faderift | Carry Us Home

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Carry Us Home

WHO: Elros and you
WHAT: Celebrating a Sea Rescue
WHEN: nowish
WHERE: down by the docks in one of those seedy taverns
NOTES: relevant crystal post here

It's winter, it's dangerous to go out to sea. But when you live in the poor areas, when there's no food on the table, what's a man to do? And when the ship goes down, then all you can do is pray that someone's there to pull you out. Lucky for this crew, Elros was there.

The tavern is noisy and boisterous, and the rescuers and rescuees alike are sopping wet, wrapped in blankets, with mugs of hot ale shoved into their hands. Elros took a slop and some brave souls out, the minute he realised, jumped in with a rope around his waist to pull the sailors in, and somehow they've come out of this mess without a single soul lost. He's leading them all in a rousing chorus of a popular Falathrim sea shanty that every sailor on his own world knows.

On a cold winters night
With a storm at its height
The lifeboat answered the call.
They pitched and they tossed
Till we thought they were lost
As we watched from the harbor wall.

Though the night was pitch black,
There was no turning back,
For someone was waiting out there,
But each volunteer
Had to live with his fear
As they joined in a silent prayer.

Carry us home, home, home from the sea
Sweet Lady Uinen, answer our plea
And carry us home, home, home from the sea
Carry us safely home from the sea!

Care to join them?

There's injuries too, cuts and scrapes and one head wound that Elros is hovering over worriedly, but the man in question is sitting up and talking, so that's something, at least.

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Once told where he is, Christine hurries over with a leather satchel of medical supplies. Entering the tavern to see the scene laid out before her, she's glad to see nothing ghastly has happened. Plenty stop and stare at her with her delicate, unweathered features. She certainly doesn't look like an everyday patron.

Wasting no time, Christine claps her hands to gain everyone's attention.

"Pardon me. I am the healer Elros sent for, and I am a mage. If you have a problem with magical healing, line up on this side and I will treat you with potions and bandages only. If you do not mind magical healing, line up over here and I will do my best to magically speed up the healing process." Most people simply blink at her, and she points a finger in each direction. "Make haste! I am a busy woman!" Not that she doesn't make time for patients, but you have to lead people like this around or they'll stare slack-jawed for far too long.

"Christine! Milady, you're a lifesaver." Elros detaches himself from the crowd and hurries over.

"Thank you - here, I'll take you over to the head injury, the others are mostly cuts and bruises, so far as I can tell. You heard the lady, you old soaks, let's get a move on! Don't keep her waiting now, she's come down here in this horrible weather!"

Said injury is the captain of the ship, (or well, what passes for a captain, when you're talking about a tiny fishing boat with only a few crew, all of whom are family because there's no money to pay for anything better or more workers), whose head is bandaged and whose wife is haraunging him from beside the fire for being idiot enough to go out there at all.

Horrible weather that has wreaked havoc on her hair! The hood of her cape kept blowing back so her waves are a tangled mess, but she twists them up out of the way as she follows Elros towards the man, and quickly sticks a few pins in to hold the mass out of her face.

"Hello, ser," she begins, all politeness before nodding to his wife. "Can you tell me how you received this injury?" Her hand lifts to delicately start unwinding the bandage.

The bandage is smartly wrapped - Elros knows his way around a battlefield enough for that, at least, and the old fisherman wxplains to her how a wave swamped the boat and he's not sure but he thinks he caught up against the rigging.

"He was very groggy when I pulled him out." Elros informs her. "I am pretty sure he swallowed some water."

The man most likely has a concussion, and Christine nods along to what both he and Elros say, pausing to look at the wound and clicking her tongue.

"You are very lucky to be here and conscious," she says, placing a hand above the wound. "You most likely have a concussion, and that is something I cannot fix. Given several hours of taking it easy, it will pass on its own. This wound, however, I can do something with."

Her eyes glow blue as her spirit of Faith sends healing energy through Christine and into the wound. She focuses on putting it in exactly the right place, and after a moment, her eyes return to normal. "There; I will put the bandage back, and you will find the wound closes much faster than it would on its own."

Elros watches with interest - healing here is very different to things at home - and both the fisherman and his wife thank her, the old man advising her that she's welcome to the pick of his next catch, although that just sets his wife off again, scolding him for daring the waves in this weather.

"Thank you, Christine! With conditions down here being what they are, I was worried it might get infected or that I might have missed something." Elros says as he tugs her away to leave them at it.

"And they're so prickly about accepting 'handouts', for all they have nothing. Hopefully they won't argue about me replacing the boat, at least."

Christine smiles at the offer, and even more at his wife going off. It feels familiar; like she would berate Church the same way for putting himself in danger, but it would come from a place of love.

"Oh, Elros! That is a large undertaking. Kind though it is, are you sure you would be able to do it?"

"I'll just take apart the little skiffs I was building." He shrugs. "With Maglor gone, the primary reason for building the little boat is rather lost, and ... well. I miss the sea, but they need to go out to fish. They have no work, other than that, no other way to feed their families. By the end of that weird... blu illness, I had wood enough for three little boats. That should do for one small fishing boat."

He looks at the people in the tavern, and there's something very fond in his eyes.

"They're not bad people, here. Just... down on their luck. They need it more than I do."

Fingon strides into the tavern not long after they cut the conversation, a satchel tucked under his cloak and eyes roving the room for Elros' party.

"There you are," he says, as he comes over. "I brought what I could- tell me if it's not enough, and I'll find more."

Taking a seat on the edge of the crowd, he asks, "How is he?"

His generosity touches her heart, and she reaches out to give his arm a fond squeeze. She's tried doing something for the people of Kirkwall in her own small way, but she has so many duties that it hasn't amounted to more than a few pairs of knitted wool socks given freely to her neighbors in Lowtown during the harshest of the winter snows. Elros isn't even of this world, and he's giving his time and resources to these people.

"They will appreciate it greatly. And as you build this boat, I must come bring you lunch. It will be hungry work." Giving a brief smile, she looks towards the others who need their minor injuries looked at. "I had better get back to it."

Elros breaks away from the crowd to come over and push a mug into his hands.

"It's cheap, but decent." He assures him and nods towards the corner of the room.

"Christine came by, bless her. He'll heal and be back on the seas in no time. I'll start ripping apart the little boats and building something decent for them with the boards, next week."

He has no duties, himself, for he's thrown his lot in here, with those who need him, and has no regrets. But he smiles at her.

"I love your lunches, so I can't say I mind! Thank you for coming down."

"I've likely had worse," Fingon replies, cheerfully taking a swig. And yes, beats seel blood by a mile- and better that plenty of the ale he's had in Kirkwall, to draw a more fair comparison.

He eyes Elros at that admission.

"Your skiffs? It's a kind deed you're doing, Elros, but I trust they won't be the last you make for yourself?"

"Can't be any worse than the stuff the Easterlings swig." Elros opinions cheerfully and shrugs.

"They need it more than I do. I can always try again after."

"I couldn't say," he shrugs. "Maedhros and Maglor always had more to do with the Easterlings than I did. Bor came to some of the early planning meetings, as did a few of Ulfang's sons...."

He'd thought Maedhros had had the matter well in hand and gone back to trying to claw back Nargothrond. If he could go back, knowing what he did now....

Well, it seems he hadn't had the right set of priorities, did he?

"You can. And I suppose you don't need one right away." He takes another sip and eyes Elros.

"How are you holding up?"

Elros makes a face.

"You aren't missing much, I assure you. They're a massive headache to deal with."

He slumps against the bench and watches the room, his voice low enough to be heard by Fingon but not so loud as to float over the general hubbub.

"Well enough. It isn't as if I'm not used to losing them - or people in general. And at least I got him to promise to try and see Elrond before he vanished. That way he'll be properly looked after." He slides a glance over Fingon's way.

"What of you?"

"More than Orodreth?" Fingon asks, voice wry and slightly tired at the very thought. "No- never mind, I wouldn't wish a pigheaded family fight on anyone, really."

It was just. Kind of tempting. Sometimes.

He takes a long look at Elros, and meets his eyes. "I worry. About him, certainly- though perhaps I shouldn't say anything, to survive this long he must be tougher than I think he realizes."

Tougher than I am, he doesn't say, because it's insane to start getting into arguments about this sort of thing.

"About Maedhros...very much. I worry he's taking the loss as punishment, for what he did to Maglor."

"I wouldn't know! I never knew Orodreth." Elros points out, a little wry, a little resigned. So many of his family died long before he was born.

He nods. "He is, although he likes to pretend he's not. He'll be alright, I think. Especially if Elrond can get to him. But Maedhros..." He blows a breath out.

"Stubborn, stupid, fool." He sighs. "Both of them, always blaming themselves. You'd think they'd have worked out not all the wrong in the world is their fault by now. I can try and distract him a bit, if you want."

"You should ask Galadriel, if you want a fair opinion," Fingon says, "We've been sniping by mail for the past few years, and I'm like to be too uncharitable toward him."

He runs a hand absently though his hair; the next time he sees Orodreth will be in Mandos, it seems, and the question of his cousin's priorities and what allegiance the kingdoms of the Noldor owe to each other and to the High King will be moot anyway.

"But if you want to know about any of the others... Maedhros and Maglor must have covered most of the House of Finwe. But your father's line, if you ever want to hear more of them, I would be happy to tell of them."

He nods; Elros has Maedhros pinned down precisely. "I think that at this point, he believes even if he isn't responsible for something he might as well be. He failed to prevent it, perhaps... or maybe it's just that one more piece of guilt no longer bothers him. Your company would do him some good, I think."

Elros rolls his eyes in sympathy.

"I'll drag him out to the docks and get him to help me there, I think. Hopefully doing something practical will help."

"It has as good a chance as anything. Better than most, in truth; he is a Noldo." Noldo and Feanorian, all prone to throwing themselves into their tasks....

A small smile. "Tell me when you need a break from him, though. He will cling, and it can be a bit much."

"Not all of you like to build things! Maglor's not bad but he gets distracted so easily."

Elros laughs and then sobers. "Both of them, aye. And I suppose he'll be twice as bad, without Maglor here. I will! And you as well, eh?"

"Maglor is a Great Artist, and thus entitled to a bit of eccentricity," Fingon intones, solemnity undercut by the glint in his eyes.

"He may well be. We know Maglor is alive now, and not in immediate danger. That is something, I suppose- he know nothing when we arrived. In the long run, the knowledge may help." He smiles wryly at Elros. "But for now, we shall have to share a red-headed shadow."

Elros sputters laughter into his mug.

"Oh dear, I feel there is some sort of story there I don't know. He always tried so hard to be respectable around us."

He nods. "We will just have to make sure he doesn't mope too much!"

"Oh. Did he, now."

The look on his face grows into a wide, wicked grin.

"None of us were ever respectable, when we were young- well, Turno, maybe, but I don't know how that happened! But Makalaure was the budding star of Tirion's bards from the moment he could string words together, and he knew it. He soaked up the attention in a room without even trying."

Fingon sighs theatrically, all fond exasperation. "He wasn't unkind about it, of course. At least, when he noticed. But it could be galling, trying to play whenever he was making an appearance."

Nodding back, "He'll be all right. We just have to be patient."

Elros' eyes light up.

"Oh do tell. It sounds like there were all sorts of the types of antics that Elrond and I were told strictly are inappropriate for princes!"

He laughs softly. "Somehow though, I'm not surprised. Even at their worst, people would turn to look when Maglor pulled out his harp."

He grins. "Very patient. And maybe thump him if he gets too bad."

"Well, no one was entirely sure what was appropriate for princes in those days. There had only been three before us, after all."

And three more different one could hardly imagine- not a great help in establishing a standard.

"We did most of the things one would expect from the young and safe and slightly bored. We skipped lessons and functions to go swimming, we stole from Grandfather's kitchens for picnics, I talked Russandol into cliff diving often enough to make our mothers weep... Tyelkormo tried to talk his parents into adopting a giant lizard creature which had survived the Lamps when he was twenty or so. But Makalaure...let me see if I can do it...."

And he turns, posture changing in a dozen subtle ways, to mimic the look of Makalaure the Young Prodigy, almost arrogant in his self-assurance as he soaks in well-deserved applause. It's not perfect, but would have been recognizable for anyone who had seen the original version.

Then he laughs. "But then, I suppose we were all a little full of ourselves in our own way. That's why we left."

Fingon snorts. "Yes. Don't let him wallow, and he'll be the better for it."

Elros listens avidly, intrigued by a glimpse of a past he has never known, growing up the way he did, in the time he did.

"A Giant Lizard?" He says with a wistful lust that would likely have made Maedhros and Maglor shake their heads in despair. "Did he succeed?"

He stares and then nearly falls over stifling his laughter.

"Oh dear, oh! No wonder he used to try and shut Maedhros up on those rare occasions he would bring up their past! That's beautiful, and I will treasure that image in hopes of being able to bring it up to his face one day."

He grins. "It might make even Maedhros laugh, now."

Fingon has to snort at that look-clearly there are a few other stories he needs to tell about his eldest cousins. It wouldn't do at all to give Elros the wrong idea of his guardians.

"No, I'm afraid Aunt Nerdanel put her foot down that time. Stray birds and kittens were one thing, but a pet that could eat a toddler? Not a good idea in that house."

He grins as Elros nearly keel over. Clearly, his work is done.

"He did improve, eventually. If one is going to be fair. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try the impression on Maedhros, and see if he still has the ability to laugh."

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Carry Us Home

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