Water and Blood by Keiliss

Water and Blood

Sadness and loss. Hope. Rain. Difficult Maia. Finding common ground. Family counts.

Read Water and Blood

"The assault will go ahead as planned."

Eönwë stood behind a table on which he had created a light map of the surrounding countryside and the course of the Sirion up to the narrow, contested section at the pass. Today he was wearing a blue and gold feathered cape and pale gold armour embossed with enamel; it left Finarfin with an uncomfortable sense of being underdressed. Not for the first time he wondered how many sets of armour the Maia possessed and if the changes were a reflection of mood or some other, more esoteric, rationale.

"The boatmen say the current runs against them," Ingwion said, drawing closer and frowning at the map. This was unusual as the only son of the High King in Valinor tended to either defer to the Herald or stay silent at these meetings. Finarfin, who at first put this approach down to blanket agreement, had come to realise Ingwion’s reticence simply reflected a better way of dealing with Eönwë than his own habit of asking difficult questions. Any question Eönwë regarded as difficult was certain to remain unanswered.
 
"The boatmen must come to an agreement with the river," the Maia said briefly, letting the map’s light fade. Finarfin had to blink briefly to get his sight back to normal. His eyes had bothered him since they arrived, coming from the gentle illumination of Aman to the splintered brilliance of sun and moon. It was for this reason he almost welcomed the rain: beyond the window of the temporary wooden structure the afternoon sky was grey, the light muted.
 
Ingwion drew a visible breath. "It is not as simple as that," he said. "If they take to the water now, while what they call the melt water flows from the mountains, there is a danger that some would drown. Some of our people, I mean. Soldiers trapped on a capsized boat."
 
The Maia's perfect face creased slightly into an approximation of a frown. "That would be regrettable," he said. "In that case they must make more effort to avoid such incidents."
 
The handful of captains gathered in a half circle facing the table looked uncomfortable but remained silent. They were Noldor and Vanyar from beyond the sea; they understood the chain of command. There were no local elves present, they were harrying the enemy along the coast, incidentally keeping the supply lines secure, and saw no reason to be more intimately involved in the Army of the West's advance. Artanis had explained it to him in a startlingly brisk, no-nonsense manner, making it clear where her own allegiance lay.
 
"At least we should wait till the rain eases off," Finarfin suggested, deciding not to let his cousin stand alone in this. "I could barely see my hand in front of my face on my way over here."
 
Eönwë looked at him oddly. "It is just water," he said flatly. "It can do no harm. Are there further questions? If not, we shall commence the next stage at first light."
 
-----o
 
"I have no idea how we will even know when first light arrives," Finarfin said later to Ingwion when his cousin surprised him by joining him in a corner of the officers mess, an ornate tent that managed to keep out the strange, unpredictable weather. "The clouds are so heavy it might take hours to see the difference."

For the time of day, the tent was quite crowded, perhaps due to the rain. A small group shared a late afternoon snack while a larger one was passing around a jug of wine, and over in the far corner four more played the letters game. Despite this they were assured of privacy. No one would interrupt Ingwion's solitude without invitation, and Finarfin as King of the Noldor (in the West, not in these wild lands) and the formal second in command was unlikely to be disturbed either.
 
"The young one who brings me warm water and that strange local brew when I wake will know,” Ingwion assured him. “He seems to have a sense for such things. It's what comes of having been born here, I imagine."
 
Finarfin nodded. They had acquired a small group of assistants – it seemed they disliked being referred to as servants - and he found they were the best source for what was truly happening here alongside the Sirion as they moved ever further north-east and away from the sea. "They are so blasé regarding the weather… I had never seen snow before except on mountain peaks, yet they accept its fall as normal."
 
Ingwion's perfectly sculpted face showed concern as he sipped the watered wine he preferred. Both the wine and the water came from Aman, but then he was the son of the High King of all elves and no one questioned his right to a few comforts. "I heard it was far worse crossing the Helcaraxë," he said. "It is hard to imagine what was endured there. But no, I had not experienced such a thing either."
 
"This business of going against the boatmen's advice," Finarfin ventured. "Why does Eönwë not allow a few days' grace before we move in? The same weather affects the Enemy's forces, all it will do is postpone action on both sides."
 
Ingwion shrugged delicately. "Eönwë has his own sense of time," he said. "He wants it done now, so done it shall be. I assume he has some agreement with the Powers that we know nothing about."
 
"They're further north," Finarfin said with a nod. "Perhaps they want us to join up with them, who knows? But boats will capsize and people will drown in the process. I vote we wait."
 
"Wait?" A pale eyebrow lifted in response to this; Ingwion had the silver-gilt hair and pale brows and lashes Finarfin associated with the Teleri rather than his mother's Vanyar kin. "Eönwë would scarcely like that."
 
"Cousin, you are the High King's son and commander of this force. If you say we wait, who will gainsay you? Especially if I, as the commander of the second wing, agree." 

Ingwion swirled the wine in his cup, staring down into it as though he could read images in the pale liquid the way Finarfin's mother occasionally could. Artanis and Findaráto had taken the gift from her, the other boys were more like him - had been more like him, he corrected himself.  In these lands where they had died, he was daily, acutely aware of their loss. A tendril of fear twisted his stomach whenever he dared wonder if they would one day be released back into the safety of Aman. And if so, would those bright, adventurous boys he had left on the tundra approaching the Helcaraxë still be as he remembered them, or would their time in the east and the horror of their deaths have marked them too deeply. 

"The titles we hold, you and I," Ingwion said quietly, breaking into memories that Finarfin had no desire to pursue. "You do realise they are a courtesy, of course? That I am Ingwë's only son and you are king of the Noldor after the - loss - of your father and brothers, and therefore respect had to be shown. But in truth, Eönwë the Herald commands this force. We are but figureheads for the Noldor and Vanyar to follow, while the Telerin aid us from respect for your mother and for Elwë's great-granddaughter. I doubt anyone expected us, with our limited experience, to be making decisions."
 
Finarfin leaned back and drank deep from his cup. He was trying a local wine now, after finally depleted his imported stock. It was quite raw compared to the vintages of home but rich and warming, good on a cold day. "Our experience was non-existent, not just limited," he said, half amused, half annoyed at the thought. "You, I think, had never left Aman and I had been along the coast of Araman, no further. We knew nothing personally of warfare, but that did not prevent you from winning the first victory of the war - and without Eönwë's aid, he was somewhere down the coast consulting with his brothers."
 
Ingwion pulled a face. "That was nothing more than luck," he said. "My father had old comrades from the Long March tell me about tactics and how to assess the enemy, but their experience hardly fitted today's conditions, though no one back home seemed to realise that. Elwing, she who brought the Silmaril, told me the city gates were all of wood and would burn. How she knew that was important I could not say, but I remembered, and we burned our way inside."
 
"She knows things, sometimes, Earendil told me. Random things that might be important later. At least she spoke with you, she avoids Tirion if she can."
 
"I went to her home," Ingwion said simply. "She is a queen in her land. I showed her respect. She appreciated it, I think. We talked, she and I, and the Star Voyager when he was home. They made me think. We dismiss those born over here, have you noticed? As though somehow we have greater statue by virtue of having lived in the West. Meanwhile they have been here all this time, trying to hold back an enemy that should always have been our common concern."
 
"I … would not say that too loud," Finarfin murmured, glancing around without moving his head.
 
Ingwion laughed, a mirthless sound. "Oh, I know that, Cousin. There are a great many things I think rather than say, but if a man may not trust close kin, then who can he trust out here in the cold and wind and rain - which is just water, truly, but makes you as wet as any river."
 
"The rain does not bother the Herald," Finarfin said with a brief grimace. "At any rate, you have since learned tactics from those whose experience is more recent than the Minyar of old.”
 
"You prevented that secondary column from reinforcing Morgoth’s army at the Pass. I think that was more noteworthy than my taking one city, by chance - a city that had been burned and looted and is barely secure enough to hold supplies."
 
"They did make a mess of it, yes, I heard." Finarfin poured more wine from the jug on the table. "I had no idea, all I could think to do was sing trees into lying down to block trails and once or twice raised heavy mists to cover our approach. It took them by surprise to begin with, but now they are more cautious."
 
"I had not thought to have anyone sing magic into an assault." Ingwion smiled slightly. "That rests in your family's gift rather than mine. Findaráto excels in this, I hear. I was always sorry I had so little chance to get to know my younger cousins…"
 
Ingwion lived at the foot of Taniquetil in his father's palace and seldom came to Tirion. The High King came not at all. Finarfin saw them at major festivals held in Valmar and on the rare occasions his mother dragged the family out there to visit her parents. Ingwion’s almost casual utterance of his son’s name - as though Findaráto were well and safe at home – brought crashing back the pain of lost sons, of werewolf’s teeth and walls of fire, of boys’ laughter and those last farewell hugs in the cold wind coming off the sea.

Finarfin knew the Vanyar had very little concept of death and rebirth – they had not been at Alqualondë - and was about to say something, but what was there to say? My sons are dead but, by Lord Námo's grace, they may return? Perhaps changed, perhaps scarred by their experience, he had no idea. There were stories about rebirth, some of them less hopeful than others.
 
He had been quiet too long, he knew it. His cousin was watching him, his pale green eyes giving nothing away. "It will be well," Ingwion said quietly. "I hear these things take time, but they do happen at their own pace. And my cousins were dear to many - that will speed their return."
 
"You know this?" Finarfin was polite, he hid his scepticism under an air of general inquiry. He had heard too many rumours since his father's death.
 
"Lady Vaire comes often to Valmar, as does our Lady of Sorrows. I cannot say if the stories I hear are true, but they have the ring of it and why would any make up untruths about the Valier so close to their dwelling places?"
 
Finarfin nodded. The Vanyar generally were unlikely to make up tales about the great ones. Ingwion offered what he had heard out of kindness; it should be accepted as such. They had spent very little time together before, living an inconvenient distance from one another and, to be honest, Valmar made Finarfin uncomfortable at the best of times. Over here in Middle-earth, their responsibilities had also kept them separate. He wondered suddenly if this was perhaps deliberate, a way of preventing family from presenting a united front to the Herald. He recalled Eönwë’s bland detachment of earlier and suddenly was sure.
 
"Thank you," he said finally. "I do live in hope of seeing my sons again soon. It has been surpassing strange, hearing tales of where and how they died… Artanis is still so angry about Findaráto. She said the others were lost in war, and this is a fact of life - that was when I realised how long she had been here - but that Findaráto was  an unacceptable loss."
 
This had been when she came to discuss tactics, along with Ereinion, the great-grandson he had not known existed before their arrival. Artanis had changed beyond all recognition in some ways and in others not at all: she was lean and tanned, her hands strong, and there was the glint of steel in her eyes, but she was as outspoken and determined as ever and showed the King in the East about as much respect as one would expect between an aunt and nephew. For his part, Ereinion Gil-galad seemed to take it in good humour. He was young, battle hardened as Finarfin might never be, and seemed at ease in his skin. 
 
They had not stayed long, just enough to advise the inland dwellers should leave and head south and east, then they went back to their island and the war effort they had been engaged in since well before Earendil and the girl queen had sailed into the bay of Eldamar bringing a Silmaril to bargain fate with.
 
"He repaid a debt, my young helper told me," Ingwion said. "As one should, the action of a prince. It will be well in the end, Cousin. Truly."
 
"Perhaps."
 
Ingwion nodded. "Having children, losing children, is something outside of my experience I know, but the pain must be unbearable, not a casual thing that finds resolution in the Doomsman's time.  Sometimes when I see how this horror has decimated families, I am almost glad of my choice not to wed, even though I have regretted the aloneness at times.  I have achieved so little with my life," he added hesitantly, stepping onto unfamiliar ground. "I was born and grew and travelled a little in Aman, up as far as Amaran, though not to the ice fields, and I have come here at last, my father's surrogate, and done… what? Burnt my way into a town? Killed, or ordered my warriors to kill? There should be more to a life than this. You - you have a wife, raised children, nurtured a people in fear of the dark. I have envied you, Cousin."

Finarfin looked into his wine, unable to meet that clear green gaze. "I married the love of my youth, and when I followed my brothers - for unity as much as vengeance - she chose to stay behind and support her Telerin law-sister during the Terror.  Looking back, she was right, we knew nothing of the Doom then, but still. And then I turned back so the people who rethought would have a leader, someone to organise things, light the dark. And found my wife and law-sisters had done all this and more unaided. I left my children to cross the Ice with my brother… There is nothing to envy here, Ingwion.”

And having so much only meant there had been more for him to lose – and he had lost more than he could ever have imagined.

Neither said anything for a while. Ingwion finished his wine and his assistant came forward and silently refilled the cup.  Finarfin gestured to his own cup. "You should try this some time," he said. "It's an acquired taste but pleasant enough."
 
"My people would be horrified," Ingwion told him with a wry smile. He reached across, took Finarfin’s cup and sampled the wine. An eyebrow went up. "Interesting," he said. "Perhaps next time. I should get used to it, we may be here quite a while."
 
"Even longer if we lose boat crew and warriors to the river," Finarfin said, frowning. "Whatever their plans, I cannot understand why Eönwë will not see that."
 
"I think we are a distraction," Ingwion replied, his voice dropping lower. "I suspect something is happening elsewhere and we are meant to keep the Enemy's attention on the river road to the Pass."
 
"I am not at peace with the idea of losing boats and people dying for a distraction," Finarfin said grimly.
 
Ingwion played with his cup, turning it round and round between his long, smooth fingers. Finally he said, "As you pointed out, you are king of the Noldor while I - I am Ingwë's only son. If we agree there should be no unnecessary risk to our people…"
 
"He does not come out and give instructions to the boatmen himself or see the warriors embarked," Finarfin murmured. "He tells us, and we attend to it."
 
"And if it is simply not possible, then that would be for us to determine."
 
"Or more likely the senior mariners and our captains," Finarfin said with a shrug. "Let us not for a moment suggest we would know more than either of those."
 
"Apparently Eönwë does."
 
"Eönwë scared the life half out of me as a child," Finarfin admitted. "I am still not necessarily comfortable countermanding him."
 
"Myself," Ingwion told him and the smile reached his eyes. "Perhaps this is where we start to learn courage from this place, as those who came over with your brothers have needed to."
 
"We are no longer children," Finarfin agreed, draining his cup. "So, who will tell him?"
 
Ingwion made a flickering gesture with his fingers and his assistant scurried over. He was the child of a Noldor captain from the coast and spoke passable Quenya, though with the strange accent it had acquired over the years. Ingwion spoke quietly to him and the boy nodded and hastened off. Finarfin raised his eyebrows, looked a question. Ingwion gave him a blameless gaze. 
 
"He has taken my message to Lord Eönwë that the boats will sail in three days as their senior mariners had requested. It is not for me to understand what differs between today and three days from today, it is their professional opinion and I am decided to respect it." He finished the contents of his cup then poured for them both from Finarfin’s jug, a small amount for himself, somewhat more for Finarfin. "My father," he said, "would never go personally to deliver a decision, nor would he explain it. Eönwë can put it down to the manner in which I was raised."
 
Finarfin stared at him for a moment, trying to keep a straight face, then snorted with laughter. "The manner in which you were raised, indeed," he said. "He won't like it, but he'd be hard pressed to argue it, not presented in such a public manner."
 
"Not without some serious questions from our followers regarding the degree of our autonomy, no."  
 
"Ereinion, the young King in Exile - my great-grandson - is already concerned about the loss of life amongst those living on the mainland who might get caught up in the fighting," Finarfin said. "Not just us, there are others - the second-born, dwarves…  the alliances are complex but were forged before we arrived."
 
"Perhaps that needs to be our next venture then," Ingwion said. "Morgoth has nowhere else to go. If this takes a little longer while we spend time safeguarding as many as we can, it can do no harm."
 
"Only to Eönwë's ego, possibly," Finarfin agreed. He studied Ingwion for a minute. "I am trying to understand why we spent so little time together over the years. It seems a terrible waste."
 
"I felt -- your home, your family were always a little overwhelming. So many of you, so much brilliance, so much achieved. And then you all married, save for Findis, and there were children… and I felt an outsider. My nature is not inclined to marriage, that will never change, no matter what my father might wish, and so there was no thought of children as a part of my future, of it being only a matter of time."
 
Finarfin frowned over this and finally nodded. "I can understand what you say about  when we were growing up. And of course most parents talk overmuch about their children, difficult if there are no reciprocal tales. But here we are, on the other side of the world, fighting a battle we have to win, and it is just you and I. Perhaps this is where we make up for those lost years and get to know one another better. If that is something you would like?"
 
"I would like that very much," Ingwion said, smiling. "If not, I might be left to face Eönwë on my own. And strong though I suspect this wine is, I think I would need more than a cup to find courage to deal with that. That and the rain. Which is, of course, just water.”

“And wet,” Finarfin said. “No matter what Eönwë might like to believe, water is always wet. Though when all’s said and done, I suppose we should thank him for reminding us that blood is indeed thicker than water.”

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Chapter End Notes

With many thanks to Raiyana and Red Lasbelin (who also beta read this)