Root and All by grey_gazania

Root and All

Read Root and All

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;—
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson; “Flower in the Crannied Wall”

---

Autumn had come to the south of Beleriand. Beneath the fiery canopy of the forest, the creeks and streams were beginning to run cold, and the rabbits, deer, and pheasants walked abundant among the trees. A group of men, too, were moving carefully through the undergrowth. There were seven of them -- five fully grown men and two small, dark-haired boys. Four of the men bore plain bows and serviceable blades; the fifth, who was the tallest, carried only a sword. The boys were unarmed, but they walked in the center of the group where they could be easily protected by the others.

 

Now and then the men paused. One or another would point something out to the boys -- a clump of fur caught on a bramble, an animal’s faint footprint just visible in the dirt. Twice, the burliest of the men knelt down and slowly strung a looped wire about a peg, which he then buried in the soft earth. The boys watched raptly, their grey eyes bright and intent.

 

“This time you try,” Halfion said when the group next stopped, handing Elros a length of thin wire. “Do it just like I showed you.”

Elros caught his lower lip between his teeth and began to bend the wire, his small fingers shaking slightly. It took a little time, but eventually he managed to form one end into a tightly-wrapped loop. He then slid the other end through and held up the makeshift noose.

 

Halfion nodded approvingly and then turned his gaze to Elrond. “You secure it to the peg,” he instructed.

 

Elrond took the wire from Elros and fastened it to the wood, his own hands much steadier than his brother’s. Then he tugged on it to be certain it was firmly attached.

 

“Very good,” Halfion said. He set the snare and then stood. “We’ll circle back tomorrow or the day after and check for more rabbits.”

 

Elrond smiled. While Elros would happily eat perch or charr every day if he could, Elrond had developed a taste for rabbit since coming to Amon Ereb. Stewed, braised, roasted, fried -- however it was cooked, he loved it, though a stew that was thick with meat and root vegetables was probably his favorite dish. Hopefully that was what they would eat tonight. Malnas had brought a camping oven, and they had already retrieved four rabbits from traps they had set yesterday and the day before.

 

This wasn’t Elrond’s first trip into the forest. Maglor had taken him and Elros out several times in the spring and summer, teaching them to fish in the streams and pluck crayfish from the small pools. But this trip was different. They had been away for a week already, far longer than the two- and three-day stretches they were used to, and in addition to fishing they were learning to set snares.

For the first time, too, Maedhros and Doronel had joined the usual trio of Maglor, Malnas, and Halfion in chaperoning them. On a longer trip, Maglor had explained, a larger group would be safer, and with more people they would be able to carry more game back to the fortress.

 

Elrond had been nervous at first. He and Elros knew Doronel well enough; the soldier always had a kind word for them when they crossed paths, and he had taught them both to do handstands last winter. But Maedhros remained something of an unknown. When Elrond and his brother had first been taken to Amon Ereb, Maglor had asked them not to trouble Maedhros, and the boys had obeyed. Three years had passed since then, and they still knew very little about Fëanor’s eldest son.

 

He was the tallest man Elrond had ever seen. He had copper-red hair. Like most of the House of Finwë, he had grey eyes, though his were a darker shade than his brother’s. He spent many nights awake, wandering the halls of Amon Ereb. And something terrible had happened to him a long time ago, something that had robbed him of his right hand and left his skin horribly scarred. But what that something was, Elrond didn’t know, nor was he brave enough to ask.

 

Still, over the past week he had grown more at ease in the man’s presence. Maedhros was often quiet, yet he was still commanding, and when he had something to say he spoke without hesitation. He was frequently the first to spot the signs of their prey, for his eyes and ears were uncommonly sharp. He could set cunning snares with his lone hand in a way that was truly impressive, and Elrond had yet to grow tired of watching him do it. And he stood guard every night rather than sleep, much to Maglor’s dismay.

 

Thus far there had been little to guard against. Though Elrond knew that orcs still roamed the forest, the hunting party had yet to encounter any -- something for which Elrond was truly grateful. He had never seen an orc, but he had heard stories both from Maglor and, years ago, from the survivors of Gondolin, the birth city of the father Elrond barely remembered. He did not want to see an orc, and he hoped that the group’s good luck would hold for the rest of the trip.

 

***

 

A few more hours passed before Maedhros called a halt. They were in a clearing by the stream, a small tributary of the Gelion that had babbled along beside their path for the past few days. The late afternoon light filtered down through the trees, reflecting off the water in glints of gold, and the leaf-strewn ground was blanketed in soft grass. Finches cheeped overhead, and a warbler trilled out a song, hidden somewhere in the brush.

“We’ll camp here,” Maedhros said, setting down his pack. “We can all bathe and have a hot meal, and we should be able to get a good night’s rest tonight.”

 

The group was moving more slowly than they normally would, though neither Elrond nor Elros realized it. The boys were young and small, and Maedhros and Maglor had no desire to exhaust them. So they set their camps up early and broke them down late, and they moved through the forest at a pace that was, to them, almost leisurely.

 

For Elrond’s part, he was simply happy to hear that he would have a chance to wash, and perhaps even swim for a little, if Maglor deemed it safe enough. The stream flowed gently by the clearing, and the water looked invitingly cool and clear. It would be pleasant to splash in the shallows with his brother for a time, to rinse the sweat from his skin and to clean his hair. Then he and Elros would help with the cooking and, well-fed, they would fall asleep. Surrounded by Maglor and Malnas and Halfion, by Maedhros and Doronel, no harm could come to them.

Elrond’s younger self would have been shocked by that thought, but the truth was that he had grown comfortable at Amon Ereb. Maglor loved Elrond and Elros, and his people treated the boys as though they were their lord’s sons. As long as Elrond didn’t think about how he had come to be in Maglor’s care, he was content. And as his memories of the Havens of Sirion grew distant, it became easier and easier to let them fade, to lock them away where he wouldn’t need to dwell on them.

 

He and Elros were safe here. They had nothing to fear from Fëanor’s sons.

 

Beside the boys, Maglor was pulling cakes of soap from his pack, and soon Elrond and Elros were being ushered along to the water, the rest of the group following behind. As Elrond shed his clothes, he saw that there were minnows circling in the stream. They scattered when he climbed in, little darts of silver shooting off beneath the surface of the water.

 

“It’s cold,” Elros said. He had taken a seat on a flat stone and submerged his feet, but he seemed reluctant to slide fully into the stream.

 

“It’s autumn, lad,” Doronel said. “Any stream you find will be cold.” He was already waist-deep in the water, and he gave Elros an encouraging smile. “It’ll only be for a few minutes,” he said. “Climb in, wash up, climb out. Easy as falling off a log.”

 

Gingerly, Elros inched the rest of his body off the rock, letting out a little gasp when he became submerged up to his chest. Then an unexpected splash of water hit him in the face, and he spluttered.

 

“Got you!” Elrond said, smirking.

Elros looked as though he wanted to retaliate, but before he could, Maglor said, “That’s enough of that, boys. It’s time to wash up, not time to play.” He pressed a cake of soap into each child’s hand and then crossed his arms across his chest. “Get scrubbing,” he ordered.

 

Maedhros, who was in the water up to his neck and thus surely had to be sitting on the streambed, let out a chuckle. “To think I’d see the day when you advocated for children bathing, Maglor,” he said. “It took a team of oxen to get you into the bath when you were little.”

“It did not,” Maglor protested. “I never saw a single ox in the vicinity of our bathroom. Imagine the mess. Ammë never would have stood for it.”

 

“All right, we didn’t actually need oxen,” Maedhros conceded. “But I do vividly recall you kicking and screaming the entire way to the tub.”

Elrond glanced over at Elros, and the two of them began to giggle. They didn’t know what Maglor had been like as a child, but the image of the calm, steady man who stood before them throwing a tantrum over a bath was ludicrous.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Maglor said, wagging an admonitory finger at his brother. “You’re trying to embarrass me in front of the children.”

Maedhros grinned. “Only a little,” he said. He tilted his head back to rinse his hair and then climbed to his feet.

 

Elrond averted his eyes. The first time he had seen Maedhros unclad, he hadn’t been able to help staring at the man. Maedhros was covered in scars -- some raised and white, like burns, others rough and jagged, as though his skin had been shredded by sharp claws, and even a few that looked like bite marks, as if some foul creature had tried to feed itself on Maedhros’ very flesh. Filled with mingled horror and fascination, Elrond had been unable to look away.

 

Maglor had had a talk with him and Elros later that day, lecturing them on proper manners and the inherent rudeness of gawking. And he had refused to answer when Elrond, still burning with morbid curiosity, had asked where the scars had come from.

 

That’s not my story to share, he’d said firmly. If Maedhros thinks you need to know, he’ll tell you himself.

 

It seemed that Maedhros did not think the twins needed to know, for he had never raised the subject in their hearing. In fact, while he was kind enough, in a distant sort of way, he rarely spoke with the boys at all outside of mealtimes. Everything relating to their care was left in Maglor’s hands.

 

Elrond kept his gaze downcast, focusing on washing, until he heard Doronel offer to help Maedhros rebraid his hair. He knew then that it was safe to look up.

 

“Don’t dawdle, boys,” Maglor called from the bank, where he was combing the knots from his own dark hair. “There might be time to swim in the morning, but right now we need to work on cooking and setting up camp.”

“Yes, Maglor,” Elrond said. He dunked his head beneath the water one last time and then scrambled out of the stream, Elros trailing behind.

 

Once they were dried and dressed, the pair of them began gathering kindling while Halfion dug a fire pit. Malnas had set out the camping oven, and he and Maglor were skinning and butchering the dead rabbits. Doronel was preparing the wild onions, carrots, and parsnips that had been gathered over the course of the day, and when the twins had deposited their handfuls of twigs and dry grass next to the fire pit, he beckoned them over.

 

“I need one of you to fetch water,” he said, tilting his head toward a pail that sat nearby.

“I’ll go,” Elrond volunteered, knowing that Elros would rather help Halfion with the fire. He grabbed the pail by the handle and trotted back to the stream. As he filled it with water, some nearby leaves caught his eye. Carefully, he carried the full pail up the bank and set it down on firmer ground before returning to the stream.

 

Rooted in the very edge of the streambed, its lowest leaves covered by the running water, the plant stood taller than Elrond himself did. Umbels of tiny white flowers swayed above him in the gentle breeze, and he reached up and tugged one down to eye-level to examine it. Then he bent over and began to dig. Soon, he had unearthed a number of fat wild carrots, and he smiled. Surely Maglor would be pleased to see that Elrond had been paying attention to the plants surrounding him.

He rinsed the mud from the roots and from his hands, and then fetched the pail and walked back into the camp, where he began to make his way towards Maglor. But as he passed by Maedhros, the man reached out and plucked the roots from his fingers.

 

“Have you eaten any of these?” Maedhros asked, an expression of alarm on his scarred face.

 

Elrond shook his head, thrown by the question. He hadn’t eaten any, but what would have been wrong if he had? He’d eaten raw carrots before.

 

Maedhros fixed his piercing gaze on Elrond’s face for a moment and then called, “Elros! Come here.”

Over by the fire pit, Elrond set down the stick he was holding and jogged across the clearing. Stopping beside his twin, he looked up at Maedhros expectantly. But Maedhros’ eyes were still fixed on Elrond.

 

“You found these by the water,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Show me where.”

“That way,” Elrond said, pointing. But he didn’t move. “I only thought it would be nice to have some more carrots for the stew.”

 

“These aren’t carrots,” Maedhros said shortly. “Show me where you found them.”

 

Now Elrond was truly confused. The roots looked like carrots, and the flowers and greenery had, too. But maybe he was mistaken. The thought made him uneasy, and he was silent as he led Maedhros and Elros to the muddy stream bank and pointed to the plant.

 

“Rinse your hands, and rinse the pail,” Maedhros commanded as he dropped the roots to the ground. Once Elrond had done so, Maedhros took hold of one of the stalks of the plant and bent it down so that the boys could examine it closely.

 

“This is not a wild carrot,” he said. “This is water hemlock. It’s highly toxic.”

 

“It’d make us sick?” Elrond asked, dismayed. No wonder Maedhros had seemed worried.

 

Maedhros shook his head. “It would kill you,” he said bluntly. “It might even kill some of us. Honestly, what is Maglor teaching you?”

 

“Literature,” Elros said, ticking the subjects off on his fingers. “Mathematics, astronomy, music, anatomy, history--”

He stopped abruptly when Elrond poked him in the ribs. “That was a rhetorical question,” Elrond said, borrowing one of Maglor’s favorite phrases. “You weren’t supposed to actually answer it.”

 

Maedhros seemed amused by his words, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Clearly he isn’t doing a thorough enough job teaching you botany,” he said. “That has to change. We spend too much time in the wild for you not to know how to recognize poisonous plants. So here’s your first lesson.” Pulling the umbel closer, he flipped it upside-down and pointed to the base of one of the flower clusters. “This kind of leaf is called a bract,” he said. “Water hemlock only has bracts here. Carrots would have another bract at the base of the flower head.”

 

He let go of the umbel, and the stalk sprang back upright. Then he plucked one of the leaves and held it out in his palm. “Look closely,” he instructed. “You see how the veins run to the notches, not the tip? On parsnips and carrots, the veins always run to the tip.”

 

With a puff of breath, he blew the leaf from his hand, and then he tapped the base of the hemlock stalk. “Purple mottling. You’ll never find this on carrots. But--” Here he paused and held up his index finger. “Water hemlock doesn’t always have this. Just because the stalk is green doesn’t mean it’s safe to eat. The bracts and the leaf veins are a more reliable way to tell.”

 

Elrond bent down to study the purple marks. He hadn’t paid any notice to them the first time, and he felt foolish -- and more than a little unnerved. To think that he might have accidentally poisoned himself! To think that he might have poisoned Elros!

 

Beside him, Maedhros squatted down and rinsed his own hand thoroughly in the water. “One of you refill the pail,” he said. Elros obliged, and then the three of them headed back to the camp.

 

“Where were you?” Maglor asked when they arrived.

 

“By the stream,” Maedhros answered, nudging Elros back towards the fire as he spoke. “I’m going to start giving the boys botany lessons. Work it into the schedule you’ve made.”

 

Elrond’s eyes widened. Maedhros must have thought that this was important indeed if he was volunteering to teach them himself, for he rarely seemed to have much time or attention to spare for Elrond and Elros.

 

Maglor was looking at his brother with searching eyes. “We’ll talk about it,” he said after a moment.

 

Elrond had lived with the Sons of Fëanor long enough to know what that meant: I have reservations, but I’m not going to discuss them in front of the children. It was one of many phrases Maglor used with his older brother that meant more than the sum of the words spoken. Elrond and Elros had learned to read many of them over the past few years, just as they had learned to read some of the things that went unspoken between Maedhros and Maglor.

 

Among the Sons of Fëanor, silence, too, was its own kind of language.

 

Retreating to his brother’s side, Elron watched while Elros poured water into the camping oven. Doronel added the vegetables, and Malnas dropped in hunks of rabbit meat. As the stew began to simmer, Elrond became aware of Maedhros and Maglor speaking quietly on the other side of the clearing. The crackling of the fire drowned out all but a few words -- poison, Elrond, and dangerous among them.

 

He felt his face heat, and he looked down at the flames, knowing that Maedhros must be telling Maglor about his near-fatal error. He had wanted to impress Maglor, but instead he had come frighteningly close to killing himself and his brother.

 

Beside him, Elros leaned over and bumped their shoulders together. “Want to help set up the tents?” he asked. “Halfion said we could use the mallet.”

 

“Okay,” Elrond said, accepting the offered distraction with gratitude. He and Elros followed Halfion to the pile of packs, where they helped roll out the canvas and took turns pounding in the tent poles. By the time they had finished, Maglor and Maedhros had returned to the fire pit, and Maedhros was feeding more wood to the flames. Neither man made any mention of botany lessons, and Elrond gladly followed their lead. The subject wasn’t raised at all until after supper, when Maglor was tucking Elrond and Elros into their bedroll.

 

“Maedhros will be teaching you botany,” he said. “He’ll start tomorrow, and will continue giving you formal lessons after we’ve returned home.”

 

“Why is Maedhros teaching us?” Elros asked.

 

“My brother knows much, much more about plants than I do,” Maglor said. “Botany was his passion, as music is mine. And this way I’ll be able to spend more time on other subjects, while Maedhros will have a chance to get to know you better. It’ll be good for all of us.”

 

But Elrond was frowning, puzzled by Maglor’s choice of words. “What’s Maedhros’ passion now?” he asked, though he found it hard to imagine logical, cool-headed Maedhros being passionate about anything.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You said botany was his passion,” Elrond said. “What’s his passion now?”

 

Maglor ruffled Elrond’s hair and smiled the small, sad smile that he always gave when the boys asked him something he didn’t want to answer. “You’ll learn a lot from Maedhros,” he said. “Pay attention and work hard, all right?”

 

Elrond nodded and wriggled deeper into the bedroll, knowing that the subject was closed. Maglor smiled and then kissed each twin on the top of the head.

 

“Dream sweet dreams,” he said, before climbing to his feet and exiting the tent.

 

Soon, Elros had fallen asleep beside Elrond, his breath tickling his brother’s cheek. But Elrond remained awake, still dwelling on the afternoon’s events. He watched the faint flicker of the firelight on the walls of the tent, resolving to work extra hard in his new lessons. He was determined not to repeat his mistake.

 

Outside, he could hear Maglor trying to cajole Maedhros into letting him stand watch. They were speaking Quenya, and Elrond was surprised to realize that he could follow their conversation. He hadn’t noticed until now that he had come to understand so much of the High Elven tongue.

 

“At least try to rest,” Maglor said softly.

 

“I am fine,” Maedhros answered.

Maglor sighed. “You’re exhausted, Nelyo. Don’t bother denying it. You should see the shadows under your eyes.”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

“Just lie down for an hour or two,” Maglor pleaded. “To make me feel better, if for no other reason.”

 

“You’re too meddlesome for your own good,” Maedhros said. But there was no rancor in his voice, and Elrond soon heard quiet footsteps approaching the entrance to the tent. He feigned sleep, peeking out from beneath his eyelids as Maedhros slipped inside, his tall body bent to avoid hitting his head on the canvas. Maedhros set up his own bedroll and lay down, and soon silence reigned once more inside the tent.

 

Beside Elrond, Elros turned over in his sleep with a sigh. Elrond closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sounds around him rather than his own thoughts. He heard the hooting of an owl and the squeak and rustle of bats taking flight. The fire popped and crackled, crickets sang in the underbrush, and a nightjar murmured somewhere overhead.

 

Lulled by the familiar noises, he soon drifted off to sleep.

***

 

Maglor roused the boys about an hour after dawn, holding a finger to his lips as Elrond and Elros fumbled their way out of their bedroll, the pair of them blinking groggily in the soft morning light. On the opposite side of the tent, Maedhros was stretched out asleep, his deep, steady breathing just audible under the chirping of the forest birds.

Taking care to be as noiseless as they could, they crept from the tent and out into the clearing, where they saw that Doronel was sharing out biscuits and cold sausage

 

“Is he still asleep?” Doronel asked quietly, looking up at Maglor.

 

Maglor nodded.

 

“Good,” Doronel said. He handed breakfast to the boys and added, “He needs it.”

Maedhros did not sleep as much as he should. Elrond knew that it worried Maglor, but he hadn’t realized until this trip that it worried some of the others, too. He had only recently come to see exactly how much the surviving followers of Fëanor cared for each other. They seemed to be knit together by something that went beyond loyalty, something dark and deep that he was hesitant to examine too closely, for fear of what he might find.

 

Silently taking his meal in hand, he joined Elros by the embers of the fire. Elros was still puffy-eyed and yawning, and he rested his head against his brother’s shoulder when Elrond sat beside him.

 

“Will we have time to swim today?” Elrond asked Maglor, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

To his delight, Maglor nodded. “I think we’ll stay here for most of the morning,” he said, easing himself to the ground and sitting cross-legged beside Elrond. He took a bite of his own breakfast, chewed and swallowed, and explained, “I’d like to let Maedhros rest, if he can. He’s very vigilant about defending us from Morgoth’s servants, but he does push himself too hard sometimes.”

 

“And then we’ll have our new lessons in the afternoon?”

Again, Maglor nodded. “Maedhros will teach you about what we see when we go to check our traps,” he said. “Make sure you pay attention.”

“I will,” Elrond said emphatically. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to put us in danger.”

 

“Have you been fretting about that all night?” Maglor asked, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t eat them; there was no harm done.”

 

“But what if they’d gone in the stew?” Elrond said. “Maedhros said water hemlock is so poisonous that it can even kill Elves.”

 

Wrapping an arm around Elrond’s shoulder, Maglor said, “That’s true, but they never would have made it into the stew in the first place. You were going to show them to me, right?”

 

Elrond nodded.

 

“Well,” Maglor said, “I know what water hemlock looks like, too. So does Doronel, and so do Malnas and Halfion. If Maedhros hadn’t spotted the mistake, one of us would have. As it is, no one was hurt, and it reminded Maedhros and me that we’ve neglected an important part of your education. Now we can remedy our oversight.” Ruffling Elrond’s hair, he said, “Don’t berate yourself, hinya. It wasn’t so dire as all that.”

 

At Maglor’s words, the weight that had been on Elrond’s mind lifted, and he relaxed, leaning closer to his foster-father.

 

“Finish your breakfast,” Maglor said, squeezing Elrond around the shoulders before releasing him. “Then Malnas will take you two down to the stream.”

 

***

 

Under Malnas’ watchful gaze, the boys played in the water for some time, giggling as they splashed each other and tried to catch minnows in their cupped hands. They climbed out only when they’d grown cold and dressed themselves with pruney fingers. Malnas led them back to the camp. As they passed Maedhros and Maglor’s tent, Elrond overheard the brothers inside, bickering in low voices.

 

“--should not have let me sleep so long,” Maedhros was saying peevishly.

 

Maglor snorted. “You were awake for a solid week. I wasn’t going to disturb you when you’d finally managed to get some rest.”

 

Maedhros’ response was lost as Malnas ushered the boys towards Doronel and Halfion, who were working on concealing the cold ashes of the fire pit. Malnas had scrubbed out the camping oven while the boys were swimming, and he set it down beside his pack.

 

A few moments later, Maedhros and Maglor joined them, Maedhros looking rumpled but well-rested.

“Let’s pack up,” Maglor said. “We’ll circle around to check our traps this afternoon, and tomorrow we’ll start to head back home.”

 

The others complied, rolling up the tents and doing their best to erase all signs of their presence. Then they left the clearing, Elrond and Elros once more in the well-protected center of the group.

 

By the time they reached their first snare, Maedhros had identified eight plants for the boys, five edible and three poisonous. Elrond had already known about chestnuts, beech nuts, and wild garlic, but wood sorrel and spatterdock were unfamiliar to him. Also unfamiliar were trillium, baneberry, and cuckoo pint, though Maedhros’ warning to avoid unknown berries was an echo of what Maglor had taught them in the spring.

 

“What about mushrooms?” Elros asked as they passed a tree whose trunk had sprouted a number of fungi. “Can you eat them?”

 

“You can,” Maedhros said. “I wouldn’t advise it unless you have no other options, though. It’s very difficult to tell edible mushrooms from toxic ones, so the risk of poisoning yourself is high. Not to mention the dreadful texture,” he added, making a face.

 

“But you know how to tell the good ones from the bad, right?” Elros asked.

 

“Some,” Maedhros said. “I’ve eaten a few in my time, though I don’t care for them. But the Avari cook with them, and I’ve always thought it discourteous to refuse food when you’re a guest.”

 

“Caranthir’s wife used to eat them,” Maglor pointed out. “She probably still does. He used to sauté morels in salted butter for her, remember?”

 

Maedhros nodded. “I remember,” he said. “But Parmacundë was always a bit of an odd duck.”

 

“Well, so was Caranthir,” Maglor said, his voice echoing with the mixture of fondness and sorrow that usually accompanied stories of his dead brothers.

 

Maedhros reached out and squeezed Maglor’s shoulder before turning back to Elrond and Elros. “At any rate,” he said, “I will eventually teach you some safe mushrooms to eat, just in case, but for now you should avoid them entirely”

 

Elrond began to nod, but then stopped and pointed at the ground. “What are those?” he asked. They were passing a stand of beech trees, and scattered among the roots were clumps of delicate, translucent plants, whiter than bone and curved at the top. He’d never seen anything like them before.

 

“The Avari call that ghost pipe,” Maedhros said. “It’s a parasitic plant.”

 

“Is it edible?” Elros wanted to know.

 

Maedhros nodded. “It is if you cook it. It tastes a little bit like asparagus. But don’t count on being able to find it easily. It’s fairly rare, because it relies on a special kind of fungus to help it grow.” He bent down and lightly touched one of the flowers. “I made a study of it when we first came to Beleriand,” he said. “It’s really quite remarkable. It can grow in the darkest parts of the forest, with hardly any light at all.”

 

Up until then, Maedhros had given his lessons in a matter-of-fact tone, telling the boys only the precise details needed to recognize the individual plants. But now he sounded like Maglor did when he talked about the finer points of musical compositions. He sounded like he was telling them about ghost pipe because it was interesting, not merely practical.

 

Maybe he really had been passionate about botany, once upon a time.

 

Then he straightened up, and his reflective mood seemed to vanish. “We’re falling behind,” he said, gesturing to where the others were waiting for them. “Let’s go.”

Still, for the rest of the day, Elrond made an effort to ask Maedhros about each unfamiliar plant that he saw, peppering the man with questions until Maedhros, chuckling, finally said, “We’ll never make it back to Amon Ereb if I have to name every plant in the forest for you. But I do have a very thorough herbal that I’ve been compiling since I lived in Valinor. Would you like to look at it when we get home?”

 

Elrond nodded and, a little shyly, said, “I’d like that very much. Plants are a lot more interesting than I realized.”

 

“You’re turning into a little botanist already,” Maedhros said, patting Elrond on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to enjoy teaching you.”

 

Elrond smiled and, reaching up, took Maedhros’ calloused hand in his own.

 

“Don’t dawdle, you two,” Maglor said. But there was a smile in his eyes as he watched them, and Elrond knew that he and Maglor were feeling the same thing. Their foster-family had just grown a little bigger.

---

Chapter End Notes

Nelyo (Q.) - Maedhros’ childhood nickname; a shortened form of Nelyafinwë

hinya (Q.) - “my child”; a contraction of the endearment hinanya

The detail about the Eldar eschewing mushrooms comes from Part Two (“Late Writings”) of The Peoples of Middle-earth (Volume 12 of HoMe).

Ghost pipe, or Monotropa uniflora, is more commonly known in America as Indian pipe. It’s a fascinating and beautiful plant that I first encountered as a child while hiking in the New Jersey Highlands.

This should go without saying, but please don’t take foraging advice from this story. I did some light research, but I am by no means a botany expert.