Elvealin knocked on the door of her parent's house in Lothlórien, wondering if they were home. Her father opened the door with a smile but also with a look of a surprise, since her presence in the Golden Wood was unannounced. But there was no doubt that they were happy to see her.
Their house was still the same as it ever was: the ancient artifacts from her father were still decorating the walls, and her mother's flower settings were surrounding them. One of the bookshelves was tightly embraced by a blooming vine. Elvelin's mother touched her shoulder. ”I was just about to make a meal. Help me, will you daughter?” Elvealin saw her bright blue eyes and silvery blonde hair, nodded and her father said: ”Linnen, making those marinated venison ribs?” Linnen nodded and Elvealin followed. ”Fëamíril dear, go get some more vegetables from the market? We have a mouth more to feed.”
After a satisfying meal and talking about the events in Lórien, Elvealin's parents wanted to know why she had arrived. ”I am here to help a friend.” Elvealin saw Fëamiril with his dark grey eyes and dark hair of a warm tone looking at her across the living room. ”Anelwa, I know that you know Lórien well. What are you looking for, though?” he asked her. Elvealin looked hesitant to answer, and after a deep sigh she chose honesty and told: ”I am not staying here for long, ada. I am going to Greenwood… to Drownholt.” He stood up slowly in amazement. ”I am not travelling alone,” she told him.
Linnen said: ”You must reconsider this, Elvealin. I did not agree you to stay to Imladris, just to see you throwing your life in danger.” But Fëamíril shook his head, seeing the other side of things. ”I should have known better. A Noldorin heart is never content in being caged, no matter how fair the cage was. Nor it suffers to know that those who it loves are hurting still. And you have mine, in more ways than one.” Elvealin kept looking down. ”I have been wondering myself what I am. Some that I've met are proud of their pure Noldorin roots, and some Sindar in Rivendell I've encountered say that my Sindarin blood could save me from Noldorin insanity.”
”Noldorin insanity?” he repeated her words with his hand over his mouth as he turned to face the window. ”Yes… I won't deny that there has been insanity in my kin, but also plenty of wisdom sprout from the insanity. The time bought for Beleriand had a high price. But losing your life is not the price I want to pay for any ends.” The silence felt heavy for a while before he continued. ”But you should not be torn in two, no matter what the others think of you.”
”Anelwa dear,” Fëamíril started as he turned to her, ”we raised you to be proud of being one of Galadhrim for a reason. Yes, you are a Sinda, but you are also a Noldo. But pride can be hurtful as you well may know from the stories about my kin.” Linnen looked down for a moment, remembering the events of Doriath. He continued: ”Galadhrim are many Elven folk in one, living in peace. Just look around, we built this paradise together. Is it not a reason for healthy pride? For one that is healthy brings us together, instead of ripping us apart.” Elvealin said nothing, but looked at him intently and nodded lightly, waiting for him to continue.
”You used to study jewel craft with me, and to read books about Lúthien, attempting to dance in the woods in her way after that. It was alright with you, and you never asked us why you did both. You were happy, no question.” Fëamíril explained. ”I remember you coming home with a newly made fine dress covered in dirt in the first times,” Linnen chuckled, but nervously – the feeling of dread had not left her yet and she was trying to fight it back.
Elvealin looked amused but mildly annoyed, but she felt nothing but sympathy for her mother inside. ”You should try dancing over tree roots, ammë! It's not as easy as she made it look,” she told back at her. ”I know, dear. You did become better at it eventually. Though I suspect that you rather dance in halls, now.” ”Yes, and my House is arranging a ball quite soon.”
”A question for you then... Have you found the ellon of your fate yet? Someone who could accompany you there, and further?” Linnen asked. Elvealin looked somewhat dreamy, like she was not in the room ”No. A few have shown interest to me, and I have had interest on few. But their minds and attention have waxed and waned what comes to me. I do not think they are serious, and I am in a mood of something deeper. I may have kept the heart of a young elleth in me, but I know that my yéni are many more.”
Linnen looked at her, like she was searching any other signs of a change. After a while, Fëamíril broke the silence. ”What about Elloen, my nephew?” he asked. ”He's doing spelendidly”, Elvealin answered. ”He went back to making his art.” Fëamíril's eyes widened, with a hint of smile. ”He also restored the portrait of Waifanya as you once wished”, she continued. ”My grandmother's portrait? It had a few sword slashes, but better for a portrait to take the hits, rather than the Vanyarin lady herself.” he said, and saw Linnen looking at Elvealin for a while, and he knew that Linnen was thinking about the likeness between his grandmother and his daughter.
He furrowed his brows; he now imagined the chance of Elvealin getting those cuts of an enemy sword now as used to be seen in the portrait, but he knew that he couldn't stop Elvealin now, his daughter may she be. She was definitely not a child. His dark thoughts were interrupted when Linnen started to lightly touch the strings of her harp. The melody took a familiar sound, that of a beloved song that was kept thus far within the family, written by Maicalairë, Waifanya's Noldorin husband who stayed in Valinor when the rest of them departed.
Linnen started to sing in a gentle voice:
My lips knew
The flow of fresh air
From the blue
From heavens close there
Stars were close
Light bright as the Sun
When time slows
You are my loved one
My lips then
Knew your warm skin
In a glen
I heard song within
But now I
Must breathe the smoke in
Sounds where you aren't seen
Thoughts of you
Now will keep me warm
This dark and cold storm
One day I'll lay by your side again
Like I never knew this pain
Then Linnen stopped playing, with her face showing signs of pain. The song told about Maicalairë's love for Waifanya when he left to War of Wrath, but the song was fitting herself too well. Linnen knew that Fëamíril's grandfather fell in the battle, since Fëamíril was the one to discover his body. She left the room without saying a word.
”Ammë?” Elvealin said as Fëamíril came to her side.
”I will talk to her, Elvealin. It is my fault, but I must harden my heart and go to battle, if we are to survive.” ”I think it is my fault too, ada. For I am also going,” she said with a worry on her face. ”I will take care of her. But I think I know just what you need. Go to see Lady Galadriel. If you have not something to say on the behalf your House, she may still help you.”
Elvealin nodded and walked to the door with him. Once they were outside, they embraced. Then he saw a Noldorin lady who seemed oddly familiar to his eyes. Elvealin got off his arms and turned around. ”Hiril...” he said with a bow to her, then he turned to Elvealin again. ”You take care of yourself...” and disappeared inside.
Elvealin met her with a faint smile. ”Norliriel.”
Ada = Father (Quenya)
Ammë = Mother (Quenya)
Anelwa = My daughter (Quenya)
Yéni = Elvish long year, 144 solar years (Quenya)
Hîr = Lord (Sindarin)
Hiril = Lady (Sindarin)
Ellon = Male Elf (Sindarin)
Elleth = Female Elf (Sindarin)