Elurín knelt at the stream's edge, and scrubbed his mother's blood from his hands. The water was icy – he'd had to break a thin layer of ice, decorated with the delicate tracery of frost, to get to the running water beneath. His fingers were growing stiff, and, satisfied that they were clean, Elurín stood.
Eluréd was seated further back from the stream, watching the snowflakes dance their way from between the bare treetops, glinting in the moonlight like little stars, or shards of an Elven-gem.
Shivering, Elurín pulled his wet fists back into his sleeves, and trudged over the pebbly stretch to huddle against his twin.
"I'm hungry," Eluréd told him, seeming to be comforted by the fact that he could say it aloud.
"And cold," Elurín added, seeing if saying as much helped. It did, a little.
Eluréd bit his lip. "It's kind of like the story," he offered. Eluréd loved stories.
Usually, Elurín had no trouble picking up his brother's train of thought, and following it. But… he was too tired and miserable to try. "What story?" he asked indifferently.
"Well," Eluréd began, "Grandfather was lost in the forest. Maybe right here. And then he saw Grandmother. Maybe she'll find us too."
Elurín decided not to remind Eluréd that Mother had explained to them that Grandmother and Grandfather had gone to live with Eru, because He loved them. He was sure Eluréd remembered.
Mother…
"Or," Eluréd continued quietly, "Mother and Father will wake up."
Elurín didn't know how to reply to that. He'd shaken Mother so much, and called her so hard, and she wouldn't open her eyes.
Instead of answering, Elurín curled closer to his brother, still shivering. Softly, the snow fell about the huddled forms of the little princes of Doriath.
There were those among the Noldor who had ample cause to know that Elves could indeed die of cold and hunger.[1]
"Wake, little ones!"
Elurín felt a hand on his head – wet, but warm. He opened his eyes and peered between his snow-laden lashes at the face smiling at him.
It was a woman's face, and both beautiful and gentle. He smiled back before he knew what he was doing.
"Are you Grandmother?" he asked drowsily of the lady who knelt before him, his brother's words still fresh in his mind.
The lady's smile turned a little sad as she shook her head, snowflakes catching in her loose curls of silver hair.
"No, my sweet one, I am not Lúthien the Fair."
Elurín felt a little silly. Of course she wasn't. Grandmother had black hair, like Father's, and like his.
"My Master[2] has given me permission to bring you home. Would you come with me, little princes?"
"Home?" Eluréd repeated eagerly.
She smiled her sad smile again, lifted her hands from their heads, and stood. Missing the warmth, Elurín reached up quickly when she offered them her hands.
When he stepped forward with her, he gazed about at the clean white blanket of snow laid over the ground. It was bare when he'd sat down, and he wondered how much time had passed as he and his brother huddled together. The snow was swirling thickly around them, and it seemed to fall faster by the moment.
The lady led them back to the stream, then stooped to lift them. Elurín she gathered in her right arm, and Eluréd in her left. Elurín concluded, as she balanced them on her hips, that she must be very strong, because even Father had trouble carrying them both.
She smelled…strange. Strange and pretty - Like water, but salty. She stepped out onto the small margin of ice at the edge of the stream, and then to the water still running in the middle. When she began striding downstream, the current caught the edge of her blue skirt in its ripples and eddies, and Eluréd watched, fascinated.
Looking back at the bank, Elurín wondered that only two sets of little shallow footprints on the surface of the snow led from the spot where he and Eluréd had been sitting.
[1] A reference to the crossing of Helcaraxë by the people of Finarfin and Fingolfin – See Le Chat Noir for more on the subject.
[2] Uinen's Master would be Ulmo, Lord of the Waters