Thoughts of Írimë, daughter of Indis by Alvian  

The Grief of Mortal Men
The grief of mortal Men is strange, and unlike the grief of the Eldar.
When first Aradan son of Marach came with his kin to serve my brother, the Noldóran, they were unlearned in our lore, and rough were their songs. Seldom did I hear them; for before us they sang little. Yet at times, when they held their gatherings apart, the wind would bring me broken snatches of their music.
At first many of those songs seemed dark and monotonous, and in them dwelt a shadow of despair; they pleased us little. But as the Men learned our tongue, their songs also changed. More often they sang of parting and death. Often the song told of a young man riding northward. A black arrow found him, or a black sword, and his friends laid him down upon the earth.
“Do not weep, beloved,” he would say, while breath departed from him. “You shall find a faithful friend still.”
A strange mortal thing, to wish another love upon the beloved. Yet the faces of Men seemed to lighten when they sang of the world continuing in love after they were gone.
Many springs later, when young Hador Lórindol dwelt among us, I heard him once as he groomed the horse my brother had given him.
“How good it is to die for the King,” he sang.
But when he saw me draw near, his face changed; and at once he sang instead, “I’ll ride through the cattle to my lady fair,” and fled as though I had found him stealing treasure.
He never sang that song before my brother.
Love that serves must often hide itself, when it is pure; for it cannot bear to be mistaken for flattery.
Now Hador’s hair is streaked with grey, and my brother’s heart is heavy.

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