Fishy Business by Grundy

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Fishy Business

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“Hey, come see this!”

Elwing’s head whipped around to where Eärendil was standing almost knee-deep in the water.

She didn’t run, not exactly, but she did hurry.

His judgement on whether something was dangerous or exciting wasn’t always to be trusted. And wading out that far was dubious in the first place – the tide would turn soon. If he got stuck in the mud again, not only might he be in danger of drowning, they would probably be banned from any more such outings.

“Look!”

She followed where he pointed, following the trail of bubbles until her eyes met something sizable and fish-shaped with a bright orange body and darker red accents on its fins and tail. It was longer than either of them were tall, and by rights ought to have had some difficulty getting this far up the Mouths with the tide out.

“I’ve never seen a fish that size in the shallows before,” Eärendil told her excitedly. “And it doesn’t look like any of the river fish we’ve been taught.”

“That,” Elwing said firmly, “is because it is not a fish.”

She was surprised he couldn’t tell. It might be doing a decent imitation, but that was most definitely one of the maiar. It being in water, likely one of Ulmo’s.

“What is it then?” he asked in confusion.

She told him, and he wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t know, Elwing,” he said, in that way that meant he was trying to find a tactful way to say he thought she was wrong without her getting upset about it. “Why would there be a maia here in our stream?”

She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not our stream. We like to come here, but it doesn’t belong to us any more than the rest of the river. And your father is Ulmo’s messenger, isn’t he? Do you really think Ulmo doesn’t keep tabs on him – and you? I suppose you think those are birds, too.”

She waved at the four feathered creatures high above them. He must have noticed those same ones always followed them whenever they were out of the adults’ sight. She’d grown to expect them. That all four were out today might have struck her as a sign of danger had Eärendil not pointed out the one in the water.

“Aren’t they?” Eärendil asked with such honest confusion that she had to conclude he not only hadn’t noticed, he did think they were normal birds.

She frowned.

Was this another oddity of her heritage? That she could tell so easily that someone was watching over them – even if she wasn’t quite sure who? She rather doubted her grandmother’s mother was much bothered. Melian had not been seen or heard from after her departure from Doriath. It would be a bit belated for her to take an interest now, after Elwing’s parents and brothers were dead, when she’d apparently been fine leaving them unguarded and open to attack in Menegroth.

Sometimes she liked to think it was Manwë himself – all birds were his, weren’t they? Other days, common sense asserted itself and reminded her that it was highly unlikely a girl of thirteen was important enough to warrant the attention of the Aran Einior, even if she was a queen.

But someone was keeping watch, and sometimes the birds called warnings. They were unbothered by their watery kinsperson, though, so she peered a bit closer at the fish shape.

“They’re not birds, any more than that’s a fish. Look, it’s not getting the breathing right.”

Eärendil’s eyes widened as he spotted that giveaway.

“Do you think it would talk to us?” he asked hopefully. “It might be fun to talk to a maia.”

Then his face turned red, as he remembered that for her maiar were not some exotic rarity, but something in her own family.

She was uninclined to let him squirm. Half the time she wasn’t sure what she thought herself about her storied foremothers. She certainly wasn’t upset at him for forgetting about them to the point that he treated her like a normal girl. He was about the only one who did anymore.

“Won’t know until you try,” Elwing shrugged. “You’d better hope it knows elvish tongues, though – I don’t know how to speak fish any more than you do.”