Pack the Parcel by daughterofshadows, Idrils Scribe, Grundy

A deer trotted out of the thicket, then another and another yet, until a small herd was grazing peacefully on the field.

Nellas watched them with a pleased smile.

The fawns were getting stronger day by day. The weather had been kind to all of them.

Clear skies, warm weather and clean rain meant all those living in the forests had time to grow.

She would return to check on the deer again, soon, but for now she turned away from the meadows and followed old familiar paths back to the settlements.

“Nellas!”

Young Túrin was running up to her with an excited smile on his face.

He, too, was growing like a weed.

“Come and see what I found!” he exclaimed and took her hand.

With a smile she let herself be tugged away.

Túrin stopped at the edge of a grove. At first glance, the floor looked like it was covered in gold.

“Look, the woodland poppies started blooming! It looks like a bit of sunshine was trapped in the forest!” Túrin said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

It was.

And yet, the sight filled Nellas with a sense of dread.

She shook it off. The gift of foresight was not hers. She would not let this sunny day be shadowed by dark thoughts.

So, she smiled and took Túrin’s hand.

“It is lovely, indeed! How did you find it?”

Chapter End Notes

The poppies came from the tolkienshortfanworks thematic prompt for November!

Woodland Poppies are an actual plant, but they probably do not grow en masse as suggested here. Call it artistic license XD

“Oh, I want to swim! Please Nellas, can I swim?” Elwing hopped from one foot onto the other, already wriggling out of her tunic. 

Nellas hesitated. The summer day was glorious, the sky an unbroken cornflower blue. At home in Doriath she would gladly let her young charge take a dip in whatever river or forest lake the child preferred. 

Here, though … The Sea moaned and churned, wave after wave attacking the beach - a constant unrest, an enigma, a barrier, a symbol of their loss. The Doriathrim were forest dwellers to their very soul. Nellas would never again feel at home - how could she, without the beloved beeches of Neldoreth and Elsgaluin’s silver song. 

The light was too bright here beside the Sea, the wind too harsh, and the absence of tree-song harrowed the heart.

Elwing, however, seemed to be taking the end of the world in stride. Perhaps it was her Mortal blood. 

“Of course, sweetling!” Nellas did not have the heart to refuse. Today was a good day. She would keep Elwing’s mind off her lost family for as long as she might. 

Elwing waded into the shallows, foam splashing about her slender calves. She was growing so fast - the inheritance of her Mortal blood. The wind picked up her silver hair, now bleached nearly white by salt and sun. She wore it braided with gull’s feathers. 

A flock of seagulls now descended to swirl around the girl, shrieking in those forlorn voices that still brought tears to Nellas’ eyes. 

Oh, where are now our nightingales?

But Elwing laughed. “Nellas, I can understand them!” She turned, exhilarated. “They talk just like wading birds!”  

She stretched out her hands and shrieked with all the passion of an excited five-year-old, answering the gulls in their own shrill tongue.

Mere moments ago, Nellas had believed that she would never smile again - and yet she did.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, but Anorië paid it no heed as she marched briskly along the shore, every step towards nothing in particular taking her that much further from her frustration with her family.

She had thought the hard days were behind her. While it was true she no longer had to fear discovery by Sauron or his acolytes, much less hide her name or knowledge of the elven tongues, the task that awaited her in Middle-earth was only slightly less daunting.
She hadn’t stopped to consider until the ships reached a shore entirely unknown to her that they faced a task only slightly less daunting than that of Tar-Minyatur when he set foot on Elenna. The histories had been clear that while the Powers might have raised the island, they had not built anything on it. That had been left to Men.

Edhellond was not far distant, so it was not quite an empty land they found. The elves had been surprised to find Men arriving on storm-tossed ships, and assured them they would send word to their kin in the north. What that might accomplish, Anorië was uncertain.

But elves or no elves, her father and uncle were not minded to remain here by the Sea. They had been scouting further up the Great River and had found a place they judged ideal for a new kingdom of the Faithful. Uncle Anárion was there even now, preparing. Her arguments that Grandfather, had his ships survived, would surely look for them by the Sea had fallen on unhearing ears.

“This is the only thing familiar in this new land, and they would have me leave it,” she murmured resentfully to the wind.

The gulls shrieked as if they too were indignant that she should be taken away. They have been her friends these past weeks, leading to much teasing from her brothers that she preferred to converse with their many-times grandmother rather than them. Anorië rather doubted Elwing would have much to say to so remote a descendant, but it was nice to think maybe the gulls did carry news to her on the other side of the Sea.

Something in the sand caught her eye, and she stooped for a closer look. To her surprise, she found a green stone twinkling at her. A rough gemstone? If she’d found it as a child, she would have imagined it the legendary Elessar. These days, she was less fanciful, but appreciated the gift of the Sea all the same. She might someday have it set in a pendant if her family’s dreams of a new kingdom came to pass.

She rose – only to drop her treasure with an undignified yelp as she discovered she was not alone on the strand.

The unexpected elf caught the stone before it could return to the sand, offering it back to her politely as though nothing were amiss. Though he couldn’t have missed that she had just jumped as though he were the Zigûr himself…

“I apologize,” she stammered, dropping a curtsey and praying he hadn’t taken offense. They had trouble enough without upsetting their new friends.

The gulls were laughing at her now, she was sure.

“No need,” he replied mildly, his expression kind. “I had not realized you did not note my approach. Though I can hardly fault you – jewels may be the norm on the strands of Alqualondë, but they are rare here.”

She smiled, more in relief than anything else.

“Were you seeking my father, Lord Elf?” she asked.

Perhaps he brought word from the north?

“I suppose I am at that, though I confess I was rather more curious to meet you when I was told you were a scholar,” he replied, looking slightly amused. “I would meet all my kin in any case, but I have a particular fondness for those who share my love of books and lore.”

“Your kin, my lord?” Anorië gasped, her mind grinding to a startled halt.

If he said kin – they had known Tar-Minyatur had a brother who had chosen the life of the Eldar. He had even visited the island during the reigns of the early kings. But surely…

The elf’s wry expression said that he’d either guessed her thought – or heard it. Elves could do that, couldn’t they? Hear thoughts? For all she’d read about them, she’d never met any before today.

“I am Elrond. The elves of Edhellond sent word to me in Imladris that I had kin newly arrived at the mouths of Anduin.”