Fields of gold

A matter of age

His mind was in turmoil, completely stunned, waves of recognition and struggles crashing inside his skull. As Elanor pulled him out of the institute, he allowed her to lead the way, numb to the overturned world that surrounded them. That wretched place... seeing them treat Elya with such violence was painful, her waves of anguish strong enough to eat at his defences. But her terror, as she looked him in the eye and opened an Osanwë connection, had been painful.

The, she shouted a name in his mind, and broke him entirely.

Maitimo Nelyafinwë ! Maedhros !

An ally, an enemy, a kinslayer. A powerhouse, in his own right, especially after his right arm was cleaved, and his soul tortured by Morgoth. An elf that could fight against the forces of Melkor with all his might, then turn upon them to complete the oath and retrieve the Silmaril. Valiant, courageous, cunning, able of the best and the worst altogether.

There had been rumours – snarky sayings - in the past, of all-encompassing love between Maedhros and his cousin Fingon that prevented either of them to seek female company. The type of love that pushed Fingon to brave Melkor and set his cousin free from his hold, an heroic deed his people would sing and praise for millenia.

Laurë should have known better than believe in such tales, but they had suited him well, if only to disparage the doomed house of Fëanor and their single-minded goal; to retrieve the Silmarils from Morgoth, at any cost, even that of their kin.

And Turgon, whom he had followed blindly to the very end, had been their most adamant distracters. Now that the King had died, and joined the halls of Mandos with most of Gondolin at his suite in a show of pride and stubbornness, Laurëfindelë found himself at a quandary regarding the kinslayers. Perhaps had dearest Turukáno been misled in his ways and opinions after the death of his wife in the Helcaraxë. All of them, suffering from the icy winds and the biting cold, had blamed those damned Fëanarions for their plight. Mayhap they should have looked at their own motivations for that doomed endeavour.

For hundreds of years, the name of Fëanor amongst the noldorin host was shamed, and filled with hate, disgust, and sometimes no little awe. For despite their evil deeds, the seven sons of Fëanor had defied Morgoth himself alongside their sire. And the spirit of fire himself Arda had died in the assault, dissolving in a pile of ash under the weight of his too bright, burning feä.

His eldest son – Maedhros - taken by the enemy for thirty long years of torture. Laurëfindelë shuddered. How had the elf even survived such a plight ? Kinslayer or not, no one deserved such a treatment. Laurëfindelë wasn't surprised that Maedhros' marriage had been kept a secret, and his daughter hidden away. But the very idea of it baffled him.

And Elya...

Firstborn of Fëanor's firstborn, the greatest craftsman or Arda. Suddenly, Elya's past time, the false gems scattered in that prison of a room made much more sense; somehow, she had inherited the skill of jewel crafting from her paternal line. And Elanor's fiery mane, a trait she shared with her mother, came directly from Maedhros' own mother: Nerdanel.

That Elya would master the art of speaking in minds was proof enough that she came from a prominent family. Only the most powerful elves could communicate thus.

Mulling over the sombre destiny of the sons of Feänoro, Laurëfindelë opened the door to climb in the car when a body collided with his. By instinct, the elf embraced Elanor's shaking frame, wondering when physical contact had become so easy between them that touching her brought him solace. But such was the way of humans, he supposed. Except that Elanor was a peredhil, just like little Eärendil, a child he was sworn to protect.

Lost, Laurëfindelë lowered his head above Elanor's mane of red hair, squeezing her small frame as she sniffled against his shirt. If the scene he'd just witnessed had been violent, to him, he couldn't imagine how heart wrenching this was to her. He couldn't imagine seeing his own mother treated that way; thank the Vala, she was safe and sound in Valinorë. Taking a deep breath, Laurëfindelë found his body relaxing at the whiff of Elanor's unique fragrance. Then he drew circles over her back, gently, until she quieted in his arms and pushed away.