Listen to the Song by polutropos

Chapter 1

“Why do you wait for him?”

It is the way of children to ask questions, and many generations of them have kept Beleg curious on the journey from Cuiviénen. But Daeron never stops asking questions. Nor does a single answer satisfy him. He will ask the same question again and again, of as many ears as will listen. His latest: Why do you continue to search for Elwë?

It is not a question the Lindai like to ask themselves. Waiting and searching for their chieftain is simply what they do. So this child, standing no higher than Beleg’s hip, has sent ripples of disquiet through the settlement.

Unlike other children, Daeron is not impatient for answers. He lets Beleg consider, occupying himself in the meantime with examining the underside of a long fern frond.

At last Beleg says, “He is the only one among us who has seen the light beyond the sea with his own eyes, the only one with the eagerness to lead us forward. We trust him.”

Daeron is evidently unsatisfied with this answer, not troubling to look up at Beleg when he poses his next question. “Don’t you trust the Lord of Forests? Mother says he would bring us there.”

Oromë has not come among them since Elwë disappeared. Beleg cannot be sure that the Hunter even knows that they are now leaderless, and more reluctant than ever to continue on.

“We do,” Beleg says. “We do trust Oromë.”

“Would you go with him then, if he comes back for us?”

Beleg sighs. “I do not know, Daeron. I wish I had an answer for you.”

“I wouldn’t,” Daeron asserts, with more conviction, Beleg thinks, than very many of Elwë’s people. “I like it here. I like the stars and the rivers and the trees.”

“So do I,” Beleg says. So did Elwë, he thinks.

“You say in the west is the Blessed Realm, but I think this land is blessed, too,” Daeron continues. “And it is real. Valinor is only a rumour, a distant name. Here,” he says, suddenly leaping up and holding a hand out for Beleg, “let me show you something.”

Beleg follows Daeron up the creek, leaping from stone to stone. Daeron chatters to himself, the chatter falling into a rhythm and then taking the shape of a melody.

Up, up, up the singing brook,
Stay, stay!
That is what the waters say,
To that land of light do not go,
Here, here, child,
Listen to the song,
Here is where you belong.

“Where did you learn that song?” Beleg asks.

“I heard it in the water,” Daeron states simply. “Come, we are almost there.”

He bounds a little further up the creek, and stops where the water has collected in a still pool. Beleg knows the place; he has come here often, finding it a pleasant spot for bathing, away from the backwaters of larger rivers where most elves prefer to wash.

“Come listen,” Daeron crouches on the bank. “This is where I heard it.”

Beleg knows he is not as gifted in Song as some of his people, but he wonders that Daeron could have heard such a clear message from this spot, when Beleg has never heard anything but the usual hum that is in all waters.

He joins Daeron on the bank. At first, there is nothing, but then comes a gentle pulse that brings to mind the waves that lapped against the forest-cradled shores of Cuiviénen.

“Look,” Daeron whispers, pointing to the black surface of the pool.

The stars reflected there seem to multiply, blotting the darkness with their light until the whole pool is awash with it, glittering now gold, now silver. Beleg is captivated by it, a light brighter than any he has yet imagined, and he feels a heaviness in his limbs, dragging him down towards the water. He longs to bathe in its glow, to have the light embrace him.

He is close to succumbing to the urge to topple forward; but then, scabs of darkness appear around the edges of the pool, clawing their way towards the centre. They consume the light, as rot overtakes the flesh of an animal’s corpse.

Beleg’s face contracts in horror. He reaches instinctively to shield the child beside him from this terrible vision, but Daeron is still, and calm. Feeling Beleg’s arm on his, he turns his face up. At once the vision is gone, and Beleg is light with relief.

He looks into Daeron’s eyes, wide but soft. “You are not afraid of it?” Beleg asks.

“No, I have seen it before. It does not frighten me. But it is a warning.”

That is certain, Beleg thinks. “You have a gift,” he says to Daeron. “Have you shown this to any others?”

Daeron pouts and shakes his head. Knees hugged to his chest, he appears a child once more, in need of protection.

“No. They do not want to know. They all say, ‘We are waiting for Elwë, for he is our leader.’ They are only waiting because they cannot decide without him. I fear that one day they will. They will decide to leave. Or Elwë will return, and he will take us onwards. But you saw!” Now there is fear in the tenor of Daeron’s voice. “We cannot go! An even deeper darkness lies that way. You admitted, Beleg. You said, ‘I do not know.’ So I knew I could show you and you would not chastise me for playing with visions.”

“Have others done so?” Beleg asks.

Daeron just looks down and does not answer.

“You are right, I will not. Your gift should be nurtured, not punished. I believe this vision, Daeron. The choice is plain. I will stay, whether Elwë returns or no.”

“Good,” Daeron says, the heaviness lifting from him. “I like you, Beleg. You are kind. I am glad you will stay.”