The Voice of the Kirinki

They had traveled along the Anduin road for a few days now. It was well tended here, and easy going, and there was much to see and do along the way, as the family made their way through the last stretch of Lebennin. The last river crossing stretched ahead. Not a ford this time, but a great gabled stone bridge, the Iant Linhir. They crossed the bridge and passed by the Lebennin Gate, coming into the small city.

“What is that smell upon the air?” Marileth asked.

“The sea,” Meleth hummed, feeling a vigor flow through her veins. Linhir was only twelve miles up the Anduin from the delta, though they were long from their journey's end, and would now turn north to follow the mountain range to the high pass, not seeing the endless stretching waters until they reached the Edhellond road.

When they had arrived and settled within the Inn, Meleth was unsettled. “I need to walk,” she had announced, and though the rest of her family was tired, Marieth sought to join her mother. They had meandered through the quiet streets of the city back to the overlook of the river, and Meleth stood breathing in the air, her body tingling with a feeling of home. Once they passed from the city gate, they would be in Belfalas.

“What bird is here?” Marileth asked.

Meleth turned her head, and her eyes brightened. “A swan! Oh, how beautiful it is. It's been years since I've seen one.” She watched the bird swimming and ducking beneath the waters at the confluence of the Rivers Gilrain and Serlin. It's white neck was arched and graceful as it swam beneath the Iant Linhir, joining with other waterfowl in the estuary beyond.

“Oh, I know of the great swans… but this one, Mother. The scarlet one,” Marileth pointed to the top of a tall pine.

“A kirinki!” Meleth delighted in awe, her eyes glimmering in girlish delight. She took in a deep breath and released it, but her eyes could not leave the bright red bird nestled within the green boughs.

“It's beak is piping, yet I cannot hear it's call,” the young girl mourned. She did so love the birds, and knew them all by name and song, though this one had been a surprise. A kirinki. She had heard of them before, though never in her years had she sighted one. They lived only along the Anduin near the mouths, and the coastal cities. Only within Belfalas.

“Their song is too sweet and high for the ears of man. Only the elves can hear it,” Meleth answered, watching as the beak opened and closed, willing herself to hear the tune. Meleth had sought out the nesting grounds of the birds in her youth, and had delighted in watching them for so many years. Yet still, she had never heard them sing, nor did any in the port she imagined.

“Elves...” Marileth wondered.

“You are Belfalathrim, Mari. There is elf blood within. Perhaps you will be able to tune your ears to it,” Meleth smiled. Her Father had once told her the same thing. Though the blood of Milthrellas was eons past, perhaps… she had always thought perhaps the time would come when her ears could catch the notes of the kirinki.

Though Marileth had not noticed the change yet in the people they passed, Mother had told her she soon would. The Belfalathrim were tall. Tall as Faeldor, and even moreso. He had been considered of a great height in Minas Tirith, though in Belfalas he would be no more than average. They would have grey eyes, and be fair of face. Beards were a rarity among the Faithful, as they were called, and she had been told her brother would stand out among them. It was not always for the best, her Mother had added, for the Dunedain were not often as polite to 'outsiders' as they were their own, and Faeldor could be considered one lest he choose to shave the scruffy beard off his face. When Mother had gone as far as to suggest it to him, the man had scoffed. “Gilwen likes it!” He had exclaimed in finality.

She would meet her Grandparents on her Father's side. And there were Great Grandparents, and Great-Great Parents. The men and women lived long lives and many generations of families presided at once. Some of her family were even nobles, living atop the Ost-en-Ernil near the Prince's castle. Her Grandfather Calaeron, her Father's father, was of the great line of Swan Knights.

“I hope I should hear the kirinki before I am an old lady,” Marileth said thoughtfully.

Meleth laughed, “Then you have a long time yet to hear it. For you will not be old for many years.”

“Til I'm grandmother's age?” Marileth asked.

“Or even later, for your Father's blood was purer than mine. You should live a long life. And all your siblings,” Meleth told her. The topic had come up again and again on this venture. It had never been of great discussion with the young ones, though now they wondered ahead to the land where their family was from. What it would be like, and how the people there lived. "The men of Gondor may live to eighty years, yet the men of Belfalas; twice that. One thing is certain; and that is we do not know the length of our days. Even your Father was Belfalathrim, yet did not make it to his fortieth nameday,” Meleth added.

Marileth paused for some moments, watching as the kirinki took flight, it's beak opening in the air, and the red blur of feather's soaring high beyond over the buildings of Linhir. She frowned for a moment; sad to see it go. “I will marry a Belfalathrim man someday. When I am older.”

“You know this?” Meleth asked, amusedly. “How do you know you will not choose a Gondorian? Or someone of lands even further afield?”

“I have already found him, of course,” Marileth answered, glancing sideways up to her Mother and grinning.

Meleth was slightly aghast at the notion, for she had never heard her young daughter mention the future in such a way before; though she supposed, the girl was no longer a youth like the others. She was growing in height and stature and soon would blossom into a young lady herself. Though, if she considered, Miriel had talked of boys at the age of twelve… it had been some time ago since those days, and though Marileth had aways been sweeter in nature, she much took after her older sister in many ways.

“And who shall be my new son then?” Meleth wondered, worried for a moment that they had left behind in Minas Tirith someone who may have been quite important to this daughter.

“Calon,” Marileth answered assuredly, looking back to the swan, and thinking of the man's ocean eyes and curly hair. Her cheeks turned a tinge of pink, and Meleth had to press a hand over her lips to keep her smile at bay.

“He is a fine man, indeed… though, do not set your heart so far off. I think your sister has her own eyes set on that one.” Meleth would not be surprised if he became a son of hers sooner or later as well. She had not heard a word of him in Narbeleth's recent letters of course, and had wondered if they had stopped corresponding though… she knew the man had left the Steward's service, and Faeldor had taken to replacing him some month's back. Meleth had taken a few inclinations that she was not about to reveal to her young daughter at his point.

“Grandmother said she doubts Beleth will ever marry,” Marileth protested. “And he's so handsome, Mother, and his eyes so lovely, and his laughter… did you see his smile?” She trailed off in a girlish fancy.

“Do not let Fael hear you speaking like that.” The mother reached to squeeze her daughter's hand. “Come, our bird has flown, and we should get back to the Inn before nightfall.”

“Isn't his voice larksome though, Mother?” Marileth pressed.

“I suppose it is,” Meleth laughed.