The Flight of Birds by grey_gazania

The Flight of Birds

Read The Flight of Birds

“I did not expect you to be so busy here,” Elrond said as he carefully ground some willow bark. He and Elros had been on Balar for nearly a month now, and last week he’d finally worked up the courage to ask about helping in the Houses of Healing. Halwen, Balar’s chief healer, had placed Elrond under the command of Lady Ianneth to help prepare medicines, for Ianneth was well-versed in herb-lore.

She was also King Gil-galad’s mother. That had worried Elrond at first, for he’d found thus far that he didn’t like Gil-galad very much -- or Círdan, or, for that matter, most of the population of Balar. But Ianneth was tolerable. She was a practical woman, and she didn’t seem to pity him, or worse, try to mother him, as though Elwing’s abandonment had left him without anyone to fill the role of parent.

 

Maglor and Maedhros had been more than enough. His foster-fathers had given him and Elros everything they’d needed, despite what these people seemed to think.

“There’s always something that needs doing,” Ianneth said, looking up from the comfrey liniment she was preparing. “But bruises and coughs and headaches -- those are just the day-to-day woes. The real work comes when the people who’ve escaped from the mainland make their way here. They’re half-starved more often than not, and wounded, and the Men are sometimes ill. The ones who come from Hithlum are always in especially dire straits. The Easterlings are brutal to them.”

She had the matter-of-fact tone of someone who was accustomed to seeing people suffer, but wasn’t callous towards their pain. Elrond wondered at that, for she was from Hithlum herself and likely knew many who had been killed or enslaved. Growing up, he’d heard rumors about the cruelties of the East-Men, and he couldn’t imagine being so unshaken if he learned that Maedhros, Maglor, or any of their people were being held captive and mistreated.

 

“How many people are left in Hithlum?” he asked. ‘Besides the East-Men, I mean.”

“We don’t know.” Ianneth stirred the liniment one final time and then carried the jar over to the counter where it would rest until it set. Then she plucked a bundle of herbs from the rafters above them and laid it down on the table. “What is this, and what is it used for?”

 

“Chickweed,” Elrond said automatically. He’d already grown used to Ianneth’s sudden tests, and he was pleased to say that he’d passed most of them, thanks in no small part to Maedhros’ botany lessons. “It’s used to treat blisters and rashes. But what do you mean, you don’t know?”

 

“I mean we don’t know,” Ianneth said, though she gave his answer an approving nod. “Everyone who escapes has a different estimate.”

“But then how do you know how much medicine you’ll need?”

 

Ianneth smiled at him, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “We don’t,” she said. “We just prepare as much as possible and pray for the best. That’s what healing is, at least during war -- preparation, prayer, and hard work.”

Elrond didn’t have an answer to that, so he simply returned to the willow bark with a noncommittal hum. Melloth, the woman who’d taught him the basics of healing, never prayed. None of Fëanor’s remaining people did, though Maglor had taken pains to speak as respectfully as he could when he taught Elrond and Elros about the Valar.

 

Ianneth returned the chickweed to its place and then peered into Elrond’s bowl. “It needs to be a little finer,” she said.

 

He nodded and began to push harder with the pestle. Ianneth left him to his work, busying herself with putting more water on to boil over the small fire. Silence reigned, broken only by the occasional rustle of cloth and the sound of stone grinding against stone. But a question was nagging at Elrond, and after a few minutes he gave in and spoke.

 

“How do you know the people from the mainland aren’t in league with Morgoth?” he asked. “How do you know they aren’t thralls?”

Ianneth gave him a crooked half smile. “We don’t,” she said again.

 

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

 

“Yes,” Ianneth said. “A man who came from Hithlum tried to murder Lord Círdan just last year. But we’ve decided that it’s better to risk harboring a thrall or two than to turn away people who are actually in need. There are far more of the latter than the former.”

 

Elrond couldn’t contain a snort of derision. “That seems foolish,” he said. Maedhros and Maglor had been ever-vigilant about the possibility that Morgoth might send spies in the guise of Elves or Men, and so they had rarely trusted strangers. After all, Maedhros had been intimately acquainted with Morgoth’s methods in a way Círdan or Gil-galad would never be.

 

The look Ianneth gave him was heavy with disappointment. “If kindness is foolish, than I will gladly be a fool,” she said. Then she slapped another bunch of herbs onto the table -- thin green stems with unfamiliar mauve flowers. “This is earth smoke,” she said. “It’s used to treat redness and itching in the eyes. When you’re done grinding the bark, shred the blooms, cover them with boiling water, and leave them to soak.”

 

Elrond gritted his teeth and complied. But he exchanged no more words with Ianneth until it came time to bid her a good evening and take his leave.

---

Later than night, after supper, Elrond joined Elros on a rocky outcropping that overlooked the sea, where he recounted the argument and unloaded his worries onto his brother’s listening ears.

 

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Elros said when he had finished. “So Círdan and Gil-galad do things differently than we’re used to. What of it? They seem to be managing fine, thralls or no thralls. And being surly with the king’s mother isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

 

“I wasn’t surly,” Elrond protested, stung by the accusation. “I just think it’s foolish of them.”

 

“You’re surly with everyone these days, Elrond,” Elros said flatly. “And you sulk. It’s not making you any friends.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t want friends.” He plucked a pebble from the ground beside him and cast it down into the waves. “Maybe I want to go back home.”

 

“This is home now.”

 

“It is not,” Elrond snapped, glaring at his brother. “Everything here is a strange. They speak differently, they govern differently, they eat different food and wear different clothes... “ He shook his head. “And they act like Maedhros and Maglor did something terrible to us.”

“Yeah, well.” Elros sighed and tipped his head back to look up at the sky, fixing his eyes on the brilliant light that marked their father’s airborne ship. “They kind of did.”

“They never hurt us,” Elrond said stubbornly.

 

His brother sighed again. “They destroyed our home,” he said. “They drove our mother to throw herself into the sea. They kidnapped us. You can’t just ignore that, Elrond. I’m not saying they didn’t treat us well while they had us, but the fact is that we never should have been in their care to begin with. They were wrong to take us.”

 

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Elrond stared down at the water below. He didn’t want to see Eärendil’s star, not tonight. He didn’t want to think about his so-called father, who had loved the sea more than he loved his children.

 

“Maglor and Maedhros love us,” he said. He knew in his bones that that was true. “They love us more than Elwing did. They sent us here to keep us safe. She left us in danger, all for some stupid jewel.”

 

Abruptly, Elros pushed himself to his feet. “You’re impossible. Maybe if you listened to the people who actually knew our mother, you’d think differently,” he said. “I’m going to bed. If you want to pick a fight, you can do it with someone else.”

 

Then he turned on his heel and marched back towards the settlement, leaving Elrond scowling in his wake.

---

Three days went by. At first Elrond avoided Elros, still angered by his brother’s unsympathetic words. But that left him with no one to really talk to. Apart from his twin, he had no friends here, and without Elros he was lonely. At least Ianneth seemed to have put aside their disagreement. She was as cordial to him as ever, and if she noticed his unhappiness, she had the good grace not to comment on it.

 

Maybe that was why, when he finally decided to heed Elros’ advice, she was who he turned to.

 

He was making an ointment of flaxseed, for many of the older Men on the island suffered from painful swelling in their joints, particularly on damp days. Beside him, Ianneth was straining the verbena from a jar of infused honey. Elrond remembered helping Melloth do the same, and being coaxed into swallowing spoonfuls of it whenever he caught a sore throat.

 

He missed Melloth. She had always been kind to him. If he had to identify a mother-figure in his life, she would be who he would choose. Not Elwing. Elwing may have given birth to him, but he could barely recall anything about her.

 

“What was Elwing like?” he asked, his voice quiet.

 

Ianneth didn’t answer immediately, but waited until her current dollop of honey had finished straining. “Do you remember her at all?” she asked.

 

He shook his head. “Not really.” His clearest memory of his mother was from the day the Havens of Sirion had been destroyed. As one of Elwing’s soldiers had tried to carry him and Elros to safety, he’d caught a glimpse of her staggering from their burning home, the Nauglamír gleaming around her neck. Her dark hair had been singed, and her white dress was streaked with soot. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what her face had looked like.

 

Ianneth ladled more honey into her strainer. “Elwing reminded me of a deer,” she said. “She had that kind of quiet grace, but she always seemed nervous, like she was constantly expecting danger. And after what happened to Doriath, who could really blame her for it?”

 

Tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, she paused to think for a moment before continuing. “She was beautiful -- the very image of Lúthien, the Iathrim said. You and Elros favor her. Gil-galad had worried a little, you know, that the two of you might turn out to be imposters. But one look at your faces and there was no doubt that you were Elwing’s sons.”

 

“Imposters?” Elrond said in disbelief. “Why would we be imposters?”

“We didn’t think the Sons of Fëanor would ever release you,” Ianneth said, fixing her eyes on his. “You were their hostages -- their key to reclaiming the Silmaril. We were shocked that they sent you back to us.”

 

We weren’t hostages, Elrond wanted to say, but he was uncomfortably aware that that wasn’t really true. “The Silmaril is out of reach,” he said instead, unable to keep a hint of defensiveness from his voice. “It’s been out of reach for years. Maedhros and Maglor sent us here because they love us and want us to be safe.”

 

Ianneth frowned, but didn’t argue. He hadn’t expected her to. Like everyone else on Balar, she bore nothing but ill will towards Fëanor’s sons, but she did her best not to discuss them with Elrond or with Elros. Elrond was grateful for that, at least.

 

“Elwing could understand the speech of the birds,” Ianneth said instead, looking down at her work once more.

At that, Elrond felt his eyes go wide. “She could?” he asked. He would not tell Ianneth, but Elros, too, could speak to birds. I suspect you’ve inherited some measure of Melian’s power, Maglor had said when Elros revealed his talent. And if you have, then doubtless Elrond has as well. We shall have to see how it manifests.

 

Ianneth nodded. “When Eärendil was away, she would ask any seabirds who came to shore if they had seen Vingilot,” she said. “She was afraid that the ship would be wrecked and the crew drowned.” She paused, and then added, “She was afraid of a lot of things.”

 

She sounded sad, but she also seemed to be struggling with whether to give voice to another thought.

Elrond wondered what it was that she felt she couldn’t say. “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” he said, careful to keep any hint of accusation out of his tone.

 

Ianneth sighed and waited to speak until the last of the honey had oozed through the strainer. “Elwing was told stories about the Sons of Fëanor as a child, by the older survivors from Doriath,” she said slowly. “They made Maedhros and Maglor out to be monsters with unnatural powers. I don’t know what purpose the stories served, except to instill fear in her.” She forced a cork into the mouth of the honey jar and said, “I’ve met Maedhros. He’s no wraith. He has no magic. He’s just a man -- one who’s done terrible things, but still just a man. But Elwing was taught to fear that he was lurking in every shadow.”

 

“If she was so frightened of him, why didn’t she just give him the Silmaril?” The words burst out of Elrond like the seeds of some overripe fruit, for the question had plagued him for decades. “They never would have attacked if she’d just returned what was theirs.”

 

At first, Ianneth didn’t answer, but simply stared down at the jar in her hands. Then she sighed again. “Elwing’s entire family was slaughtered for that jewel. Her home was destroyed and her people were driven into the wild. It took them months to make it to safety, and hundreds of them died along the way. I think, after all her people had suffered on its behalf, she felt that surrendering the Silmaril would have been a betrayal. And she was able to use it to bring great healing to those who survived. Without the powers of the Silmaril and the Elessar, the Havens of Sirion would never have been built.”

 

Finally, she raised her eyes to Elrond’s face once more. “What she should have done, at least in my opinion, was evacuate everyone who couldn’t fight -- including the two of you. We tried to persuade her to send you to Balar, but she wouldn’t. She said she couldn’t bear the thought of you being separated from both your parents. And, well--”

 

She broke off, turning away to tuck the honey into its proper place in one of the cupboards. With her back still towards him, she said, “Elwing truly believed that the Sons of Fëanor might heed her messages -- that they might wait until Eärendil returned and then seek a peaceful resolution. So she chose to stay, and to keep you with her.”

 

“She chose wrong,” Elrond said flatly. She chose wrong, and he and Elros had been separated from their parents all the same.

 

“Maybe so,” Ianneth said. “But the massacre at Sirion wasn’t Elwing’s doing. Maedhros and Maglor had a choice, and they chose to attack. It didn’t have to be that way.”

 

They did not have a choice!, a small voice inside him whispered. Elrond had seen how the Oath burdened them, had seen how they suffered under its weight. He had seen the fear that lurked deep within both men. What else could they have done, besides attack?

 

But they did have a choice, another voice said. It sounded suspiciously like Elros. They could have sacrificed themselves to spare innocent lives. Instead they chose to murder our people. They made the wrong decision, just as Elwing did, but far more evil resulted from their error than from hers.

 

“Elrond?” Ianneth said gently. “Are you all right?”

 

His attention snapped back to the present. “I was thinking,” he said. Ianneth had given him much to think about. “Thank you for answering my questions, my lady -- and for being honest.”

 

“I’ll answer any questions that I can,” Ianneth said. “I think you’ve waited long enough for answers.”

 

“Yes.” He looked down at the flax-littered work table and then, hesitantly, said, “May I ask a favor? Would you be willing to finish this? I think I need to talk to my brother.”

 

“Of course,” Ianneth said with a soft smile. She flapped one hand at him in a shooing motion and took his place at the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

He nodded and gave her a tentative smile of his own. Then he left to find his twin.

 

It took nearly half an hour for him to track Elros down, but eventually he found his brother with a group of the Edain, half a dozen men and women who seemed to be around his and Elros’ age. They were laughing and chattering as they filleted an enormous fish, and Elrond felt a sudden pang of loneliness.

 

“Elrond!” one of them called in greeting. He looked vaguely familiar. Elrond wasn’t certain, but he thought his name might be Brôg. “Have you come to join us? We’re trying to teach Elros to cure shark meat, but so far he’s not very good at it.”

 

Elrond would have bristled on his brother’s behalf, but Elros had thrown his head back and was laughing heartily. “I didn’t grow up by the sea,” he said, grinning. “But I’ll bet I could teach you lot a thing or two about smoking venison.”

 

“That’s probably true,” one of the men said, “since I don’t think any of us have ever seen a deer in our lives.”

 

“And I’ve never seen a shark before today,” Elros said. “Look at it, Elrond! Isn’t it something?”

 

Elrond looked, venturing closer to examine it. Elros was right; it was certainly something. It was longer than Maedhros was tall, easily ten feet from tip to tail. The fins were massive, and the snout was oddly flat, jutting out over the lower jaw like a shelf. He supposed it must come from the open sea, not the sheltered waters of the bay.

 

“It’s...pungent,” he said, trying to be polite, for the fish had a sharp, unpleasant reek that permeated the air. If it tasted like it smelled, he didn’t think he’d possibly be able to eat it.

 

The Edain erupted into another gale of laughter, provoking a frown from Elrond. “That’s why we cure it,” one of the women said. Her name was Fauniel, and she and Elros had spent the past two weeks flirting shamelessly with each other. “Soak it in a barrel of sea water and it turns from smelly to delicious.”

 

She grinned, but Elrond didn’t return her smile. He wasn’t here to learn about sharks. He turned to his brother and said, “Elros, can I talk to you for a few minutes? Alone?”

 

Elros raked his eyes over Elrond’s face. “Yeah,” he said, “sure.” Then he turned to his friends and said, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

“We’ll see you,” Fauniel said, winking at Elros as the group waved. Elros smiled at her and waved back before turning to follow Elrond to an empty stretch of grass that was out of earshot.

 

“So I guess you’ve decided you’re talking to me again,” Elros said, raising his eyebrows.

 

Elrond flushed and looked away, biting back a sharp retort. “I listened to what you said, that night,” he said instead. “About Elwing. About-- about our mother.” Mother still didn’t feel like the right word, but he thought it would serve as a peace offering. “Lady Ianneth told me some things about her. Did you know she could talk to birds?”

 

Elros nodded. “Gil-galad told me,” he said.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Elros shrugged. “You’ve made it pretty plain that you don’t want to talk about either of our parents. And I didn’t want to start another fight.”

 

Looking down at the ground, Elrond kicked lightly at a dandelion, sending its seeds floating through the air. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just-- this place feels strange. I miss Amon Ereb, and Maglor, and Maedhros, and Melloth, and-- and even Galwen. I miss them all, even if everyone here thinks I shouldn’t.”

 

“I do, too,” Elros admitted. “But you know, I can miss them and still realize that what they did was wrong. I can miss them and miss our parents at the same time. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

 

“Have you heard anything?” Elrond asked softly.

 

Elros shook his head. “I don’t think any birds from East Beleriand migrate this far,” he said. “We probably won’t hear anything until the next time they decide to go after a Silmaril.”

 

“They wouldn’t.”

 

“Of course they will. Why do you think they sent us here?” Elros said matter-of-factly. “They’re going to do it over and over again until eventually they destroy themselves. I’m not trying to be harsh, Elrond. I’m not saying they don’t love us. But they’ve been destroying themselves for yéni. I don’t think they know how to do anything else.”

 

“Elwing tried to destroy herself,” Elrond pointed out, once again feeling defensive.

 

“She did,” Elros agreed. “And I’m angry at her, too, sometimes. But if I could learn to understand the men who kidnapped me, then surely I can learn to understand my own mother, don’t you think?”

 

Elrond didn’t answer, not right away. He’d been so caught up in his own anger that he hadn’t realized Elros wasn’t as serene about their abandonment as he seemed.

 

“I don’t remember her,” he finally said. “Not really.”

 

“Neither do I. That’s why I’ve been asking about her.”

 

“You have something, though. You have the birds.” He looked down at the ground again and said, “I don’t know what parts of me came from where.”

 

“Hey.” Elros reached out and pulled Elrond into a firm hug. “You can heal people,” he said. “And you’re really, really good at it. Uncanny, Melloth always said, remember? Maybe that’s not something our mother could do herself, but it all goes back to Melian in the end.”

 

Reluctantly, Elrond pulled away from his brother. “You know, Maglor always called me the studious one,” he said, “but sometimes I think you’re wiser than I’ll ever be.”

 

Elros laughed. “Come on,” he said, draping one arm around his brother’s shoulders. “You think I’m wise? You’ll change your mind once you see me bungle that shark.”

 

“I doubt I’d do any better,” Elrond said. “What a hideous animal.”

 

“Well, now you have to try,” Elros said with a grin. “Maybe you’ll make some new friends, too. I promise, they’re all really nice.”

 

Elrond conceded defeat and allowed himself to be steered back towards Elros’ companions. With Elros beside him, maybe he could make a friend or two. At the very least, he would try.