My Home is Where You Are: A Maedhros/OC Fanfiction

Chapter 16: Poetry, My Sanctuary

A/N: We're back in Valinor now, folks! Only now Lilótëa and Nelyo have been friends for around two decades. I hope this switching back n forth isn't too confusing :/

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Ere day fades, hearken to the leaves.
They know my secrets, they know my ways.
Faint of heart I am
To whisper words of love
Into an unsuspecting ear.

In the arms of the lonely oaken tree
I am safe from dissonance and harm.
I lie in these oaken arms
And hope you hear me in Nature's voice
Where I am unafraid to
Set my spirit free.

With her black quill feather that shimmered blue in the light, Lilótëa finished penning her last word. She had only begun writing her poem— the second stanza would repeat itself twice, and it was important that the refrain have a great impact on the reader. She studied the refrain and considered to elaborate on the description of her last line.

Do not let the flaws bother you, she reminded herself. Best to leave them until the draft is complete.

Lilótëa took her eyes away from the paper. In order to continue writing a poem based off of her present situation, she needed to let her senses awaken to her surroundings again. With her cottage in direct view and the forest behind, she would never hesitate to write poetry so near to her house. All she needed was a comfortable place to sit— between her favourite oak tree's thick roots. Her family cottage was a symbol of home, and so kept her at rest. The poem was also addressed to Nelyo, which made it seem as if she were actually confessing to him. Not the confession, but rather the thought of her friend made her feel even more at ease. With peace in the heart of her soul, words flowed from the quill with little effort.

She ran her hands over the roots' rough bark. As Lilótëa closed her eyes and welcomed Laurelin's warmth, she could nearly hear Yavanna speaking to her in the rustle of the leaves. Even though she knew that not to be true, she discerned a female voice slowly approaching her. She knew it to be Elenwë, who was speaking softly to Turvo as they finished their walk in the forest. Before they could glimpse her poem, Lilótëa flipped the paper downward so the ink was facing her lap.

Turvo asked if she was writing poetry. Too much curiosity idled in his inquiry for Lilótëa's liking.

"Y-yes," she stumbled on her cursory answer, immediately taking a dislike on how the word came out. "It's merely a draft, though," she quickly elaborated.

Elenwë dismissed the statement. "Read Lilótëa's poems, Turvo, and you'll be ten times as satisfied with hers compared to the average Vanya. As you're aware, the Elder King blessed our people with this gift of poetry." She lowered her voice and leaned closer towards the male, as if about to share some gossip. "I've often suspected that he's favoured my sister since her birth and intends she become a poet."

Lilótëa bit her lip, but she could not hold back a smile. "Please Elenwë, do not boast to him. And why would you suggest our Lord Manwë picks favourites among us?"

"I'm not boasting, Lilótëa." Elenwë's amused expression and bouncing, loose bangs made her appear as a radiant marigold. "I'm giving you praise."

Suddenly Turvo's eyes lit up. "Your sister could read it to my family," he suggested. "I'm sure they would be delighted to hear something she wrote instead of another Noldo poet. I know for me, it would be a pleasant change to hear works from someone we know. I think Finno in particular would appreciate your writing, Lilótëa; he loves to indulge himself in the arts, whether it be literature about the Great Journey or studying sculptures."

Lilótëa's chest tightened at the thought of reading it out loud. The House of Nolofinwë would not be the right audience for this poem. She would be exposing herself to them, laying down her defenses and allowing listeners to decipher the meaning behind the words. She was not even sure if Nelyo should read it.

Perhaps it belonged in her room, with her collection of poems that pertained to her own emotions. Yes, it belonged with the writings she could never bring herself to share with others.

"I would prefer to not read this specific poem, but I would be honoured to read a different one if your family so desires, Turvo."

"Of course," he said with a nod. "I would not want to pressure you."

Over the years, Elenwë and Turvo's friendship had naturally flourished as they tended to its growth through visits and shared laughter. Their intimacy had allowed Turvo to introduce Elenwë to his parents, along with his siblings Finno, Iríssë and Arakáno. Lilótëa and her family were occasionally invited to Nolofinwë's grand residence in Tirion. Occasionally, the House of Arafinwë joined them for a visit. Lilótëa always welcomed the company of Findo and Artanis, for they had continued their friendship after Indis' begetting day. As for the House of Fëanáro... she only knew one Fëanorian well. Sometimes it felt so strange to know that she had been meeting in secret with Fëanáro's eldest son for two decades, and yet his brothers barely knew she existed.

Ah, why did such strife have to stand between Nolofinwë and Fëanáro? If the unyielding walls of dispute and tension were broken, Lilótëa surmised that she would have had acquaintances with Fëanáro's family already.

She would depart for Tirion tomorrow. This trip would be Lilótëa and Elenwë's first time without their parents. Atheanís and Milyon had told their daughters they were allowing them to enjoy their stay even more without their parents' shadowing presence. Not only did they thoroughly trust the House of Nolofinwë, but they knew their daughters handled responsibility well.

Though for Lilótëa, she saw her parents' absence as a test. She and her sister would stand bare before Nolofinwë and Anairë— not as the children of their parents, but as the young adults they were.

As prospective relatives.

Turvo linked his arm with Elenwë's. To Lilótëa, he said, "I also wouldn't want to distract you from your poetry."

They planned to meet again for dinner, and the two friends walked along the grass until they stood near the hill's edge. Their figures were framed by the afternoon light; they were a shining vision of glory as Turvo held Elenwë's hands in his. Lilótëa wondered why they weren't courting, or if they secretly had been. She turned her poem back over and began to write the next stanza. And she repeated the refrain, as was her intention.

My tree will tell you in a murmur, in a voiceless hush—
That he treasures my secrets, cradles them in his boughs
Only for you.
I wish you to know my love,
But subtly, subtly is the key, dear.

In the arms of the lonely oaken tree,
I am safe from dissonance and harm.
I lie in these oaken arms
And hope you hear me in Nature's voice
Where I am unafraid to
Set my spirit free.