Eliriael looked into Belegos’ eyes, and in their depths, she saw a spark of warmth kindled and she knew there was much hope left there. Perhaps her rescuer did not believe in himself or in any bright future, but she knew otherwise. There were no evident signs to assure her, but at times children have been known to see much more of the world and its people than is perceivable by the grown and wise.
In the moment that he caressed her cheek and smiled kindly, rising up to stand, she saw her savior emerge stronger and transcend above the sorrowful fate that had been dealt to him. Eliriael leaned into his hand affectionately as he pressed his lips to her forehead softly. These small gestures made her cheerfully content, for she delighted in the simple things of the present. But unknown to both elves, the bond of attachment that grew between them now, quickened by the nearness of danger and chaos, kept at bay the anxieties that threatened to consume the young elleth. Being under the dutiful care of Belegos, she was happy and well, and there was less need to consider the implications of the destruction that invaded the senses and hearts of all the elves around her. She alone projected an aura of contentment, an illusory front put up against the alternative of contemplating her loss and falling into despair.
Thus, when the silence of mourning was broken by sudden voices, stirring bodies up into movement, Eliriael was the only one to bound forward with a light spirit to join the slow, dragging march of dejected footsteps. Staying close to Belegos and the cart he pushed, Eliriael sometimes skipped ahead or tarried a bit behind, vigilantly looking about. As they began the ascent toward the tall peaks ahead, the dawn rose above the Encircling Mountains and pierced the night, its light flooding the valley and beaming upon the faces of the refugees. Occasionally, the elves walked through shadow when the mountain heights stood against the Sun. But Eliriael took in as much of the warmth as she could and continued to look upon the illuminated faces around her for signs of her parents. Despite the number of elves that passed her without recognition, she did not lose hope.
The journey upward was rather silent; the only sounds that carried amidst the survivors were light elven footsteps upon the rocky path and the tears of those who could not be consoled. But around the elves, Eliriael still heard the music of sorrow – unshed tears falling into the depths of grief-wrung hearts, dripping as if into an empty well, echoing with unspeakable sadness. This melody intertwined with a noise that Eliriael was less familiar with: the inner cries of bitterness and anger, a hollow wind that shook spirits and left them distraught.
She looked at Belegos often and observing his pensive and worn expression, she knew he was not apart from knowing this unplayed song. Eliriael looked for more flowers to cheer him up, but there were none to be found on the mountain path. The flowers she gave away in the healing house had always come from her garden at home or the Vale of Tumladen. She had not imagined that they did not grow everywhere else in the outside world, which was expanding every moment now for Eliriael.
Here on this road, where necessities were sparse and everyone had barely escaped with their lives, where bodies were injured and clothes were torn, no flowers were to be had. Eliriael looked about herself for something to lighten the spirits of Belegos and the other elves around her, and it was the first time since she stood on the wall with her parents that she properly observed herself. Her delicately embroidered slippers were tearing apart upon the harsh rocks on the ground and her dress, which had been shimmering and white, was tattered and tainted with a hue closer to dirt. Only around her neck, the light and translucent layers of flowing fabric had not been charred by the fire’s smoke. Despite the state of her appearance, Eliriael smiled, reassured by the presence of her mother’s pendant safely under her dress.
Possessing nothing on herself to console others, her thoughts turned to her other usual activities in the healing house. She would have been dancing or singing for the amusement of the injured while her mother would have been preparing medicinal draughts. She had not seen her mother yet on the journey, but Eliriael was sure that she would quickly prepare healing salves for the hurt refugees as soon as they reached a safe haven.
As for herself, dancing on the uneven path strewn with sharp stones seemed unwise. Thus she began to softly sing a calm and serene melody that she found was rather cheerful to elves visiting the healing house. Her mother had taught it to her first when she began showing knowledge of words and art with language.
“How does it sound? Do you like it?” her mother asked her sweetly. She was smiling brightly and looking down into her daughter’s eyes.
Eliriael sat in her mother’s lap, stroking her golden hair softly. She nodded, asking, “Where did you learn it, naneth? It is very lovely.”
Elrineth’s eyes twinkled. “The Eldar sang it in Valinor…perhaps they still do.”
The young elleth’s eyes grew wide at the mentioning of her mother’s beloved Valinor, a land that Eliriael only knew in her imagination. The Blessed Realm, for Eliriael, was painted vividly for her by her mother as an image of wonder and beauty. Ever did she yearn to hear more about her mother’s home.
Elrineth tapped her daughter’s small nose playfully. “Will you help me by singing it when I am tending to elves who come for healing?”
Eliriael nodded happily, eager to be helpful. “Will it heal their hurts?”
Her mother beamed at her. “It will. Especially if you sing it, my love.” Then she sat Eliriael down in the grass before her and began combing and braiding her hair. “Songs are very powerful and there is much strength in them, Eliriael. Much good and beauty can be born of music.”
Eliriael was obedient and sat still before her mother as to not disrupt the braiding. “Is that why the flowers in our garden bloom so beautifully, because you sing to them? And is it why I feel so glad when you sing to me?”
Elrineth laughed with amusement at the innocence of her daughter’s questions. She began weaving small lavender flowers into Eliriael’s hair. “Yes, my dearest. You may sing this song as well if you are feeling unhappy.” Then, she added quietly, “It has always lifted my spirits.”
And thus, sitting together in the Vale of Tumladen, amidst the lush grass and blossoming flowers of spring, Eliriael learned her first song from her mother.
So it was that Eliriael picked this melody to sing for the disheartened elves on the road up into the mountains.
