of course, when one is focused on the music, it is not difficult to use osanwë, to bring one’s Music in tune with another’s. That too is a technique he is studying here, for the Teleri make more use of it than the Noldor. (The Vanyar do as well, he has heard, but he can hardly go study in Valimar.)

But for all that, he still finds Alqualondë a bit lonely, and all the more so since his parents’ announcement that Carnistir is no longer the youngest son. He has to strike a balance now between visiting home often enough that his littlest brother will not regard him as a stranger, but not so often as to hinder his immersion in Telerin and worsen his homesickness. Grandfather will be disappointed if he breaks off his study too soon.

In his current mood, it was fitting that he heard the song before he could see who was singing. It was a  cheerful tune, the notes dancing up and down, and if he was not confident he was catching the words, he recognized the playfulness of the song, and an undercurrent of hope. It lifted his spirits, and gave him the courage to follow the sound to its source.

He rounded another bend, the promenade hugging the outline of the harbormaster’s tower, and caught sight of the singer. Her hair was not the silver of Olwë and Suyelirë, nor the dark hair of most Noldor, but a shade of pale brown that he would have termed palomino on a horse, but was uncertain how to term on an elf.

“Well met, friend,” she said politely, interrupting her song.

“Well met indeed,” Makaurë replied, thankful that he could at least manage such simple phrases creditably.  “Please, do not stop to sing for me.”

The not quite suppressed smile told him clearly that he had not gotten that entirely right.

“Not to worry about,” she assured him – in Noldorin, to his surprise. “Certain am I not all my wordings in your tongue correct.”

He blinked, and since she has switched languages, he followed suit.

“You speak Noldorin?” he asked.

“Speak? Unsure,” she replied with a smile. “You know better than I. Try, yes.”

“You are better at Noldorin than I am at Telerin,” he told her ruefully.

“Lindarin,” she corrected. “If we give you your liked name, you should do us the same. How long are you learning? For I study some years with my cousin – she learned for her weddage? No, not the right word. How do you say in Noldorin when two are joined?”

“Marriage,” Makalaurë explained. “And in Lindarin?”

She gave him the correct word, and he added it to his constantly expanding vocabulary. It would certainly be more useful than the fish related terms he had picked up in the market.

“I suppose that was sensible if your cousin planned to move to Tirion,” he continued ruefully. “It’s very difficult not being able to have conversations.”

His singer laughed.

“Too fast! Too fast!” she chirped. “If learning yourself, surely you know how hard to keep time when all is vivace. Andante will be better.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the musical term, which he didn’t think was a general Lindarin usage, and his smile broadened when she emphasized her point by adding a few whistled notes at the two tempos with a frustrated face and a smiling face to demonstrate the difference.

“Very true, I beg your pardon. And in my excitement at finally having a conversation with someone other than my hosts or the music masters, I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë.”

He saw the split second of surprise and hesitation before his new friend answered.

“Lorilindë,” she answered, with the slight bow of her head that was good manners Telerin fashion.

He returned the gesture, hoping he was doing it right. Perhaps he should ask Suyelirë for the proper etiquette for such introductions. So far he has only learned what to do on formal occasions.  But the Teleri were generally informal, so it should be right if he simply mirrored her gesture…he hoped.

“Will you walk with me, Lady Lorilindë?” he asked, trying to find the right balance between Noldorin manners (which he knew were the butt of not always gentle jokes here) and Telerin ease. “I would be happy to give you a chance to practice your Noldorin, and you might return the favor and let me do the same with Lindarin.”

The hesitation this time, if there was any, was covered well enough that he did not catch it.

“I think that a good bargain, Kanafinwë Makalaurë,” she said.

There was a note of laughter in her voice, and it would not be until some weeks later that Lorilindë explains why. (To give both names was by Lindarin mores impossibly stuffy for a chance meeting on the promenade, even for a prince.) But for today, Makalaurë cared only that he had, against all odds, found someone outside the palace walls he could converse with, and may even be able to sing with.