For @tolkienfamilyweek Day 6: Ancestors and their legacy
All quoted lyrics from "Sons and Daughters" by The Decemberists
"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Elros sings under his breath, "we'll make our homes on the waterâŠ"
He nearly bumps into Maedhros, who has halted in front of him as they and Elrond and Maglor make their way through the woods. It takes a moment for Maedhros to speak. "Where did you learn that song?" he asks, a little hoarsely.
Elros, confused, says, "Nana sang it to us sometimesâŠbefore."
"Ada sang it sometimes, too," Elrond adds. "But the version he knew was in Quenya."
"That makes sense," Maglor says, sounding puzzled. "If it had been passed down through Fingolfin and Turgon⊠But how would Elwing have known it?"
"She said it was an old family song," Elrond says, just as confused.
"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon," Elwing sings. Music is supposed to be a gift of her family, but she can barely manage this song, words promising a safe and bountiful home, when what they have is this ramshackle haven at the edge of the world.
"These currents pull us 'cross the border," a deeper voice joins in from the doorway. "Steady your boats, arms to shoulderâŠ"
EĂ€rendil enters the twins' room, coming up behind her to slide an arm around her shoulders. "It's a good song," he says quietly, and looks at the babies sleeping in their clumsy bassinet. "Full of hope. They're going to need that."
Then, "I didn't know the Sindar knew that song, though. I thought it was only my family."
Elwing shakes her head. "No, I remember my father singing itâŠI think."
"Take up your arms, sons and daughter," Dior sings, "we will arise from the bunkersâŠ"
He makes sure to sing quietly, not letting his clear tenor carry. These lands are no longer as safe as they were in his own childhood. But he wants to still make this trip as cheerful for his children as possible, under the circumstances.
The circumstances being his grandfather's violent death, and Dior's taking up the kingship.
"Is that one of your Nana's songs?" Elwing asks sleepily. He's carrying her, while the twins walk with Nimloth.
He holds her a little closer. "She did sing it to me, just like this," he says. "And someone else sang it to her before that. All the best songs are like that."
"By land, by sea, by dirigible, we'll leave our tracks untraceable now," LĂșthien sings playfully, dancing her small son around to the tune and the silly words. It's a good day. Almost every day is a good day on Tol Galen. She has her husband and her son; what more could she want?
"Nana?" Dior interrupts, nose wrinkled, "what's a dirigible?"
LĂșthien frowns. "You know, I don't actually know, ion-nin."
"But you know everything. Ada says so."
"Well, that's very sweet of him, but he's not quite right," LĂșthien says, tapping his nose affectionately. "It's probably just a made up word. But why don't you ask your grandfather next time you see him? He's the one who taught me the song, so if anyone would know, he would."
"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Thingol sings under his breath, "we'll make our lives on the waterâŠ"
"What's that song about, Ada?" LĂșthien pipes up from where she's skipping at his side. "It's silly. We don't live anywhere near the Sea."
Thingol pauses a moment. He hadn't meant to sing for her to listen to, exactly - it just tends to come out of him wherever he walks a noticeable distance, as they have been this afternoon. But there's no harm in telling her. He just hasn't talked about it much since meeting Melian.
"It's a song from the Journey," he says at length. "Before I met your mother, I and my brother and our people were traveling west to go over the Sea. We sang the song then about what we would find at the end."
"Your brother who went on without you?" LĂșthien says inquisitively. She's been going through a phase of being curious about other people's siblings, since she has none of her own. At Thingol's nod of confirmation, she asks, "Do you still miss him?"
His throat suddenly feels thick. "Yes. Yes, I do."
"Did he make up the song?"
"âŠNo." Thingol shakes his head slowly. "It was aâŠa friend of mine."
"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamonâŠ"
"Finwë, what in Arda is that song about?"
Finwë turns and spots his friend Elwë, and grins broadly. "It's to keep our people's spirits up as we travel," he explains. "To take their minds off the hardships of the journey and give them an idea of what awaits us."
Elwë appears to consider this for a moment. "That is all very well," he says, "but why would anyone want to fill their mouth with cinnamon? It is far too strong for such a thing, not to mention the waste."
"Of course it's ridiculous," Finwë agrees readily. "That's the point. There will be so much in Aman, and it will be so safe. It won't matter if we waste things every now and then, or use ridiculous building materials."
Elwë humphs. But he also, a few moments later, says, "Can you teach me the rest of it?"
Finwë can, and does, and soon enough the song rings through the wilderness as both Noldor and Teleri sing in chorus.
"When we arrive, sons and daughtersâŠ" Atya sings, and then trails off. FĂ«anĂĄro frowns up at him, not understanding why his father has slowed and is no longer swinging their clasped hands to and fro, why he looks so troubled.
"Atya?" he asks. "What's the matter?"
For a long moment, Atya looks very far away. Then he shakes himself slightly, and looks down at FĂ«anĂĄro with a smile.
"Nothing to worry about, yonya," he says. "I was just thinking that the song doesn't quite fit us, is all."
Well, of course it doesn't. Fëanåro doesn't have any brothers or sisters; he's Finwë's only son. But that's fine, and the song isn't supposed to be about them anyway - it's about the Great Journey.
"Does it need to?" he says. "We can make up a different one if we need one about us."
That makes Atya smile properly at last. "Maybe so, NĂĄro. Maybe so. But we should find a spot for our picnic first."
"Till tides all pull our hull aground, making this cold harbor now homeâŠ"
Makalaurë frowns as his father sings under his breath. The song is familiar, but the tone doesn't seem to match it - it's meant to be a happy, excited song, but Atar's making it sound angry and vindictive.
That's pretty much been Atar's sole mood ever since the banishment was announced.
"There!" Atar calls out suddenly, breaking off the song and gesturing up ahead. "That is where we shall build our fortress, the envy of all in Tirion. Curufinwë, with me!"
He sounds more enthusiastic and less bitter than he has in weeks. Perhaps, Makalaurë dares to think as Atar and Curvo ride ahead, this can be a turning point for the better, for all of them.
"It's strange that your family would know the song, too," Elros ventures. Elrond knows what he means. They were told for the first six years of their lives that the FĂ«anorians were monsters, wholly other than them. This odd little point of commonality contrasts sharply with that.
He doesn't want to think too long on that right now, doesn't want to let it pull up all the complicated things between them.
Instead he says, "Perhaps since we do all know it, we can sing it together."
Maedhros looks hesitant. But Maglor, after a moment's hesitation, gives a small nod. "How does it go again? It has been yearsâŠwe may not remember all of it."
"That's all right, it repeats a lot," Elros shrugs. "Here, I'll start--"
And they continue on through the woods, singing quietly so as not to attract unfriendly attention, but all in tune together.
"Hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade awayâŠ"
