Beneath Starlit Skies

5

It begins with her sitting down beside him during the hours of sunset. She is awake and alert, admiring the colours of dusk and twilight. The sky is painted, like streaks of ink bleeding into each other with various speckles of light blooming from within. Like salt on watercolour. Orange bleeds into purple and indigo. Stars are blooming in the night sky, awakening as a bright round moon rises into the peak of the darkness. The night is coming alive.

As the dark grows and the day fades away she hears a soft humming—a voice both gentle and kind stirring in her memory. There is a melody she doesn't know. She is certain she knew it once, long, long ago. And though her mind fails to recall, her soul still remembers. At first she hums along uncertainly. She isn't quite certain she remembers the song she desperately wants to sing but eventually she manages to find her first note.

Mairon listens to her with his eyes almost shut, though not completely closed. He watches her face screw up in concentration as she tries to remember, listening to her softly hum the melody to herself, and then as she tries to piece together the words.

He doesn't know the song and still cannot understand her words. But what he does understand is the longing and wistfulness that carries in her voice and sparkles in her eyes. He understands that. And he perceives the sliver of sadness tinging the tune, a sadness which laces her tongue bitterly. Despite the sadness, her voice is sweet and smooth, like honey. It's tells a story. One that needn't any words to be told. She sings of a longing for home and laments that she cannot return.

Time passes and the stars continue to bloom in the sky as her soft lullaby serenades below, lulling him and his thoughts into a blissful haze.

Her wordless song speaks to his very soul, kindling forgotten feelings and thoughts from deep within.

For a single night, and this night only, Sauron dreams of days long gone. Days of the past. He dreams of Aulë and smithing, of lost sons coming home, and the soothing of restless souls.

He remembers who Mairon was and a small, hidden, part of him laments—regretting what he has become.

::

Mairon awakens to find a small figure curled into his side. Remaining perfectly still, he peers at the young girl tucked beside him in a very cat-like manner. He stares for a moment, contemplating. Then he takes the fur coat and drapes it over her.

It isn't kindness, he tells himself.

It's hard to ignore the echo of laughter ringing in the back of his mind.

(Suppress, suppress, suppress...)

He shuts his eyes and sleeps.

::

"Alda." He says and points to a tree.

"Alda." She parrots diligently.

"Sonë." He rubs pine needles between his fingers and points to a pine tree. "Sonë."

"S—sone—"

"Sonë." He corrects firmly and puts clear emphasis on the pronunciation. "Sonë."

"Sonë." She annunciates carefully and glows with pride when she finally says it right.

Her eyes sparkle with happiness and excitement. Eagerly, she takes Mairon's hands into her own then points to the tree. There is affection in her eyes and in her touch. For a moment, it catches him off guard.

"Tree," she tells him and traces the grooves of the tree bark with her finger, guiding his hand to do the same.

"Ah." He realizes after a moment, she is teaching me her language. "Tree."