The cousins pay a visit to the farm of Glorfindel's parents. A spot of sibling rivalry ensues. Arakano discovers a talent.
I imagine that Lalwen would have enjoyed a rural lifestyle without the courtly protocols of Tirion or Gondolin.
The Golden Flower
"Laurelosse, come and greet your brother…" Aunt Lalwen coaxed without looking up from spinning wool into thread. Mornel, Arakano, and Glorfindel watch in amazement as what seemed to be a tall milk churn with boots approached them. As it neared, they saw that it was being carried by an elfling barely taller than it.
"Greetings… Ouch!" Glorfindel yelped as his sister very deliberately set the heavy milk churn down on his foot. Arakano chortled and patted her on the head. She looked so adorable with her messy braids, bright red skirt, and grimy apron. Laurelosse promptly kicked him hard in both shins.
"Losse, don't be orkish now," Lalwen chided. On the farm she did not have the benefit of royal tutors and nursemaids to attend to her youngest. There was a nis who acted both as their cook and her daughter's nurse until a few months ago, when she left to help her own daughter with a new baby. There were neri and nissi who worked on the farm and in the house. Her daughter had been allowed to help out with the lighter tasks.
"Your atto is going to town to fetch that new cider press tomorrow. He will not get you a present if you misbehave," Lalwen warned. Farm-life was different from palace life but her husband had instilled the same discipline in the household as he once did with the palace guards.
"Good evening, brother…" Laurelosse sulked. Mornel hoisted the milk churn up since no one seemed willing to carry it back to the shed. The farm was prosperous enough to have its own dairy for milk, cream, and cheese.
"Is your sister a re-born orc?" Arakano whispered. Glorfindel raised a warning brow. The guests watched as Laurelosse glared daggers at her brother across the table. From peeking under the table, Mornel knew that the elfling had been trying to kick Glorfindel throughout the meal. Fortunately, her legs were too short to reach him. Aunt Lalwen and her husband had fussed over their son. Perhaps Laurelosse was just feeling jealous.
As with any farmhouse, workers and servants ate alongside the family. Laurelosse's behaviour did not go unnoticed by them although Lalwen was kept busy refilling dishes from the stove and her husband was busy discussing the upcoming harvest with an older farmhand before leaving for a two-day journey.
"Not to worry, Master Laurefindil. She'll warm up to you eventually," a farmhand chuckled as Glorfindel failed to dodge a spoonful of gravy flung by his unruly sibling behind their parents' back. Brown gravy dribbled down his white shirt. Another glob landed on his gleaming tresses much to the Balrog Slayer's annoyance.
Breakfast saw more dark looks from the little lady of the house, and a bowl of oatmeal 'accidentally' tipped into Glorfindel's lap when Lalwen sat her children beside each other.
"She's about as wild as Celeglass, I bet…" Glorfindel grumbled over the work of churning butter. "I found tacks in my bed last night…" Being shorthanded, Lalwen had set her son, niece, and nephew to working in the dairy. Arakano murmured an agreement as he turned the wheels of cheese. Mornel was carefully skimming cream off the milk poured out into pans, a chore which needed some skill.
"Talk about Morgoth…" Glorfindel glared as his sister entered the dairy lugging a bucket of milk. She stuck her tongue out at the neri before joining Mornel in skimming cream. Lalwen had dressed her daughter in the manner of a country milkmaid. Her hair was already escaping from its braids. Mornel helped tie a handkerchief over her head so that the loose strands would not get into the cream.
"No kisses for your poor cousin?" Arakano jested and was promptly smacked in the face by a cream-skimmer.
"Watch it, shorty. If you keep acting like an orc, you will turn into one," Glorfindel snapped.
"I hate you!" the elfing yelled at Glorfindel. "All Atto and Amme can talk about is how wonderful Laurefindil is and how nice it will be if he can stay longer! Laurefindil this! Laurefindil that! How I wish you stayed in Mandos!"
There was an awkward silence.
"Surely you don't mean that," Mornel chided.
"I do! I don't want to share Atto and Amme with him!" the elfling shouted and stomped her foot. She then ran from the shed.
"Oh dear…" Mornel murmured, she could not leave the cream unattended. Glorfindel was not budging. With a shrug, Arakano took off his apron and went after the elfling. He returned a few moments later without her. Laurelosse had taken herself up a tree and refused to come down. There was butter to be churned and cream to be skimmed.
Arien made her progress across the sky and it was soon dinner time. That was when the household realised no one had seen Laurelosse since late morning. She was no longer up the tree where Arakano had last seen her. A search was made for the missing child. To add to everyone's worries, a thunderstorm was imminent. Haylofts and apple barrels were searched. In oilskins, they braved the growing wind to search the orchards and meadows.
"She knows she is not to venture further than the orchard," Lalwen murmured when Arakano suggested expanding the search into the hills beyond the farmlands. Arakano frowned and cocked his head as if he were trying hear something over the howling wind.
The Pelori had been lowered from their towering height once the threat of Morgoth was gone and the watchtowers left to be reclaimed by nature. However, this left myriad high mountain passes and ruins where the wildest winds of Lord Manwe scoured with a vengeance. Near the farm was one such watchtower, standing and still visible over the trees.
If she were an elfling… Mornel paused and glanced towards the stone tower and the rough trail leading in its direction. It would not be too tiring for one used to farm work.
"I hear her. Glorfindel, can you reach her?" Arakano closed his eyes, his brow furrowed.
"Even if I can, she'll shut me out…" Using osanwe, all Glorfindel could sense was his amme's increasing panic as the first raindrops fell. The emotion drowned out everything else. Lalwen gave a sharp cry of pain when she tripped over a root, twisting her ankle badly.
"Try the tower," Mornel suggested as she hastened over to help her aunt. Her part in the search was over for now. Aunt Lalwen needed to be brought indoors out of the rain and wind.
"By the winds of Lord Manwe, Mornel's right… I think I can sense her there… Osanwe…" Arakano frowned. He had not meant to use osanwe. He never used it much in his first life ever since he outgrew the nursery. Even then, he had used it only with his parents and within the same house. Never had he tried reaching that far by distance or blood.
"I don't…" Glorfindel closed his eyes, looking into the spirit plane like Master Olorin had taught him. There was a spark of light at the top of the tower. The watchtower would have been irresistible for any adventurous elfling.
The rain was coming down in torrents by the time they reached the foot of the watchtower. The trail had turned into a quagmire. Where was an Eagle when you needed one? Perhaps in such a thunderstorm, even Eagles were reluctant to be abroad.
Lightning lit up the skies as the neri entered the tower, the door having long fallen off its hinges. Winding stone steps climbed upwards in darkness only broken by the occasional lightning. Gaping holes showed in the walls where the mortar and brickwork had rotted away.
Arakano reached out with his mind, touching and trying to reassure Laurelosse but she was too frightened to allow him to use osanwe properly. The effort was wearing him down. They were close…
"Watch out!" Glorfindel grabbed his arm before he stepped out into the void. Several of the steps at the top had given way. Across the gaping void was the elfling they had been looking for. Laurelosse was frozen with fear.
"Losse, jump," Glorfindel held out his arms.
"It's too far!" the elfling whined.
"You can do it! I'll catch you!" Glorfindel shouted over the howling wind.
"No, you can't!"
"I can. We can make it!" Glorfindel urged. Rain was pouring in through what remained of the roof and Laurelosse was soaked to the skin.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Laurelosse took a small running start and leapt. She barely made it. Her brother caught her before she fell. Arakano grabbed Glorfindel's belt to stop him from being pulled down by the weight.
For a heartbeat, all three stop gasping from exhaustion. Then Laurelosse started wailing.
"I'm sorry for being such an orc," she sniffled.
"There, there, everything's alright now," Glorfindel hugged the shivering elfling close to him for warmth. Slowly and carefully, they made their way down the tower and back to the farm where a warm fire, blankets, and warm food waited. They all but collapsed on the welcome mat at the kitchen when Mornel opened the door.
"Hm, I believe you should speak with Master Olorin or one of his colleagues about your osanwe, coz," Mornel suggested after Arakano had described to her his use of osanwe to locate Laurelosse. The day after the storm was sunny. Arakano was so worn out from the night before, he could only sit outside the farmhouse. His untrained use of osanwe was unusual to say the least. With some proper training and guidance…
In a nearby paddock, Laurelosse playfully crowned her brother with a wreath of wildflowers as he lazed against some bales of hay. He sprung up from his mock-slumber and tackled her, until both were tumbling on the grass with laughter. Lalwen beamed to see her children were finally getting along.
Perhaps it was time to consider Laurelosse's formal education. Her brother could act as her guardian in Tirion if he was willing. Lalwen dabbed away a sentimental tear. Elflings did grow up so fast. It seemed like only yesterday young Laurefindil was sliding down the bannister of his uncle Nolo's grand staircase with his cousin Irisse.
Author's Notes:
Lalwen's children have resolved any differences between them, for now.
I cannot imagine Turgon ever indulging in such childish antics, even as an elfling, so that honour of sliding down a bannister goes to his sister.