It came as something of a shock when Finarfin realized that two of three peredhel were not fighting amongst the edain near the end of the battle which ended the War of Wrath.
It was a shock in that they were not by Elros' side, yes, but the greater shock came after Finarfin had come after he'd been unexpectedly swung to his back by a glancing blow from one of the last remaining Balrogs of Morgoth.
The fire demon had come from nowhere within his sight, and based on the fact that, though hazy—Finarfin was pretty sure he had a concussion from how hard his head had bounced when he'd landed—he wasn't dead, the Balrog must have been making his way to someone specifically. Probably Eönwë, who'd been cutting orcs down in number near Finarfin.
The Balrog didn't make it to the Herald and General, however, it died. Hard.
Finarfin was too busy trying to get back up, trying to grab his sword which had luckily landed only a few feet away from him when he saw it happen.
Elrond grabbed his sister, her pale hair loose from battle flying behind her like a flag, and tossed her up towards the Balrog's back a mere second before he sprinted forward, sword held high, and charged at the demon from the ground.
Finarfin stopped moving—a deadly mistake on a battlefield, especially one such as the current, but the sight was too inexplicable to turn away from.
In time, Elrond and Elanor had somehow managed to strike the Balrog together, one through the heart in the air, and one through the gut from the ground. The Balrog toppled over on his front, hissing steam as it died, and died quickly.
But Elrond and Elanor had not stopped to catch their breath, instead Elanor hopped off the Balrog's back as Elrond moved forward and together they made it to Finarfin. Elrond grabbed Finarfin's sword as Elanor hauled him up with great strength and threw his arm over her shoulder, the side not occupied in holding her own sword. Her smaller height had the added advantage that leaning on her was not uncomfortable for Finarfin, merely strange.
Elrond quickly handed Finarfin his sword and stepped the side which Elanor had not occupied, calmly switching his sword to his other hand as if he was quite capable and used to fighting with his non-dominant side.
"Are you alright, my Lord?" He asked, somehow clearly heard over the clamor of the battle. Finarfin merely nodded, amazed he didn't seem out all out of breath, even if the young peredhel was breathing faster than was normal.
"We need to move," Elanor said from his other side.
Together, two young peredhel led Finarfin away, where they were going the Amanian king was not quite sure, for his vision was somewhat hazy and there was a strange buzzing fog in his head.
"I think I have a concussion," he admitted, strangely calm.
"Probably at least bruised ribs as well," the girl added, calmly swiping her sword out and cutting down the nearest orc. "And a broken ankle. Don't worry, my lord, we'll get you to the healer's tent."
"Elves or Edain?" Elrond asked absently as he moved forward a few steps and beheaded another orc.
"Elves," Elanor replied, shifting her weight slightly to allow Finarfin lean on her a bit better. "Closer, and I'm sure they'd all be properly scandalized if we took the High King of the Valinorion Noldor to Men."
Finarfin couldn't help but disagree, if only slightly. "You both just very probably saved my life. I don't think anyone would care."
The strange trio we quickly enveloped by elven soldiers, forming a guard around them so they could safely escort Finarfin away from the battle when suddenly there was a great roar heard that seemed to reverberate through their very bones. They looked up and both Elanor and Elrond cursed. Finarfin wasn't quite sure it was their crass language or the dragon the size of a mountain they could flying high in the sky above which surprised him more.
"Fucking dragon!"
Elanor winced under Finarfin as he sharply turned his head toward her brother—which he regretted immediately as it throbbed even more painfully. Definitely a concussion.
"We need to move," she said, then added, "and be prepared to shield, Elrond. Looks like the eagles and our father are going after him."
Indeed, there was Vingootë chasing after Ancalagon the Black with Manwë's eagles flying in formation on either side.
They were hurrying as fast as they could away from the field, the warriors who'd formed a guard circle around the trio efficiently cutting down the enemy on all sides as they went.
Suddenly a great plume of fire fell over their heads, causing all to duck as they felt the scorching heat pass. "Elrond, the ice shields!" Elanor called out, and suddenly the heat was gone, and it was as if a sudden wave a rain fell on their heads. Finarfin cautiously eyed the young peredhel still holding the majority of his weight, was this cool shield which could withstand the heat of dragon-fire—if indirectly—some power of Melian's blood?
He was curious, desperately so, but now was not the time to ask. There was a thunderous roar as eagles tore into the dragon before a great burst of light shone, lighting up the sky and nearly blinding all below.
"Well," Elrond commented as the mountain sized dragon began to fall, "It appears we are the children of a dragon-slayer now."
"Shit!" Elanor cursed. "Elrond, do you think you can help me shield us all? He's going to bring down the mountain when he crashes! Quickly now!"
True enough, as the Black dragon spun wildly down from the sky. Elanor halted, Elrond moved to Finarfin's other side, grasping his sister's hand behind the king's back, and calling out to the guard surrounding them. "Brace for impact!"
Suddenly a great dome silver light encased the group of warriors, causing several astonished gasps. Elanor an Elrond fell to their knees, taking Finarfin with them, and a loud clang slammed into the silvery shield, causing it to ripple for a long moment before it blinked out.
The shockwave from the breaking mountain had passed, but both Elrond and Elanor were gasping for breath as if they'd just run several miles at a sprint.
"That hurt!" Elanor rasped in a surprisingly hoarse voice, her breathing coming in great gulps of air.
"At least," Elrond panted, "we're alive."
After a few moments they both stood, hauling Finarfin to his feet again as well, and the group which formed the guard around them all took the two peredhel in with looks of awe and slight fear, Finarfin noted. Therefore he said, "Let us move on!"
Inwardly, between the pain and the concussion which he was now beginning to think was much worse than he'd thought before, Finarfin was deadly curious, and quite astonished at the displays of power his two young saviors had shown.
Melian's blood indeed!