Pack the Parcel by daughterofshadows, Idrils Scribe, , Grundy

White Gulls

Nellas takes young Elwing to the beach

“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.