Fields of gold

A Elbereth Gilthoniel !

I hope you are top notch on your Tolkien legendarium ! There cometh answers.

"Who were your parents ?"

"My mother was named Nelya, from the name of their clan..."

Laurë offered another regal nod, his eyes sparkling with wonder at hearing, once more, tales of his beloved Arda. Elanor ignored how many elves dwelt there, perhaps so few that they all knew each other by names ?

"The Nelyar ?", his smooth voice mused. "Those of the third clan who remained in middle earth ?"

"Là," Elya answered, her hands fidgeting with little macramé threads she had scattered on her tray. "Her hair was dark, and her eyes clear like crystals."

Elanor had very little recollections of her grandmother; too early had the woman left them both, throwing herself off a cliff in a bout of madness. But she remembered a sweet voice, and piercing eyes that seemed to see through her soul. And impossibly long hair, like a Japanese princess, threads of silver dancing in ebony waves.

"And your father ?"

"I was but a babe when my mother crossed. I only know what she told me of him."

An elf. Her grandma had been an elf. And if her mother claimed to be one as well, it meant her grandfather also... like Laurë ? Always, she had lamented not meeting him. But now that she knew, the sense of loss increased tenfold. Was he, like Laurë, a mythical warrior facing horrible beasts ? Was he tall and strong, a force of nature ? Did he, too, look too young with eyes that spoke of wisdom ?

"What was he called?"

"Mai... Mae..."

Eyebrows scrunched, the older woman seemed to struggle with the notion, as if the knowledge was at the tip of her tongue but refused to be shared. With a great sigh, her gaze returned to the trees, outside, as if hypnotised by their gentle swaying. For a dreadful moment, Elanor feared the madness had claimed her again until she sighed.

"I... cannot recall."

"Tell me what you know."

Authority laced Laurë's voice, gentle, but unyielding. It was the tone of someone used to being obeyed, someone who ran an entire battalion of soldiers, and could still hold his own in high court. Ageless, yet laden with strength. Graceful, joyful, but capable of killing. Elya responded to the command with an earnest light in her gaze.

"Mum said his hair shone like flames, and his spirit burnt with strength. My mother spoke of him with fondness and exasperation. She loved him, even though she wasn't allowed to. Her family cast her out because of it."

There was little certainty in Elanor's life, but the knowledge of that great bound. A tragic, intense and blinding love between people that shouldn't have. A Romeo and Juliet romance that defied every logic at the time; how she knew it was a wonder. Perhaps the songs her grandmother used to sing had seared her very essence with those tales of old ? Elanor suddenly gasped, recalling tunes she'd long forgotten; her secret language... had it been Quenya ?

Something unfurled in her breast, like a long lost memory awakening, vibrating, asking to come out to the surface. And with it, fear. As if the suffering of her line was stored, just out of reach, begging to be acknowledged. But Laurëfindelë wasn't done with his interrogation and he stood to his full height, a lonesome, strong figure between daughter and mother.

"How did she cross the veil between our worlds ?"

Elya's expression turned fearful, as if she expected shadows to jump at her. Was she, too, embedded with the knowledge of her mother's innermost struggles ?