#also hug/discuss/leave space aka the vanyarin solution/the noldorin soltion/the telerin solution

[eri-pl]

@erendur, @peasant-player twas your idea.

I'm not sure if I should tag anyone else (it has Finrod, but it is half a joke, and you'll read it anyway, so—)

-------------- (no proper cut, we knit like Men)

Finrod stepped back and looked at the relief, wondering how angry Andreth would be seeing her face in the line of his other friends, carved in his messy style. (How angry she will be)

Edrahil stood in the door. "My lord, you have a guest."

Strange. In the long years after their reembodiment, the captain learned to simply let the guests in when Finrod was not very busy. And now he waited, tense. Did one of the Valar come to visit?

There was only one way to see. "Let them in."

Edrahil left and after a while returned with— How?— The hair as dark as shadows of the evening. Eyes grey as starlit sky. Not a Vala, but—

Finrod blinked for a moment, until he regained some clarity of thought. "You must be my nephew-in-law. Or one of his sons, maybe? Celebrian has told me a lot about you all, but I'm afraid I'm not up to speed with the recent news—"

The guest bowed. "I am indeed Elrond. My sons have not sailed with me." Why was there sorrow in his voice? Was there a conflict in the family?

Finrod put away the chisel and turned to face Elrond properly. The relief could wait. "Come in, I am beyond glad to meet you."

"I bring an invitation to Tol Eressea and a gift from—" Elrond's voice faltered "—my son-in-law, who carries a gift from you, and from my daughter, who made this."

Finrod ignored for now the scroll and opened a package of beautifully woved linen, uncovering another fabric. It was thick and knitted, at first it seemed like a rug, but no, it had sleeves. Shorter than a tunic, it was a kind of Mannish garnment, but made with more artistry than he would expect from the Secondborn. Deep green, light, but warm and soft.

He unfolded the garnment and there was a pattern on it, knitted in lime, brown, and gold—actual gold thread—a familiar pattern of two snakes and a wreath of flowers.

What was the meaning of it?

The ring, obviously— but it made no sense, Elrond's son in law would be an Elf— would he?— the grief in Elrond's voice— the Mannish style of it all— and Lúthien— and they were all heirs of Earendil, they could—

Oh.

"I see," said Finrod softly. "Thank you. I— I see. Would you like a hug, a discussion, or simply to move to another topic and leave you be?"

"A hug—" Elrond's voice broke. "—would be a good start."

Finrod embraced him tightly, his new nephew's head against his chest, and held for long.

Elronds hair, just like Lúthien's, inexplicably smelled of flowers.