Author's note : The end of the summary is : A side character lost in the great turmoil of the time glorified by the Lay of Leithian.

This is really not LoTR, rather Silmarillion. And it's a Daeron fic, also featuring Lùthien, for your personal enjoyment. I actually wonder how many people know or remember who Daeron is ? What fascinates me the most in elves are their songs, their Lays, and their music, which I think holds the whole of their culture, as they seem to put everything into song … I found when I reread the Silmarillion that it was actually never said that Daeron was dead, and that maybe he isn't, and still dwells in the unknown parts of Middle Earth, singing … ::shudder:: And to be clear, Daeron does love Lùthien, but that love is never to be returned.

The summer Beren was to meet Lùthien for the first time …



Disclaimer : I don't own Daeron, Lùthien, Thingol, Melian, Beren, or Doriath. Or Menegroth, for that matter. Or Esgalduin and its grass. Or the Cirth. Or Finarfin's House's ring. Or nightingales. Or trees. Or music.





And so the tune goes on …

By Le Chat Noir



'She whom her father puts higher than all the princes of the Eldalië, who am I to even lay eyes on her ?'

The moonlight danced among the trees of the forest around Menegroth. Lùthien, yet to be Tinuviel, followed its pace upon the fresh grass of Esgalduin, mere reflection of a moonbeam in the woods. The glimmers of the dew on the leaves glittered on her dress of silver, and the summer night had sown stars into her midnight hair. Appearing in the flower of her youth, her age could yet already be counted by the century, and for longs years had her feet trod the ground of Doriath.

She danced to the music of an invisible lute, to the sound of a voice which seemed to come from all the trees at the same time. An elven melody, silvery like the stars and the night and herself, clear and simple like a burst of laughter in the silence, and yet sad, sad enough to shatter the heart of anyone unprepared for its piercing beauty. The voice, impersonal and cold, never trembling, almost too perfect, but tainted such that one who had heard it even only once before could have immediately told it wasn't giving its full power, was indeed held back, and for a reason nothing could have torn away from the singer's lips. Flowing like a stream in the forest, light like the chirping of the birds in springtime, floating like a fallen leaf carried by the autumn wind, icy like a snowflake in the winter sky, the song had no words to it, but the harmony was enough to carry the listener's heart and thoughts away from the Earth, away from this world, all the way to the stars and beyond.

Such was the music of Daeron of Doriath, minstrel of Thingol.

Often would her own voice rise in duet with the one of the unseen bard, and then would the wind cease its rustling in the branches. The forest itself paused, and held its breath, to listen to the combination of the soft, dreamy and rich voice of the maiden intertwined with that one of the other elf. Singing the tune he had composed, the last one she was to hear from him, but not the last he was to write, alone in his night, to her loss, and him singing with her, it was nearly the very image of perfection that shewed itself to the prying eye, that night, to who knew how to watch : the most beautiful of the Children of Ilùvatàr, daughter to a king and a Maia, and the music and voice of he who invented the Cirth.

For a long time, the song carried on, and the moon rose higher into the sky. For a short moment, if the sharpest-eyed of the elves had looked to the right place, into the right tree, they could have caught a glimpse of white standing out against the darkness, but without deciphering what it was. It would have been a piece of paper, on which were scribbled unreadable writings and signs, of the same hand that now held them. For in that tree would be sitting Daeron, assuming a nonchalant and indifferent pose, but his keen eyes watching every step his beloved took, drinking in her light and beauty like a sweet poison. And, most unbelievable, it was from those incoherent lines of seemingly nothing sensible that formed, for he who could read them, the fabulous music that silenced nightingales.

Slowly, it faded away. As the young woman continued to dance silently around the clearing, slower and slower, lower and lower, the voice in the trees diminished, till only a whisper subsisted, and then the skilful fingers ceased to pinch the instrument's cords, letting the last note resound in the forest. The dance came to a halt. For a second there was an almost religious silence. Then Lùthien of Doriath burst into laughter, turning around to stare into the exact place where she knew her musician would be sitting, unaware of the torture she caused him.

'My music might be considered the best in all Middle-Earth, never will it get close to a single one of her laugh.'

From where a second before there was nothing, the minstrel trust his head from between the interlaced branches of the tall trees. One could have seen with certain surprise that the face of the royal story-teller, when usually it is the share of those who have seen and lived through much, was but the one of a normal Teleri, young-looking, thin and sharp, framed with long dark hair and lit by large, brilliant blue eyes.

"So, what does my lady think of it ?" The voice in itself was musical, but at that moment shivering, and he himself never understood how he got his words to get pas the lump in his throat, those nights, when she stood laughing under the tree in which he sat.

"Perfect, Daeron, just as always ! This one will I sing tomorrow for my father." While talking, she twirled away from him, towards the trees, in the direction of Menegroth.

"Does my lady need the music ?" The bard in his tree called after her, waving the papers in the air with his free hand, the other clasping the lute under his arm.

"No, no ! I know it already, who could not ? And whoever could read your handwriting anyway, Daeron ?" Still laughing, and singing the tune to herself in the darkness, she swiftly ran the way back to her father's palace.

Daeron followed her with his far-seeing elven gaze, not daring to utter a sound. Silently, branch after branch, the greatest minstrel Middle-Earth was ever to know let himself slid down to the last, being careful not to harm a leaf, part because of his love for the trees, part because of the sound that would disturb the perfect melody of the music. His music, but not perfect. The best, but still not perfect. When he reached the last branch, hanging for a moment with one hand unto it, he fell for the last few meters that still separated him from the ground, and landed on his feet just as soundlessly. Far away in the night, the last notes of the tune died into a sigh.

'It was only a song to the beauty of the stars. Now, a song to yours, my lady, to yours, …'

For a long time he paced around the clearing, mindlessly retracing the steps she had taken. Eventually, with an angry gesture, he tore the manuscripts into thousand pieces, and threw them up in the air. Letting himself fall unto the grass with a sigh, he flipped over to lay on his stomach, and extracted from a little pack on his back some crumpled paper and a pencil. Sometimes pulling a little tune out of his lute, he stayed there long into the night, scribbling of his demented writing style, as the music rushed through his head to the beauty of his loved one.

Middle-Earth was never to see his equal.

But his destiny and that of the princess of Doriath was nearing, wrapping up already, for that night, stumbling, drained of strength and half dead, entered the forest a stranger, a man whom only a terrible fate still carried on his legs, with on his finger a ring on which stood forever frozen two emerald-eyed snakes …



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Author's note : More is to come, for those who want to know, as what actually happens after this. I hope this story is to get better with time, as for the moment the beginning of chapter two displeases me to an unbelievable point. I am most proud of a few sentences in this, the rest can just be considered crap. For the moment, well, content yourself with reviewing, please ! ^_^