The evening air in Celondim was mild and despite the sun setting early in this season, a soft glow of twilight still lay over the horizon where the vale opened West towards the sea.
In the circle of statues overlooking the river a bit away from the docks, a chatter of glad voices indicated a meeting of friends. The gathering seemed merry and relaxed, fair faces and voices sharing their stories.
A round of applause indicated a story had just ended and the storyteller, a beautiful elf-lady clad in green robes, bowed and smiled into the round.
"Alas!" the Elf on the opposite side of the circle exclaimed, waving his crystal goblet at the round. "That so many tales are lost or fragmented... I fear that they shall never again be collected all together."
The storyteller smiled back at him. "They live as long as we live, Taramthir. And now this tale lives with you, as well."
This earned another round of applause from the gathering.
The addressee, lord Taramthir, smiled softly at the retort, looking into the round in the silence that descended. He was about to ask for the next speaker as he became aware of a soft singing voice, entering his mind as if from a dream:
"There lives a song in every thing, continuing itself in dream. And the world will start to sing, if you just know the word and name."
Taramthir looked up, trying to locate the singer. As he looked around the circle, his gaze fell upon one who had sat silent until now, an elf-lady dressed not in fair robes but a grey and tattered-looking robe, holding a harp on her knees as if she had forgotten it.
He smiled. "There has been less song in our Order of late. Lady Nimlith, thank you for your sweet voice."
The elf-lady smiled and bowed politely, rising up from her seated position. "That is sad. Your order housed many singers of old, and their voices should be strong..."
He bowed, as did another Elf, his colours showing him as belonging to the same order. "Le hannon, hiril nin. Perhaps you have a song to offer us then?"
The elf did not appear to hear him, speaking as if to herself. "We all come from the third order of Elves, the Singers. Nandor, Laiquendi, Green Elves... all of us."
Suddenly she looked up and into the round. "Know you why we are called the Singers?"
Taramthir smiled at her, the sadness leaving his eyes. "I know a little of it, Nimlith, but would love to hear you tell the tale."
"Yes, do! Each storyteller tells it differently!" The previous storyteller looked at her expectantly.
She smiled, picking up her harp. "A tale I have not, but a song."
"A song then, about the singers."
"Yes." She nodded. "This is the song of my teacher, who walked the First Night, before the Two Trees were born."
She shifted, letting her fingers dance over the harp, seeking a melody while speaking on quietly with her eyes closed.
"For when the Eldar awoke, not all awoke in the same spot; some were born in the forest, others under the starlight, and others still in places we do not know of. For no sun yet shone on the sky, nor was the moon born to silver the night. Under the trees they walked in darkness.
They had no words then; no language were they born with to make songs with which to praise creation.
Yet so great was their love for the trees even then, and so full of joy they were to see them that still song rose in them, and singing they wandered the night."
Her voice picked up the melody, singing softly to the tune that seemed as old as the tale itself.
"Sleeping in the arms of night,
The children of the forest woke,
Never knowing yet the name of day,
Never knowing yet its light.
Wandering the woods alone,
Mute we were and without names,
Yet so great was our love for the newborn world
Still our voices rose to song.
From those misty vales, a song arose,
As the song of birds,
As the mists of the first night...
Like water's tune,
Like trees in the wind,
Our songs of praise to the world,
Our songs of praise to the world..."
The circle had gone quiet, only the harp singing through the dusky twilight.
After a while, the elf spoke on, her voice a mere whisper.
"Long they walked in the forest, and sang many songs without words ere the Third Elf-father, Enel, found them and made them his people. And they followed him, and he led them to the edge of the forest.
And when they at last saw the sky, one of their number raised his hand and exclaimed "El!" For great was their beauty, and they were awed by it.
And so it was that the first word in their language was born, El, the name of the star.
For "El!" means look! but it also means star."
"For the stars, they gave us our words,
For the stars gave us our names."
She opened her eyes, lowering her harp and looking into the round.
"Yet always we will remember that we were singing, before we were speaking. And that is why we are, and will always be, of all the Elven-Folk the ones called the Singers."
