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The terrible, crashing sounds had grown quiet. The screams cut off. The moans and groans ebbed away as the tide.
The children weren’t scared. They didn’t know to be scared. Nana had given them to Sir Egalmoth, who was to play with them instead of Haruni, their nurse.
Sir Egalmoth had carried the two deep into the bluffs that swooped near the river delta, and waded up a little stream that slunk into one of Sirion’s mouths. There, he had placed them half-way into a cave, and told them to be quiet while they played. He was going to practise his sword-arts, he said; and the sword was for big boys, not little ones like they were. The children were a bit put out at this, but acquiesced when promised roasted hazel-nuts to eat that evening.
They played with the pebbles by the stream, and one boy put a worm on the shoulder of the other, making him shriek in surprise. Sir Egalmoth hushed them. “Play quietly, now. It’s part of the game! Ye shan’t get honey treats to-night if ye’re noisy!”
The boys loved honey treats, and so they were quiet, and the worm was examined by the two in peaceful silence.
When they were arranging pebbles into families—the nana, the children, the nursemaids, the noble and gentle knight; and far to one side, the ada sank into the water—a shout came from downstream. Sir Egalmoth told them to stay put, that they were allowed to be alone, just for a little while; and then he set off, his sword loose in its scabbard, and his boots squelching in the brook.
The children got bored of the stone family. The one wanted to splash at the water, to see what new colours it made (for their eyesight was better than that of mortal children, and the world was all the beautiful for it). The second wanted to explore the little cave behind the little waterfall. They could make a secret base! And invite Haruni for tea, and maybe even sleep in there!
He clambered into the crevice, and admired the natural beauty of the muddy stone and tree roots. It was a most fine cave indeed.
His brother was giggling as he splashed in the stream, his outside-clothes thoroughly soaked.
The funny noises were louder now, but they focussed all the more on the joys of the natural world. They struggled yet with such lofty concepts as elven-children innately understood, but their slower growth meant that they often had the ken of less than their Mannish peers. Whatever the case, both boys stubbornly ignored the clash of steel and distant shouts. They were here to play, and play they would.
The first boy the second boy the beauty of the water, and together they laughed as their minds blended. The second the first the beauty of the earth, and together they delighted in the fruits of the Belain.
The second boy wondered when they ought to go home, for he was muddy (and liked it little). The first boy thought that they must wait for Sir Egalmoth to return, but little liked the way his tunic clung to his skin.
The children grew hungry. It was getting late, and Sir Egalmoth had yet to come back. One boy knew he would not. The other boy knew that adults didn’t lie, and so Sir Egalmoth would be back before supper, and then they would have roasted hazel-nuts and honey treats aplenty.
When at last the strange noises had quieted—and indeed, it was too quiet, as if the entire town had ceased to exist—it was past supper-time. They were hungry and thirsty and needed to wee. They couldn’t drink river-water (Haruni said that you grew a hundred legs and then died if you drank bad water), but neither did they wish to use the stream as a privy.
After much deliberation, sulking, and shrieking thoughts, the children decided that it was nap-time.
Or rather, one did.
The sodden boy had spotted a tiny fish, and he wanted to see if he could catch it, and what kind of fish it was, and if it was family to the big fish that the fishing-boats caught.
The muddy boy wanted Nana. Nana was safe and warm, and even when she couldn’t spend a lot of time with them, she always hugged them and said that she loved them just as much as the shiniest rock in the world. The children loved her more than any rock. She was perfect, and safe, and even when she wasn’t with them, she was working hard to keep everyone in the Haven safe. They were proud to have her as their nana.
Where was Nana? No, no. They mustn’t think about Nana now, there was a fish! They—he—had almost caught it that time!
Then the silence was broken.
The usual hubbub of people had returned to the background of ever-swelling music. The children relaxed. Their home wasn’t gone, after all! Sir Egalmoth would be here any moment now, with hazel-nuts and honey treats and cakes and all sorts of lovely desserts. The one boy trilled like a sparrow in sheer delight.
The voices grew closer, but the music was strange, eerie.
The children didn’t recognise those voices! How could they not recognise them? Between the two of them, they knew everyone! The first boy huddled in their cave, hoping that Sir Egalmoth and Nana would come rescue them (but his hopes were in vain). The second boy listened eagerly, his attention having turned to frogs over fish.
The voices were at the mouth of the stream, and they were arguing. A white fire, burning—
“…Eluchílu…” said one voice, amongst the garbled mass of unknown words.
“Eluchílu?” laughed another, “…Eluchiliath…”
Then footsteps began their . The one boy was distracted—a frog! a real frog! They had found a real frog!
The other interspersed their internal dialogue with visions of fire and blood, and the endless depths of the sea. Frog! the frog was brownish! And it bounced and hopped and ribbited!
The footsteps crescendoed, and then stopped. “Hínu?”
The child grimaced. His words were strange. Not proper Eðellen at all! The other child ignored his brother, and splashed some more in the stream.
“Ai! ai! how we have fallen, and now that I must be their saviours? I?” the voice bemoaned.
The children glanced up with one set of eyes. “Well met! Wanna help me catch a frog, sir…” they peered at the owner of the voice—mighty as the sea—curiously, “Sir Sea-man?”
“Nay, nay, I am not of the sea, child,” the Sea-Knight replied. “Ye may call me Lauro, pi— little one.”
“Wanna catch a frog, Lauro?” the child asked again.
“I… I’m afraid I don’t have time to catch frogs just now; I do apologise.”
Lauro the Sea-Knight had truly beautiful hair; a shade of brown so dark that it seemed black, except where it a glossy auburn in the last rays of Anor. His clothing was of a cut similar to Sir Egalmoth’s, with a surcoat over his armour—brigandine, surely—and his greaves and sabatons and… and… arm-armours were all wrought of fine mithril, gilded in entrancing patterns. Atop his head was a battered helm; made of bronze with a red plume. All of it was utterly filthy. The armour was muddied and dented, his hair oddly wet, his surcoat’s original colour hidden in a swathe of red. The wooden hilt of his strange knife-like sword (safely in its scabbard) was both encrusted and dripping with blood.
“Wow,” said the children through one mouth. “Didst thou fight a monster? That’s a lotta blood. ? We can kiss it better if it hurts!”
“Nay, child, I am well enough. What’s thy name, now?” Lauro smiled disarmingly, his teeth sharp and reddened.
“ hazel-nuts? Sir Egalmoth promised,” said the one boy. The other boy was silent.
“Thou hast a name, right? Surely, thou hast a name, child.” Lauro sounded anxious. Grown-ups weren’t supposed to sound anxious. It wasn’t natural.
“Wan’ hazel-nuts.”
“Hast thou a brother? thou the son of Lady Elwing?” he sounded outright distressed—mighty as the sea, and yet forever cursed to wande— “Little one?”
The boy stamped his foot. “Hazel-nuts.”
In one fell movement, Lauro the Sea-Knight snatched the child up and into his arms. The other child was unnerved. They wanted Nana, not him!
He chanted a song of Wizardry,
of piercing, opening, of treachery;
revealing, uncovering, betraying—
Lauro crouched down and cautiously approached the second boy, murmuring soothing nothings—calming him as he calmed a skittish colt.
“Little one, I shan’t hurt thee,” said he.
“An’ my brother?” asked the first boy for the second.
Lauro seemed thrown off by this, but only for a moment. “Upon mine honour, I shall harm neither thee nor thy brother. Ye are safe with me.”
Upon his honour.
“Come hither, child. ’Tis cold and damp here, and at my camp there is a hot fire and warm food.”
That was the truth, but still the child was hesitant.
“Warm food that ye should eat, should ye come with me,” Lauro the Sea-Knight clarified.
The children relaxed. The other boy climbed into Lauro’s arms. “And what are your names, my children?” asked he.
The second boy gave him their names.
Still, the elf seemed shocked. “Have ye no ataressu? no… father-names?”
“Dunno what a father-name is. Nana named us. Ada is at sea,” they explained, obvious though it was. Of course their ada was at sea! That is what everyone’s ada did!
They walked downstream, towards the other voices. Soon enough they reached the promised fire, and the food.
They didn’t recognise any of the faces. The music was weeping, as the elves in the medical tent slipped ever closer to Bannos. The child, too, wept to know death.
Sir Lauro hushed him and comforted him, and carried them to the mess, where food awaited. Tired though they were, the children couldn’t help but perk up at the sight—and smell—of roasting venison, and cooked and steamed and roasted and boiled and raw and seared and grilled and fried and baked foods of every kind. It was paradise.
“Kanafinwë Makalaurë!” a harsh voice called out, followed by the searing, burning, mourning, screaming music. An elf stood perhaps five rods behind Sir Lauro, glaring at him as if he could set the Sea-Knight ablaze with his eyes alone.
The elf a rush of words in the language they couldn’t understand, arguing fiercely with Sir Lauro. The boys couldn’t help but take in his appearance, situated as they were.
He was tall; taller than anyone they had ever seen, and covered in scars. They were no stranger to scars, but these were in a pattern that made one boy ill. They had seen similar scars but once before, on an elf who had gone to Bannos shortly after her arrival at the Havens. They’d put flowers on her cairn. The other elf, however, bore himself like a king—or how a king ought to bear himself, they thought. His hair was brown and red all at the same time, and cut short to his chin, as was the custom of the Sendrim and the Laegrim, but not of Goloðren kings. Only the low-born Gœlyð cut their hair thusly. His eyes burned white, and his face was set in a permanent scowl. His armour was bloodier even than Sir Lauro’s, and his sword sat upon his right hip.
“…tell me, Káno, whom didst thou slay to steal away these children? Did their mother beg for her life in front of them? thou her before them? Tell me, Kanafinwë.” The tall elven-king had switched from the other language to Eðellen.
“I slew none of their kin. I found them abandoned in the forest, brother. And I do believe that ye shall find that they have bonded with me. I am their father, Aranya.”
The children were confused. Who had killed who? What was going on? Was Nana dead? Who was Kanafinwë? And why had Lauro said—
Lauro wasn’t blond, so he wasn’t their father. It was simple as that.
But the taller elf laughed cruelly, asking: “a, brother, thou’rt their father? Tell me, what names have they then, that thou art their father? Knowest thou even their mother-names?”
“Their mother-names are Elros and Elrond. I have yet to select appropriate names, myself.”
The children burst into tears. It was all too much. They were hungry, and tired, and thirsty, and dozens of strangers watched as— as—
They wiggled happily into Atya’s bed, seeking warmth and comfort from another shared nightmare. His arms wrapped around them, securi—
No.
He had taken their names. And no-one else had even questioned it.
And Elrond thought to himself, and knew: in but ten years they would have forgotten their old names. Elf-dome would he be, for he was the elf of the cave. And star-foam would be his brother, for ever would he love the sea.
And deep down, he knew that no-one in Endor would ever speak their mother-names again. Not even themselves.