Chapter Text
It is cold when the two siblings finally make their way up the harsh mountain terrain. Snow falls down softly, and piles of it lie everywhere. Violet shuffles in it, which then makes a big enough spot for the dead grass under to show. Her brother, Cyrus, is talking to one of the guards at the entrance of the human village. A poorly made wooden wall blocks out the two half-elves, but Violet thinks nothing of it, not caring much for the sad creations of men. She is tired and wishes for some soup. Stupid guard , she thinks. They only wish to deliver a letter, how suspicious is that?
She huffs, and her hot breath makes a small cloud of steam. She can hear her brother’s voice growing weary with the man. Her ears twitch at the overheard conversation, and after she notices the lack of warmth in her slightly pointed ears. “Violet!” She lifts her head up to her brother, and he gives her a pointed look. She rolls her eyes, but goes to him, footprints being left in the snow. She stands beside him, only reaching half his height.
“Show the guard the letter, Violet.” He speaks. His tone is somewhat harsher than usual, but Violet doesn’t blame him, but it is also weird for Cyrus to be so on edge. Ever since they left Bree, Cyrus has been extremely protective, now that she looks back on it. She does not like being so left in the dark, but if Cyrus pretends everything is fine, so shall she. Even if it annoys her to no end.
“Yes brother.” A brown bag, with a golden clasp, hangs by her hip, attached to Violet’s shoulder. She unlocks it and pulls out a pile of letters, some fall into the snow, but Cyrus quickly bends down to pick them up. She mutters a thank you, before finding the letter sent to the fortified village. “Here is the letter, sir knight. It is meant for Alb-Albre-” She stutters, but she is cut off by the guard.
“Albrechestrch.” The guard cuts her off, and in response she scowls, but a pinch to her side is enough for her to pull back her face. Though, she does kick her brother in the shin. The guard looks at them briefly and grunts. “Alright then, this letter is proof enough for me. Don’t cause any trouble.”
Violet huffs, and Cryus side eyes her, but grabs the letter from the guard and waits for the wooden gate to be opened. The two siblings lean into one another as they walk into the silent village. Their weariness slightly dissipates, but exhaustion seeps into their movements in its stead. “Brother,” she mumbles, yawning,” Can we deliver the luh-l-letter later?”
Cyrus hums softly, “I do not see why not. We deserve a rest, I say.” He smiles down at her, softly.
“I s-say so too!” She agrees, quite loudly, and blush covers her face when people start to look at her.
Cyrus checks them into an inn by the time the sun hits dusk. The innkeeper, Bernard, was hesitant to let the half-elves in, but after a convincing gold coin or two (or four), the human lets them rent out a room for the night. They get served their food before going to their room, and the siblings are grateful for the warm meal.
“Are you sh-shitting me right now?” Violet says, anger clear in her voice. Before the two siblings is a singular bed, neatly made. Cyrus lets out a grating sigh and throws his cloak onto a small table in the corner.
“We pay four gold coins, and the man gives us one bed. Do I look like a child b-bride?” Violet says heatedly, her stutter coming out.
“Ugh, please do not put that thought into my head.” Cyrus says, voice and face full of disgust. “But I do not see why you are shocked, Vi, these are the ways of men.” He goes to the window and shakes it, to see if it is sturdy. The window creaks too much for Cyrus’ liking, and he walks over to the table to grab a chair from it. Violet watches her older brother as he lifts the leg of the chair and seals off the window.
“Not men, just assholes.” Vi says, taking her attention off of Cyrus, putting her cloak and bag on the table as well. She wears a button up blouse, with a mid-length, blue skirt.
“Fair enough. We have met enough elves for them to be bastards as well.” Violet laughs at her brother’s words. She turns to the bed and lays down on it, her limbs sprawled out. “I wish I-I did not forget our n-night wear from the village in B-Bree.” She mumbles.
Cyrus hums in response. “We will try to buy some gowns and things in one of the shops here. I just do not wish to stay for too long. We have to travel to Imladris and I wish to get that done as soon as we can.”
“It slipped my mind that we have to t-travel t-there. Do you think anyone will recognize us?” Cyrus lays beside his sister as she speaks.
“Possibly. They may be able to recognize me from the color of my hair, but it is not unknown that Maglor had two more children. I think we might be able to deliver the rest of the letters, and then make way to a human settlement, after Imladris, but we must go there sooner or later.” His voice is one of finality.
“I hope it is later. I do not wish for a family reunion so soon. But I...” Violet hesitates and she opens her blue-gray eyes to look at her brother. “I heard that Maglor was there, that they found him at the border.” Her voice is far too soft for her liking, and she flusters, looking away from her brother.
Cyrus takes her hand and squeezes it, before letting it drop. He smiles sympathetically at his little sister. “It is true. I have heard from the birds and his fëa is healing. Bonds do not lie, and I know you feel him as keenly as I do, but that matters not. He left mama, and us by extension, and because of that, he will never be our father, Violet.” Violet nods, wetness glazing her eyes.
“I know tha-that, but do you think he might be t-trying t-t-to find us? I feel him trying to c-connect with my bond sometimes.” She stutters.
“Maybe,” Cyrus says, and with that, they speak no more of what-ifs.
Maglor was a sensitive subject for them both, and Violet cursed herself for not being able to speak of him. “I wish to sleep now.”
“As do I, little sister.” The two siblings hug briefly and then turn to their sides to have sleep take them.
The soft snores of his sister is the only thing Cyrus acknowledges when he wakes up. Violet lies in the bed beside him, her neck-length, blonde hair curls around her face. He snorts when he sees a strand of hair in her mouth. He sits upright, the morning sun shining on his face. He blinks, trying to adjust to the sudden light. He is glad to see that it has stopped snowing, trying to trek in that would be quite bothersome for him and Violet.
His eyes catch in the mirror before the bed. It is long and attached to the wall, with dark oak framing the glass. It does not match the wood of the walls, which is unsatisfactory to look at, but he does anyway. His hair, white as the snow outside, glows from the sun in the reflection. The hair is cut short, not going past his pointed ears. It’s a mockery to his Noldor blood, but he can’t bring himself to care. His hair is a damn pain to take care of when long, and it is far easier to cut it short. And his eyes, a beautiful gray with hints of blue, only curse him in his reflection.
For a moment, he is reminded of his father again, or what he could even remember of him. A pang of angst stabs into his chest when he thinks of the immortal man. He wishes he could curse his father, but he holds too much love for him, even if he does not show it. But Cyrus does not dwell on it, Maglor was the one to leave him, mama, and most of all, Violet. He should have taken her, should have loved his daughter, but he did not, so now Cyrus takes his place. Malgor deserves no love from any of them, especially Violet. And yet she loves him so much. She does not even remember him truly and yet she loves him so. My sweet sister, he does not deserve your love. Cyrus thinks, mournfully.
A harsh breeze rattles throughout the room, breaking Cyrus from his thoughts. The window is open, curtains flowing outside, the door is now moved beside the window. Cyrus stares at the window, fear running deep into his veins. He closed it last night, that he is certain of. He takes a quick glance at Violet, to see that she is still there, still whole. He gets up from the bed, his reflection leaving the wall mirror. He is cautious when walking to the window. He notices ice in the rims of the aperture, which means it has not been open for long, but when he goes to close the window, it is incredibly hot. Cyrus yanks back his hand, grasping his fingers. A voice wraps around his fëa, and Cyrus feels warm. As if someone is giving him a hug. Cyrus cannot help but do the same.
He still does not know who this voice is, but when he hears a scream from Violet, his blood runs cold, and he snaps his head to her. An elf sits on her side of the bed, and Cyrus correlates that the connection of bonds came from him. His hair is long and black, and his eyes are blue with specks of gray, similar to Violet’s. His skin is sun-kissed, and he is beautiful. The elf itself feels like fire, like pain and anguish, like regret, but he also feels kind, warm, familiar.
Cyrus knows who this is now, his face similar to the stories he would hear as a boy. The vicious elf who burnt the ships of his half-brother, who made the Silmarillion, who doomed him and his seven sons. Feanor. Both his and Violet’s grandfather. How annoying, he thinks, all that running from the Feanor name and for what?
Violet scrambles upwards, looking between the elf and her brother. He calms her through their shared bond. She settles slightly, but gets off the bed, caution in her every move. Cyrus lets out a loud sigh and stands by his sister. “Grandfather, you cannot simply appear out of thin air and then give us a scare.”
The ellon smirks at his grandson, and Violet just looks wide-eyed. “G-grandfather? F-feanor?”
Feanor looks back at his granddaughter and softly smiles, amusement coating his eyes. “Yes, that is I. But I am here again, to make amends, I suppose.” He says that last bit disgruntled, but neither of the siblings pay any mind to it.
“How long have you been back?” Cyrus questions, a glare taking over his face.
“A week, at most. I have been following after the two of you since you stepped out of that human settlement.” I knew it. Cyrus knew best to trust his instincts.
“Since Bree?” Cyrus asks, and Feanor merely hums.
“How did you even get in? The innkeeper is a greedy one.” Violet questions, nerves finally settling. She sits back on the bed, observing Feanor.
“As edain usually are. I merely said I had business, nothing of his concern.”
Cyrus lets out a half growl-half huff. “I hope you did not make him more suspicious than he already is, we cannot afford to have no place to stay. Especially with you here.”
Violet swallows, eyebrows closing in on one another. Feanor merely glances at his grandson, but nods. He takes Violet’s hands into his own and admires his granddaughter. “What is it you wish to speak of child?” His voice is soft, and he hesitates with reaching his fëa out to her. Violet looks taken aback, most usually don’t care to ask a girl about what she wishes to say.
"Are you really o-our gr-randfather?” She asks, shyly, looking up at the man holding her hands.
“I am.” He replies and squeezes her hands. She squeezes back, her fëa slowly reaching out to him. Feanor’s smile is tender, and he wraps his soul around hers, as he did with Cyrus moments before. Cyrus smiles at the sight of his sister’s happiness and presses a kiss to the side of her head. Violet beams at him, which is a rare thing for her to do. It makes him glad to see her innocence shine through.
She takes her hands out of Feanor’s and gets out of the bed. Her hair is a mess, and her dress is wrinkled, but there is not much she can do about it. Not until they go to the shops at least.
Feanor notices the disheveled state both of his grandchildren are in, and it puts a strong distaste in his mouth. He and his wife raised all of their sons with love and compassion, and to see how Macalaurë left his own children makes Feanor’s heart hurt with grief and anger. He feels his bond with his son. It is distant, but it holds mourning. But for now, that matters not, he is with his grandchildren, and he will not lose them like how he lost all the others.