4.  Waters Deep And Cold

 

 

 

Elrond raced across the stubbled barley field.  The cold spring air stung his face, but he did not care.  He was out of the house, and away from the terrible argument, and that was all that mattered.  Elros’s words had terrified him, as had the rage boiling up inside Maedhros.  As they shouted at each other, the world had begun to swim before Elrond’s eyes, and he had fled the house quickly, before anyone noticed and tried to stop him.  He had left with no real destination in mind, but as the chill penetrated his mind and cooled his feverish thoughts, he knew where he wanted to go.

 

There was a little hollow in the riverbank that he and Elros had discovered years ago, when they were little.  The river curved at that point, forming a calm, protected cove, and the trees grew in interesting twists, leaning out over the water.  The boys would play in the mud and wade in the shallow water, looking for minnows.  Even after they had grown too big for splashing and mud pies, both Elros and Elrond had continued to go to the hollow when they needed to be alone with their thoughts.  Deeply in need of the soothing sound of the river, Elrond decided to go to the hollow now.

 

It was not far from the barley field to the river.  Elrond climbed over a stile, and carefully walked down the slope.  He could hear the river even from here, and it called out to him.  He was so intent on reaching his destination that he did not notice just how loud the river was.  It was only when he was close enough to see it that he stopped short in surprise.

 

The familiar little hollow and cove had vanished.  Instead, the river, swollen by the spring thaw and the recent rains, roared and boiled over its banks.  It was no longer a pleasant place to sit and think; instead, it was as furious and menacing as the scene he had left at home.  Elrond turned to leave, intending to find another place to hide.  But, as he did so, the riverbank, softened and weakened by the rain, gave way.  His foot slid out from under him, and then the whole bank was moving.  A large piece of earth slid into the river, taking Elrond with it.

 

His scream of surprise was cut off as the frigid water closed over his head.  But Elrond was a strong swimmer, and he struggled to the surface.  As he gasped for air, he realized that he was in a situation more dangerous than any he could remember.  He was caught in the current, and the river was carrying him swiftly away from his familiar play places.  He could breathe, but he swallowed gulps of cold, brown water with each breath.  The cold, which had been bracing when Elrond was on dry land, pierced his body like a sword, and numbed his mind.

 

Elrond flailed his arms and legs just enough to keep his head above water, but even that movement soon became too difficult.  The roar of the swollen river grew louder, and Elrond twisted around to see that he was approaching a rocky area.  If he did not do something, the river would dash him against the rocks and kill him.  He summoned a burst of strength, and wrapped his arms around the first large rock he saw.  He had only enough strength to hold on, but it was enough.  His body shook uncontrollably, but he held that rock tighter than he had ever held anything before.  Water splashed and sprayed around Elrond, and he could no longer feel anything.  Drawing a deep, wet breath, he screamed for help that he feared would never come.

 

 

 

Elros dashed through the poultry yard.  The flock of geese scattered at his approach, honking angrily, but he paid them no attention.  He knocked at the door to the privy.  When he received no answer, he poked the door open and peered inside.  Elrond was not there.  Elros could hear Maedhros calling for Elrond from the horse barn.  Elrond had enjoyed his ride that morning.  Elros hurried to the horse barn door, just in time to see Maedhros emerge, alone.

 

“He is not in any of the stalls,” Maedhros said.  “Nor is he in the hayloft.”

 

Maglor’s boots made a squishing sound as he approached.  “He is not in the grain bins, either.  That, at least, is a relief.”

 

Elros glanced back at the poultry yard and hung his head.  Maglor sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.  Suddenly, he stopped, and looked again at a particular patch of ground.  “Look,” he said.  “Tracks.”

 

Maedhros squinted at the marks.  “Elrond?  Or Elros?  They both have the run of this area.”

 

“Elrond.  Look, they lead away towards the fields.”

 

Elros did not wait for Maglor and Maedhros.  He trotted off in the direction of the tracks.  As he approached the end of the vegetable garden, he realized where Elrond had gone, for he himself would have done the same thing.  Elros broke into a run and headed for the river.

 

He climbed over the stile, and stared in horror at what he saw.  The river raged in thick, brown torrents over the hollow, and there was a freshly exposed swath of bare earth at his feet.  For the first time, Elros realized that Elrond might be in very serious danger, or be badly hurt, or even – his stomach tied itself into knots at that possibility.

 

“Elrond,” he moaned.  “Elrond.  Elrond, Elrond, Elrond, where are you?”

 

His feet began to move, and he ran downstream, his heart thumping in his throat with every step.  Just as he was beginning to fear that Elrond was lying drowned at the bottom of the river, he came to the rocky place.  In the middle of the river, the first rock jutted out of the water.  As Elros approached the water’s edge, he saw the small, wet figure clutching it.  Elrond was crying in terror, and Elros almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

 

“Elrond!” he shouted.  “I have come for you!  It is all right, you can come back to us!”

 

Elrond’s reply was almost lost in the rush of the water.  “The current is too strong!  I cannot swim to shore!  I am too cold and tired!”

 

Elros glanced around and spied a branch that had fallen from a tree during a winter storm.  It was sodden and difficult to lift, but he managed to maneuver it out across the water.  For one brilliant moment, he thought it would be enough, but it came up short.  It did not quite reach Elrond’s rock, and Elrond either could not or would not let go to reach for it.  Elros pushed forward until his toes were in the water, and then pushed the branch just a little farther into the river.  The end jerked, and then the current caught it and whirled it away from him.  The branch floated for a brief moment, then smashed against the rocks.

 

Elrond screamed, and Elros began to cry as well.  This was a situation far more dangerous and frightening than he was prepared to face alone.  As long as he could remember, there had been one person who was always there to solve problems and make things all right.  In that moment, Elros forgot all of his anger and resentment, and turned to run.

 

“Where are you going?” Elrond cried.  “Do not go away and leave me alone!”

 

“I will come back,” Elros told him.  “I am going to get Maglor.  He will help us!” 

 

Elrond’s screams echoed in his ears as he ran back to where the hollow had been.  When he arrived, Maglor and Maedhros had just leaped over the stile.  Maglor’s eyes were wide as he took in the damage from the flood.  He whirled around when he heard Elros’s approach.

 

“Maglor!”  Elros flung himself into Maglor’s arms.  “Maglor, come quickly!  Elrond fell into the river, and the current took him, and he is holding a rock, and he cannot swim to shore, and you must help him, come quickly, please, please!”

 

Maglor did not waste time on a reply.  He gave Elros a nudge, and Elros led him and Maedhros to the place where he had found Elrond.  Elrond had slipped a little lower on the rock, but his head was still clear of the water.  Maglor did not stop at the river’s edge, but shed his cloak and waded into the water, which foamed about his knees.  Maedhros shoved past Elros, and seized Maglor’s arm.

 

“What are you thinking?” he cried.  “You cannot simply walk out and fetch him through that current.”

 

“He cannot let go of the rock unless someone is there to pull him to shore.”

 

Maedhros frowned.  “If you are going to do that, you will need an anchor.  I will hold your arm.”

 

Maedhros braced himself in the soft mud, and grasped Maglor’s wrist with his powerful left hand.  Maglor waded out again, stretching as far as he was able.  Elrond almost lost his grip on the rock, but managed to hang on, though he slipped a little lower in the water.

 

“I cannot reach him!” Maglor cried.  “He is just a little bit further out.”

 

Maedhros stepped forward, planting his feet once more.  It was still not enough.  Maglor strained desperately, but his hand closed on air.  Maedhros looked around for aid, and his glance fell on Elros.

 

“Stop crying, Elros,” he said, not unkindly, though his voice was rough with effort.  “We will rescue your brother, but you will have to help us.  Come here.”

 

Elros obediently moved to the water’s edge.  “What must I do?’

 

“Maglor and I are going to step further into the river.  You must hold my other arm, and pull back as hard as you can to anchor us.  Can you do that?”

 

Elros could not see how his small body would help to anchor two grown Elves against such a current, and the idea of grasping Maedhros’s stump sent a chill up his spine, but he did not argue.  He reached out and clasped the stump between both of his hands, twining his fingers into the cloth of Maedhros’s sleeve.  The stump was hard with muscle, and surprisingly smooth and clean.  There was no mystery to it now.  It was simply flesh and bone, just like the rest of Maedhros.

 

 Elros leaned back, so that he was almost squatting on the riverbank.  Maedhros took one cautious step, then another.  Maglor stretched as far as he could.  His hand flailed for a moment.  Then, with a supreme surge of effort, he managed to grasp Elrond’s arm.

 

“I have him!” Maglor cried.  Maedhros and Elros both pulled, and Maglor gathered Elrond into a firmer grip and brought him ashore.  Elros looked at his brother, cradled safely in Maglor’s arms, and began to cry again with relief.

 

Elrond was dripping wet, and his lips were purplish blue.  He had stopped screaming, and shivered uncontrollably.  Maedhros picked up Maglor’s cloak and draped it over Elrond.  Maglor mopped some of the water from Elrond’s hair, then tucked the cloak around him.  “Hurry,” he said.  “We must get him home.”  He strode back up the incline, with Elrond clasped firmly to his chest, and Elros and Maedhros close at his heels.

 

 

 

When they approached the house, Maglor began to issue orders.  “Elros, go to the shed and bring lots of firewood.  Maedhros, go upstairs and fetch dry clothes for Elros from the twins’ chamber and blankets for Elrond from the chest at the top of the stairs.  Hang several in front of the fire in the kitchen, and bring two up to my bedchamber.  Elrond is too cold, and he must be warmed quickly.”

 

Reluctantly, Elros headed for the shed, pausing once to watch as Maglor carried Elrond inside the house.  He took the leather firewood carrier off of its hook and filled it with as much wood as he could lift, then added a handful of kindling sticks.  He hauled the carrier into the house, and found Maedhros in the kitchen, setting blankets on chairs to warm before the fire.  Maedhros took a log and some kindling from the carrier and added them to the blaze.

 

“That should warm the blankets quickly,” he said.  “I will carry the rest of the wood upstairs to Maglor.”  He hung the soup kettle over the fire, and thrust a shirt, stockings, and a pair of trousers at Elros.  “Here.  Change out of your wet things and hang them up to dry.  Watch the soup, and when it is hot, ladle some into a bowl, and bring it up to Maglor’s chamber.  Can you do that?”

 

Elros nodded, and Maglor left, taking the wood with him.  Alone in the kitchen, Elros stripped off his clothes and rubbed at his hair with a kitchen towel.  He pulled on the dry clothes that Maedhros had given him, and realized that the stockings did not match, and the trousers were Elrond’s.  For some reason, this distressed him, and he choked a little.  He stirred the soup, and tried to concentrate on the fact that Elrond was safely back at home, and that Maglor was taking care of him.

 

Maedhros came downstairs a short time later to collect the warmed blankets.  Elros looked up from the soup.  “Is Elrond all right?” he asked.

 

“He is still very cold.  These blankets will help him.  What about the soup?”

 

“It is almost ready.”

 

“Good.  Bring it upstairs soon.”  Maedhros folded the blankets, and carried them away.

 

When the soup steamed, Elros wrapped his hand in a towel, as he had seen Maglor do, and removed the pot from the fire.  He put some soup into a bowl, found a spoon, and carefully carried it up the stairs, making sure not to spill a drop.  When he reached Maglor’s door, he nudged at it with his foot.  Maedhros opened the door, took the bowl from him, and brought it to Maglor.  Elros had a glimpse of Maglor hovering over Elrond, who was lying on a pillow by the fireplace, wrapped in blankets.  Then Maedhros returned, put his hand on Elros’s shoulder, and steered him away from the door and down the stairs.

 

They did not speak as they returned to the kitchen, where Maedhros prepared two more bowls of soup.  He made Elros sit at the kitchen table, and set one bowl in front of him.  “Eat that,” he said.  “I am sure you are hungry after all that has happened.”

 

Elros stirred his soup, and even managed to swallow a few spoonfuls.  He stared morosely at the chunks of meat and vegetables, and wished once again that he could start the day over. 

 

Maedhros ate half of his own soup, then looked at Elros.  “Elrond will be fine,” he said.  “Maglor will make sure that he is warm inside and out, and then put him to bed.  In a few days, Elrond will be running around as though this had never happened.”

 

That reassured Elros a little, and he ate a few more spoonfuls of soup.  He realized that he was, in fact, very hungry, for he had thrown his lunch at Maedhros instead of eating it.  He thought of the stain on the wall, and bowed his head in shame.  Maedhros regarded him in silence for a while, then spoke again.

 

“Some of the Secondborn have a custom, when their children have misbehaved, to strike them hard, many times, on their legs and bottoms.”

 

Elros looked up at that.  He was partially descended from Men.  He wondered if Maedhros planned to strike his legs and bottom.  If so, he guessed that he deserved it.

 

Maedhros met his gaze, his face stern.  “For myself, I think that is a savage custom, and I believe that Maglor thinks so as well.  It was certainly not part of our upbringing, nor that of any Elf that I know.  Since the first time I witnessed it, I was horrified that an adult would strike a child in the name of discipline.  However,” he added, “for the first time, I believe I can understand why someone might want to do so.”

 

Elros gulped.  “Are you going to strike me?”

 

Maedhros raised an eyebrow.  “Of course not.  It is a terrible custom.  My views on that have not changed.  Even if they had, Maglor is your guardian, not I, and any discipline you earn is his responsibility.  But I will say that I am extremely displeased with your behavior today.”

 

Elros hung his head again.  He could not think of an adequate reply, for Maedhros was right.  He had been beyond naughty, and Elrond had paid the price for that.  Thoroughly miserable, Elros resumed eating, though the rich soup tasted like water in his mouth.  Maedhros finished his own food, then took the bowl into the kitchen.  Elros choked down the last of the soup and followed him.

 

They washed the bowls in silence.  Maglor did not come downstairs, so Maedhros took the last of the soup upstairs for him, along with some bread.  When he returned, he directed Elros to a chair.  “Maglor asked me to keep you busy and inside the house for the rest of the afternoon,” he said.  He walked to the elaborately carved bookshelf, thought for a while, then selected a volume.  He flipped through the pages, then opened it to a particular point near the beginning, and set it in Elros’s lap.

 

“That is the story of the Darkening of the Two Trees and the death of High King Finwë, my grandfather.  Read it through, and then write a short composition on the response of Fëanor to Fingolfin’s offer of reconciliation.”

 

All through that long, silent afternoon, Elros read the story, and considered Fëanor’s distant response to his half-brother’s forgiveness.  Maedhros moved in and out of the main room, doing small chores, and occasionally going upstairs to look in on Maglor and Elrond.  Elros tried to concentrate on the story and on what he should write for his composition, but the details seemed as insubstantial as the mist that sometimes hung over the hay meadow in the mornings.  He thought Fëanor had been rude, and he felt sorry for Fingolfin, but he could not think of an adequate way to express that in writing.

 

At last, the shadows lengthened, and Maedhros came in from the stable, smelling comfortably of horses.  He lit two lanterns from the kitchen coals, and brought them into the main room.

 

“I have not finished my composition yet,” Elros admitted.  “I cannot think of what I want to write.”

 

Maedhros picked up Elros’s slate and examined the few lines he had written.  “This is adequate for tonight,” he said.  “You may finish it tomorrow morning.  But it has been a long day, and you are exhausted.  Go to bed, and sleep well.  Elrond will be all right.”

 

He handed one of the lanterns to Elros, and they climbed the stairs together.  Elros opened the door to his chamber to find it dark and empty.  “Where is Elrond?” he asked.

 

“Maglor will keep him in his chamber tonight,” Maedhros replied.  “He is slightly feverish, and Maglor wishes to be at his side until morning.”

 

“Oh.”  Elros set his lantern on the night table.  The bed looked enormous without Elrond to share it, and shadows flickered ominously on the wall.  He turned back to Maedhros, who was standing in the corridor, just outside the door.

 

“Good night, Uncle Maedhros,” he murmured.

 

“Good night, Elros.  I will see you in the morning.”

 

Maedhros closed the door, leaving Elros alone in the bedchamber.  Slowly, Elros undressed, draping his shirt and Elrond’s trousers carefully across the back of a chair.  He did not take off his mismatched stockings, but put his nightshirt on over them.  He would search for their proper mates in the morning.  Quickly, he washed his face and cleaned his teeth with the cold water in the pitcher, then crawled into bed and snuffed the lantern.  Usually, Elrond would snuggle against him as they wriggled to find comfortable positions.  But tonight, Elros had the bed to himself.  It was cold, and he curled up into a little ball underneath the quilts.

 

Although his door was closed, Elros could still hear noises from the corridor outside.  He heard Maedhros’s deliberate footsteps moving from the guest chamber down the hall to Maglor’s chamber opposite his own.  After a moment, he heard both Maedhros and Maglor come out into the corridor.  For a while, they talked together.  Elros could not make out what they said, but he could hear the low sounds of their voices.  He had almost drifted off to sleep when a strange, rough sound came from the corridor.  Elros opened his eyes and strained to hear what was going on.

 

Maedhros’s voice rumbled low and smooth, in familiar, soothing cadences.  Elros realized that Maglor was weeping.  It struck him that he was the cause of that.  A tear escaped from his eye, and rolled down his cheek before he could stop it.  He pulled the quilt over his head to muffle the sound of Maglor’s grief, and at last slipped off into dreams.