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Pella Hísië

Pella hísië, penna már

órenyan iltuvima lár.

Erya tenn' ambaróne sundar

nályë - fírië, nwalmë, nár.

Dafydd Illian's face lights up as he shoots up from his chair. "Quenya!" he exclaims. "Oh, it's been a long time since I've heard a new song in the old tongue…" Grinning, he closes his eyes, swaying slightly to the music.

Tular Valar mí silmë fánar.

Meldanya curuntanen tánar.

There is the sound of a cough from off-screen, and Dafydd opens his eyes. "Hmm? Oh, I suppose I should be saying something. So, as you can tell-"

Another cough. Dafydd rolls his eyes. "All right, maybe you can't tell, if you haven't bothered to learn Quenya. So: this is a song by an elf to his distant lover. It's…" He waves his hand vaguely. "It's all very mythical. 'The Valar came in their starry robes/And my true love from magic wove', that sort of thing."

Minya Vard' elerrílë anta;

miruvórë Yavanna quanta.

Ulmo - losse ëaro, yallo

Aulë cára vanima canta.

Nesso - lintessë, Váno - helma.

Tula Melkor ar anta melmo.

Dafydd's eyes slip out of focus. "'First came Varda with starlight to gift her/then Yavanna to fill her with nectar/Ulmo brings the ocean's whiteness/Aule builds it to beauteous brightness/Nessa's swiftness, radiance from Vana/Look to Melkor to give her a lover…'"

He frowns, glancing away from the camera. "Wait, is this about-?"

Erya ná Feanáro hin,

úner mára voronda nin.

Hlara, melda carmëo aina,

laurefinda vë Laurelin:

"I see that it is." The elf turns a tight smile on the camera. "So this song is about the wife of a Son of Feanor. Probably Curufin, since he has a son and all, but it could be Caranthir or myself. It's… hmm." He cocks his head, listening.

ú-kenuvalyë tenn' Ambar-metta.

Hlara enya métima quetta.

"It's somewhat on the depressing side, with the whole 'I won't see you again until the end of the world' thing." Dafydd chuckles. "Perhaps a bit pessimistic, since I don't think the Valar have sworn that my brothers will never leave the Halls… but nevertheless, it's a fairly accurate telling."

Pella hísie, pella nen,

tíra ilúvekéna hén.

Indis.

Engwa indëo olos.

Náva manina elya men.

"And that's where it ends," Dafydd says. "A beautiful song, and I'm very glad to hear Quenya sung properly ag-"

За туманом, без дома,

моей душе не найти покоя.

"... what."

До самых ее проклятых корней

ты - смерть, мучение, огонь.

"What is this." Dafydd bends over the computer, tapping at the keys. "This is not Quenya."

Приходят Валар в сияющих обличиях

и творят мою любимую своим волшебством.

He stares at the screen. "But that was the 'Valar' line again, and the tune is the same… okay, fine." He straightens up and smiles at the camera. "So, unusually for Middle-earth songs, this one is bilingual - not in Quenya and Sindarin, or in one of the two and English, but in Quenya and… some other language." He frowns. "Sounds a bit like the Black Speech, but then, all your mortal tongues kind of do…"

A paper aeroplane flies into view, bumping against Dafydd's head. He snatches it out of the air and unfolds it. "Ah, apparently this is Russian - thank you, Connie. It's… not too bad, actually." He closes his eyes for a moment, listening. "The singer has managed to capture the feeling of the Quenya lines very well - the light parts and the dark."

Одинок сын Феанора;

никто не остался верен мне.

Слушай, любимая, (плод) святого искусства,

златоволосая, как Златое Древо.

"And of course there's a long tradition of translating songs for the locals," Dafydd muses. "I rendered a few into Sindarin myself, so that Doriathrin poser could learn them…" He shakes himself and smiles at the camera again. "So that's Pella Hísië: a love-song from a broken man who knows he will never see his wife again. Cheerful stuff, no?"

Náva manina elya men.

Да будет благословенным твой путь.


"Dafydd."

"Mm?"

"You know you said that last song was about Curufin?"

"Curufin's wife." Dafydd grinned. "I don't think anyone would claim Atarinkë of all people was made by the Valar, even for poetry's sake."

"Right, sure." Constance held up a sheet of paper. "So why is it called The Love-song of the Last Son of Feanor?"

Dafydd leant over to look at the page. "That's odd… so you think it's about Ambarussa? I don't think anyone's ever suggested either of them were married - except badfic writers, obviously-"

"Dafydd." Constance's fingers were crumpling the paper now. "It's also known as The Love-song of Maglor."

"... ah." Dafydd shrugged. "Well, I did note the possibility."

"Yes. Yes you did." Constance put the page down carefully. "But you're not married."

Dafydd grinned and winked at her. "Am too."

"... I wasn't talking about me."

"Neither was I." Dafydd raised his voice. "Tanfin?"

There was a scuffling sound from the next room, and then a black-haired young boy stuck his head around the door. "Yes, father?"

"You've got the Canon right now, haven't you?" Dafydd asked, and smiled at his son's nod. "Could you bring me the twelfth volume of the History, please?"

"Dafydd," Constance chided as Tanfin hurried off, "you're being mysterious. Stop it."

"Am not either. I'm just proving a point. Ah, thank you." Dafydd took the leather-bound volume and flicked through the pages. "Here we go, page 318: Maedros the eldest appears to have been unwedded… blah blah, the twins, Celegorm… Curufin, dearest to his father and chief inheritor of his father's skills, was wedded, and had a son who came with him into exile, though his wife (unnamed) did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor, Caranthir." He beamed at his wife. "So you see."

Constance raised an eyebrow. "I do indeed see… Maelor."

Dafydd waved his hand, wafting the book through the air. "You know how Tolkien liked to change names around."

"Along with everything else." Constance shifted as if to step away from her husband, then reconsidered. "Dafydd, just tell me: are- were you married, or not?"

Dafydd grinned, but his expression sobered as he watched his wife's anger grow. "No," he admitted. "I suppose 'Maelor' might have been, but Maglor wasn't." He tipped his head to the side, thinking. "And, really? 'Laurefinde vë Laurelin'? Can you imagine one of my family marrying a golden-haired Vanya?"

Constance tried to keep a straight face, but the giggle burst its way out. "I can imagine Fëanor's reaction, and it's brilliant."

"Provided you don't stand too close." Dafydd reached out, wrapping an arm about his wife's waist. "Don't worry, Connie. The only woman for me is you."


Disclaimer: Pella Hisie belongs to… that's a difficult question. Anyway, Middle-earth and everything in it was created by J.R.R. Tolkien. The PPC is the work of Jay and Acacia. Dafydd and his family belong to me and Kaitlyn.

Author's Note: Right, so this song. It's either called Mellíre Métima Híno Feanaro/Любовная песнь последнего сына Феанора - 'Love-song (of the) last son of Feanor' - or possibly just 'Love-song of Maglor'. Or maybe it's just called Pella Hisie. And it was written by… maybe Eli Bar-Yahalom, who might also be called Khatul (or Maglor), who might have published it in Vinyar Tengwar #11. Or maybe Айрэ, the Russian folk musician who definitely sang it. Maybe both, or maybe they're the same person…? Who knows! And it's about Maglor's wife, unless (as I first heard it) it's about Curufin's (though that would mean the title was wrong, unless the title isn't the title).

What I am sure of is that it's a beautiful song, sung in both Quenya and Russian. I've had to translate it into English myself (I had a translation of the lyrics once, but I've lost them, and the only version I can find online is a self-confessed 'free' translation); I've provided a full set below. (This became notably easier when I remembered - duh - Google can do a decent job of translating Russian.) Dafydd's translation is somewhat more free and poetic (and done on the fly by him; he is a minstrel, after all.)

The quote Dafydd reads is from The History of Middle-earth XII: The Peoples of Middle-earth.

Quenya

English

Russian

Pella hísië, penna már

órenyan iltuvima lár.

Erya tenn' ambaróne sundar

nályë - fírië, nwalmë, nár.

Beyond the mist, without a home

My heart cannot find its rest

Alone to the very roots of the east

You are death, pain, fire

За туманом, без дома,

моей душе не найти покоя.

До самых ее проклятых корней

ты - смерть, мучение, огонь.

Tular Valar mí silmë fánar.

Meldanya curuntanen tánar.

The Valar came in their starlight rainment

And crafted my love with their magic

Приходят Валар в сияющих обличиях

и творят мою любимую своим волшебством.

Minya Vard' elerrílë anta;

miruvórë Yavanna quanta.

Ulmo - losse ëaro, yallo

Aulë cára vanima canta.

Nesso - lintessë, Váno - helma.

Tula Melkor ar anta melmo.

First came Varda to give of the starlight

then Yavanna to fill her with nectar

Ulmo brings the blossom of the sea

And Aule builds it to beautiful form.

From Nessa, swiftness - from Vana, skin

Melkor comes to give her a lover...

Первой - Варда дарит звездный блеск;

нектаром жизни наполняет Йаванна.

Ульмо (дарит) пену моря, из которой

Ауле создает прекрасный облик.

От Нессы - резвость. От Ваны - кожа.

Приходит Мелькор и дает ей возлюбленного.

Erya ná Feanáro hin,

úner mára voronda nin.

Hlara, melda carmëo aina,

laurefinda vë Laurelin:

Feanor's son is alone

None have been faithful to me.

Hear now, beloved and holy art,

golden-haired as the Golden Tree:

Одинок сын Феанора;

никто не остался верен мне.

Слушай, любимая, (плод) святого искусства,

златоволосая, как Златое Древо.

ú-kenuvalyë tenn' Ambar-metta.

Hlara enya métima quetta.

I will not see you until the world's ending.

Hear now my last word...

Я не увижу тебя до конца света.

Слушай мое последнее слово.

Pella hísie, pella nen,

tíra ilúvekéna hén.

Indis.

Engwa indëo olos.

Náva manina elya men.

Beyond the mists, beyond the Sea,

watches the all-seeing Eye.

A woman.

A mindsick dream.

A blessing be upon your path.

Из-за тумана, из-за воды

смотрит всевидящее око.

Женщина.

Сон больного разума.

Да будет благословенным твой путь.