2. The Rescuer

'It is well that I walk here,' their rescuer declared.
'No Elves now live in this barren land,'
'While men have multiplied.'
'Such a strange and desolate place
- 'To find two born -
- 'Of Western race!' -

'Corùwen they call me, sir,' one said,
'A healer of hurts, an Elf-maid of Eregion.'
'And know Nèhaléni, kin to Celebrimbor,'
'A smith and shaper of gems and jewels.'
'Whose bow, whose sword
- 'Should we thank for rescue,' -
- 'Most noble lord?' -

So strange a smile, so fixed to his face!
As if flowers, frozen in winter winds,
Silently stood and swayed in the snow.
With grace he bowed
- yet seemed a statue -
- still and tall and proud. -

'The name I am known by,' he softly said,
'Is Daeron of Doriath, minstrel of Menegroth.'
'But long have I lived in the Utter East
'And walked these waters to sing under star
'In solitary memory
- 'Of Lúthien's face, form -
- 'spirit, grace, and beauty.' -

The silence stretched; Nèhaléni's hand
Clenched, unclenched as she quietly quenched
Untrickled tears lest they find her face.
'I see,' she said, and tried to smile.
'So through pain, through dread
- 'We who sought Cuivienen -
- 'Find an exile instead.' -

The dark waves dashed; the surf kept surging,
Sounding, resounding, swift scouring the sand.
'The Waking Waters? They are drained and dead.'
'It is pointless to return.'
- 'For time at last erases -
- 'Every hope for which we yearn.' -

So Daeron declared, eyes distant, dark
Oblivious, and unaware. Not boat on beach
Nor sand blood-soaked nor crumpled corpse
Could draw his least attention
- Instead he stared across the sea -
- In memory or vision. -

'Enough!' cried Nèhaléni. 'Corùwen is cold,'
'We both are bruised, this shore lacks shelter!'
'Have you no haven? No hidden home?'
'No refuge from the weather?'
- 'Our needs are now,' -
- 'But grieving lasts forever!' -