[Mithalwen]

Elen sila lumen omentielvo”

Both the words and their volume roused Mithalwen from her reverie. Now she knew why mortals slept with their eyes shut. A star shines on the hour of our meeting? she thought bewildered as the midday sun, filtering through the branches, dappled the ground with light. Nevertheless she managed to find a tactful response , in Westron to be on the safe side. Though she guessed that this man's self confidence would not be easily dented.

“I dwelt for a time in the land of Ithilien..,

Oh so you learnt your Quenya from silvan elves... that explains much... few of them have much love for any of the works of the Noldor...strange that the king of Rohan should spare his bard for such a long time Mithalwen was grateful that unlike Snaveling, she did not have to mask her thoughts with this man - he might have a musician's ear for the sounds of spoken language but she doubted he had a nature adept for the osanwe kenta. She would have to be sociable - hobbits took their luncheon seriously she had learnt and the Flaxmans would not open the forge again for a good hour. The tormented elf had slipped away she noticed ... she wished momentarily that she had his skill in repelling company. She introduced herself, careful not to mention her specialism as a maker of musical instruments and then made her first error. Have you learned many songs of the Elves?” He will sing at me she thought ... and now he lectures me on the music of my people! Me fair? pah! Valar valuvar She sighed inaudibly and settled herself for the performance, drinking deeply at her cider and breaking the neglected bread and cheese on her plate into fragments.

It was a little bizarre to hear a mortal sing of Valimar but she supposed that the themes of loss and separation were common to all. As he finished she realised that this seemingly insensitive man was deeply moved. She had two options and after her clumsy handling of Falco, and Aman only one was possible.

"If you like songs in the ancient tongue - perhaps you will care for this, if you know it not already?

Men cenuva fánë cirya
métima hrestallo círa,
i fairi nécë
ringa súmaryassë
ve maiwi yaimië?

Man tiruva fána cirya,
wilwarin wilwa,
ëar-celumessen
rámainen elvië
ëar falastala,
winga hlápula
,rámar sisílala,
cálë fifírula?

Man hlaruva rávëa súrë
ve tauri lillassië,
ninqui carcar yarra
isilmë ilcalassë,
isilmë pícalassë,
isilmë lantalassë
ve loicolícuma;
raumo nurrua,
undumë rúma?

Man cenuva lumbor ahosta
Menel acúna
ruxal' ambonnar,
ëar amortala,
undumë hácala,
enwina lúmë
elenillor pella
talta-taltala
atalantië mindonnar?

Man tiruva rácina cirya
ondolissë mornë
nu fanyarë rúcina,
anar púrëa tihta
axor ilcalannar
métim' auressë?
Man cenuva métim' andúnë?"


Mithalwen sang soft and her voice had a sweet melancholy that fitted the melody and also it seemed the words though of those Hearpwine could understand but little. The elf was aware that she had now his full attention and smiled to herself on how the tables had turned and the audience had become performer. She translated for him a little haltingly for the words brought back many memories for one who remembered the downfall.

"Who shall see a white ship leave the last shore, the pale phantoms in her cold bosom like gulls wailing?

Who shall heed a white ship, vague as a butterfly, in the flowing sea on wings like stars, the sea surging, the foam blowing, the wings shining, the light fading?

Who shall hear the wind roaring like leaves of forests; the white rocks snarling in the moon gleaming, in the moon waning, in the moon falling a corpse-candle; the storm mumbling, the abyss moving?

Who shall see the clouds gather, the heavens bending upon crumbling hills, the sea heaving, the abyss yawning, the old darkness beyond the stars falling upon fallen towers?

Who shall heed a broken ship on the black rocks under broken skies, a bleared sun blinking on bones gleaming in the last morning?
Who shall see the last evening?"

As she finished, Mithalwen realised that her irritation had faded Anar kaluva tielyanna she thought