NÉAMHI AND EIRINION PROLOGUE Annailó. A single, charming, not particularly complicated word, and yet there is said so vastly much in those seven letters. That word is foreign; it is not derived from any base of other languages, and it is young, it has not evolved together with other words since the very beginning of the origin of that dialect. Formerly there was not such a word in Airíen, neither any similar one; only at that time when a mind dazed by an emotion instilled an incentive to trembling lips, it was born, arose from emptiness of nonexistence, and entered the world with the only deal it had been given by the sad, rueful heart of the one who had given birth to it. Its destiny was a message; and together with the message the word was bearing a meaning which is known to every being in the world, everyone knows it and most of them look at the concept with admiration and respect. Although there are such persons who see fear, anxiety and wickedness behind that word; and perhaps it was a wish of the will of destiny itself that they are those who the girl from whose throat the word was heard for the first time came from. That word is love; and if there is someone whose lips are being tickled by a question why exactly this noble feeling gives rise to such mistrust in some hearts, they deserve an unseen, but mournful, cheerless glance full of grief. The point is the person does not know the story; and anyone who does not know the tale of Néamhi and Eirinion can get the answer to their question hundred times, and yet they will not understand it. And even after they hear the story, it does not necessarily mean that they will comprehend fully why the Éarinn shun love more doggedly than ever before and in many cases they are afraid of it more than of death and pain; after all, the querier’s heart is different, stronger, firmer and healthier than the heart of a Dancer. Even those who manage to gain confidence of the Aërinyar, as the Elves call the Éarinn, can meet a surprise if they demand narration; then the Dancers usually turn away, cast their eyes down and all the briskness and alertness which perhaps they have had in them until that moment fades away from their looks. Even a mere mention of that legend arouses sorrow and misery in the Dancers, and the Éarinn rarely tell this story to each other, namely especially to the new amongst themselves so that their sisters can learn what they should protect themselves from and what they are supposed to avoid; and at that moment when young Éarinn hear the story for the first time, something disappears from their hearts, a sort of artlessness or ingenuousness; their minds harden, stiffen against strangers and they start living in fear, which – in their view – should protect and guard them against dangers. Whether it is true, that remains an issue; some say that fear darkens mind, the others that if there was not fear, there would not be life either. But one thing is for sure; that what happened long time ago, albeit to the Éarinn even the very deep past is still alive, was both good and bad, beautiful and horrific, but much more sadder than happy, and that if it had not happened and there had been nothing to tell about, maybe the Éarinn would have different mindset today; and although that story has immersed them even deeper into the depths of worries, uncertainty and loneliness, its very principle consists in a quite different thing, in something that only few Éarinn have experienced and maybe were not even supposed to experience it ever, that is to say in releasing from shackles which have enchained ankles of a carefree prisoner and enabling to awake, see the truth and thus know the world which they were disregarding consciously until that moment, and yet they did not know its true essence. The tale of Néamhi and Eirinion is old, though not that old the Éarinn would not remember it. Those of them who knew Néamhi, who liked her and who mourn together with the others when she went away, still inhabit the dark corners of the ancient woods and grieve for their closeness to Aelweniá, as the Éarinn name Néamhi, Butterfly veil; and despite the fact that time flows inexorably and the world is changing, the legend still survives in its original form, as Eirinion wrote it and as it was found by Hilmor. Various people understand it variously; somebody deprecates it, somebody justifies it, but everybody mourns over it, and the Dancers most of all - because Néamhi was one of them and because in decision which was supposed to save her or damn her she chose suffering, though she was aware of all the consequences of her choice. And so the story remains; in awareness of those who have heard it, in mind of those whose hearts it has hit, and in the memory of those who lived through it and to the story of which no other tale, no matter how sad, heartrending and cruel that ever happened to someone else, but to someone whose mind was clear, whose soul remained taintless and whose love was never a being that ostensibly could not and perhaps even should not have felt clear, pure, true, deep affection and mutual trust of an another heart, can be compared.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 18:18:56 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015