With Lights and Holly and Songs of Good Cheer by cuarthol

With Lights and Holly and Songs of Good Cheer

Read With Lights and Holly and Songs of Good Cheer

Finrod had filled the small cart to overflowing, feeling at this point if he had forgotten something there was no room for it anyway.  Surely nothing critical was being left behind, and they could make do with little oversights.

The sure-footed goat picked its way along the rocky path toward the tower with little trouble, following Finrod who walked ahead, feeling it unfair to add his weight to the animal’s burden.  He was bundled against the cold, perhaps more than necessary, and watched his breath fill the air from the song he used to pass the time on his journey.

Just before the first stars began to shine overhead, the shining white tower came into view.  It always inspired pride in Finrod, having helped in its design and construction.  He had built two towers in Beleriand, and it offered a sense of familiar nostalgia to visit here.

Of course, that was far from the reason he came.  Deeper than friendship, more than mere than kinship - it was the shared experiences of that distant shore, but also his one last connection to the Edain.  Though she straddled that line, she carried it more than any other in Eldamar.

She, likewise, seemed to cherish the knowledge and closeness he had shared with Men, able to be her connection to that piece of her heritage that would otherwise be lost entirely in these Undying Lands.

He was still some distance when he saw her gazing out one of the tower windows, her night-dark hair caught in the wind and dancing about her.  So like her grandmother.

By the time he had made the door she was waiting for him, embracing him eagerly.  

“I have watched for you since last week, Felagund!” Elwing said with a laugh.  “Even knowing you would not arrive so early.”

Finrod smiled and pressed a kiss to her brow.  “I will come earlier next year,” he promised.

She waved off his guilty look.  “Just know you are always welcome company, whatever the time of year.”  But they both knew this was different.  This was special to both of them.

They got the goat settled in the stable among the coos and warbles of many birds, and Finrod insisted unloading the cart could wait until the morning.  She guided him inside to where a crackling fire awaited.  In moments she had pressed a steaming cup of cider into his hands as her cat was rubbing against his legs, trilling happily.

“It took something to get her to stop harassing the birds,” Elwing said, delight dancing in her eyes.  “Thinks them dragons, perhaps.  She is pleasant company when she behaves.”

Finrod scritched between her ears and ran his fingers over her soft black fur.  “What do you call her?”

“Morwen,” Elwing said.  “I never met her, of course.  But stories of her remained in Doriath until the end.”

“I met her once, when she was but a child.  She was strong and proud even then,” Finrod said, letting himself fall into those happier memories.  He did not know what she would think of the homage, whether she would understand or think it merely the strangeness of Elves.

She was kin to both Elwing and Eärendil, through Beren and Tuor, and it made Finrod glad to know that she was remembered in love.

“Now,” she said, “I know it is quite a journey to come here.  Let me show you your rooms and you can settle in.”

***

The morning brought a chorus of birds alive, and Finrod found Elwing in the barn, tending to those birds who had taken some hurt and needed her care.

“This one I do not think will fly again,” she said, cradling the petrel in her arms.  One wing was heavily damaged, but otherwise it appeared quite hale.  “But we will see.”

She settled it back into a nest box before beginning her routine, feeding the birds in the small sanctuary.  Finrod took up the task of chopping wood for the fire and gathering seaweed from the rocky shore.  The morning was well past before they both were huddled back inside, enjoying a pot of cooked grains and berries, and some fish in a light broth.

Their conversation was unhurried, speaking sometimes if a topic came to mind, but also content to just share one another’s company.  Morwen was curled up on a cushion near the fire and was entirely disinterested in anything until Elwing set a dish of chopped smelt nearby.

Over the course of the afternoon, Finrod carried the contents of his cart inside.  Much of it was supplies for the coming year, dried and preserved foods, or cloth for whatever might be required, and other little items that seemed to always be needed.  But some of it was special.  

Finrod was not a great cook by any means, but he recalled some of the dishes that he had enjoyed in Doriath, and did his best to recreate them (with help from some who had made the Great Journey and knew well what foods the Teleri had eaten along the way).  

These would not last but were a delight which Elwing looked forward to every year: fresh cream pastries, roasted roots drizzled with honey, heavy cakes filled with fruits and berries, little meatballs covered with almonds to look like hedgehogs, and hearty pies stuffed with mushrooms and herbs.

But beyond the delightful treats he brought, he carted in a bundle of boughs cut fresh before his journey - evergreens, holly, and mistletoe.  They spent the rest of the day filling the parlor with the beauty and fragrance of Yavanna’s work, lighting candles in the windows and hanging colorful cut gems to scatter the light about the room.

Elwing had made enough food to feed a host, and they shared rich drinks which few in Valinor had ever heard of, and songs that none had.  (Even Morwen was treated with a dish of fresh cream.)  It was such a wonder to Finrod how she carried the Bëorian traditions on.  

Each year he shared something of them, something of the kin she had never had a chance to meet.  This year it was a gift of an embroidered shirt after the style of the elders.  He had once been gifted such a shirt, though it now lay beneath the sea.  But he recalled the design and had worked on this since the previous year.

She had carved for him a swan, not too large but quite detailed, and he marveled at its beauty

“Oh!  Come,” Elwing called suddenly, running to a window and throwing open the shutters.  Finrod followed, and they both huddled at the sill to watch as the bright star of Eärendil passed overhead.

She blew kisses to it, watching for a while with her heart so plainly seen in her face.  

“Ma Amanor, meleth nîn*,” she called softly, knowing that her words would not reach him, but her love would at least.

Finally, when he had passed beyond the sea, she sighed - a hint of longing but not of feeling denied - and settled back into the room and smiled warmly at her companion.

“Ma Amanor, Felagund,” she said, taking his hand.

He returned the sentiment, and they fell into a comfortable silence, surrounded by the vestiges of Bëorian customs to which they clung, grateful that they did not have to carry the burden of that memory alone.

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Chapter End Notes

Ma Amanor, meleth nîn* = Good Solstice/Yule, my love (I kind of cobbled the first half together so it may not be entirely correct)