The Doom-Ring at Wuduseld

[Eclecticon]

No reply comes to Mother Leyla from among the shadows under the boughs of Mirkwood but the cry of a far-off owl.  Not long does Gwaithlim have to wait before the woman asks once more, her voice barely above a whisper "Is there no-one?" 

When he strikes up his song, it is equally softly, the Sindarin words blending with the night like cricket-chirps, calming as the flow of a river over stones.  The crone does not start, as he feared that she might, but looks in his direction as he approaches.  In the starlight, he sees her eyes lulled by the song and fixed on matters far away in time and distance from where they now stand. 

"Oh, my lord of Elf-song," Leyla says, remembering perhaps his recounting of the lay of the Noldor's days of greatness, "I think myself perhaps in a dream, for I know not the meaning of your sweet music.  It speaks, I think, of a joy I have felt not in long years.  Sing for me a little longer, if you would." 

Seeing no reason not to, Gwaithlim does as he is asked until the song reaches its end (though not the end of the longer and sadder tale of which it forms but a small part).  Mother Leyla's eyes slowly close and she sways with the tune as much as old bones will allow.  When she speaks again, it is in the tone of one who speaks in their sleep.  "Your song is one of a wonderful meeting, I fancy, for in its hearing I feel as I felt dozens of summers ago when first I met proud and beautiful Beoræd who was my first husband.  For him, I bore Ida my daughter, and she became the mother of Beofuld for whom I now wait in foolish hope that he might yet live, and huddle close to the light of his folk.  For I am told that outlawed men gather together on this side of the forest for to make such lives for themselves as they can." 

Barely seeming to open her eyes, she begins to turn away from the gloom beneath the trees.  "Oh, fortunate are you who have no lords to suffer who are not good and deep-minded!" 

"Do you speak of Caewin, I wonder?" Gwaithlim asks as Leyla, unsteady on old and tired legs, shuffles slowly away.  She stops so suddenly that he fears she might fall and break even upon the forgiving soil close to the river. 

"Not where he might hear me.  But you know, I think, what I speak of.  If you would know the fullness of it, seek those he has banished and who owe him nothing any more.  I've had sorrows enough for one evening." 

[GandalfOfBorg]

The elf ponders a moment at her words and actions begin to form in his mind.  "I would be remiss to give my leave of you before you were seen to where you sleep, lady.  Please, where might I lead you?"