Fic A Day, Day 4 - Proof of Life
Aug. 4th, 2019 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Proof of Life
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: A tense dinner in Tirion as Elrond and family prepare to travel to Alqualondë to await a certain ship.
Word Count: 1050ish
Note: Just a reminder, I do skip around the timeline a bit, and while I've been more or less in chronological order so far, it's a good bet that won't hold true all this week. (Busy week, limited writing time = I'll go with whatever's easiest to dash off quickly.)
Elrond sighed internally.
He really wished they could have avoided this. He knew that under the circumstances, his daughter was in no mood for a ‘family’ dinner when family meant all of their kin currently in residence in Tirion. His wife wasn’t much better.
While Celebrian was outwardly mourning Arwen, she was also trying to keep up the impression that she was not unduly concerned about Anariel so as not to cause an uproar among their kin. Their extended families were all unsettled to some degree by Arwen’s death, long-expected though it was.
But his wife had been deeply troubled by Tindomiel’s account of what most of her grandparents (save Turgon, interestingly) took for nothing more than a bad dream. She had not forgotten the full power of the Key – and had reminded him that while here their daughter might use it as little more than a pass in and out of Mandos, it had been potent enough to return her, their daughters, and Anariel’s mortal siblings from the strange world of California. That would be more than enough to interest Morgoth.
The idea that the power of the Key could snap the bond between the two girls tight in a moment of stress or desperation did not seem so far-fetched to Celebrían as it did to most. Even Arafinwë, who knew perfectly well that Tindomiel waltzed in and out of Mandos as she pleased and that Anariel has been known to use osanwë to reach the Blessed Land from the Hither Shore without any apparent strain or difficulty, chalked up Tindomiel’s experience to the grief of Arwen’s death and fear for the sister she had left in Endorë.
Celebrían feared it might be more than that – her youngest child had been a target once before, and her older daughter willing to do whatever it took, up to and including fighting what sounded suspiciously like a vala or at the very least a maia, to protect her. Hearing that Tindomiel had seen exactly that had given her more than one sleepless night of late.
Elrond was inclined to agree with his wife. She knew far more of the Key than he did, and far more of California and how Anariel might react to any threat to her younger sister. He had seen only that one incident, not long after the girls had returned to Imladris, and that alone made him think that Anariel would fight to the death and beyond if she thought Tindomiel was in danger.
But their kin in Tirion wanted to show their support, and those who would remain in Tirion wanted to give them a suitable send-off as they prepared to depart for Alqualondë to await the arrival of the children and Celeborn. (And, in a few irreverent cases, to find out whether or not Thranduil had sailed with his son and that dwarf or whether he had decided that Legolas was old enough to manage the crossing unsupervised and taken ship with Celeborn. Erestor reported the betting was evenly split. Elrond suspected Gildor stood to win a tidy sum given that Celebrían had disdainfully refused to bet on a sure thing.)
He could feel the tension in his wife’s hand in his as they walked in to dinner – and see it in Tindomiel’s face and posture. His daughter was fed up with trying to pretend everything was ok for the sake of her grandparents. He had asked only that she manage one hour, then she could retreat to her rooms for the remainder of the evening.
His law-son’s expression was a practiced neutral, but his shoulders and neck showed that he was no less tense than Tindomiel. Elrond hoped for both their sakes dinner would go quickly, and without any painful remarks from kin who meant well but knew too little of mortal death to understand what not to say.
Dessert had just been brought out when it happened.
Tindomiel, who had been slouched in her seat, ignoring all food offered to her and likely mentally counting down minutes, suddenly sat up straighter as if she were listening for something.
Before anyone could ask what had drawn her attention, they all felt and heard it.
A wave of pure rage washed over them.
Silverware and cups clattered from startled hands all up and down the table.
AURË ENTULUVA!
He didn’t recognize the snarled word that followed, but judging by the not entirely smothered giggle from his youngest daughter, it had to be an insult – or possibly obscenity – of California.
Elrond pressed a hand to his temple, a useless shield against the headache he knew would inevitably follow.
Anariel was louder than he would have guessed – he has never before heard her from across the Sea, and certainly never in the middle of what sounded suspiciously like the fury of battle.
He looked up to find that most of the table were reacting as he was, though a few were clearly worse off. Arafinwë in particular looked terrible – a worried Eärwen was pressing a cup of wine into his hand – and on his other side, Galadriel wasn’t much better.
He supposed he should be thankful Findis was in Valimar, for she was nearly as sensitive.
Celebrian had gone utterly white, and he gripped her hand urgently, trying to buoy her strength as much as he could despite the incipient pounding in his head.
In contrast to everyone else in the room, Tindomiel looked at ease for the first time since they’d arrived in Tirion.
“What in Varda’s name was that?” Anairë demanded in strangled tones.
Next to her, Nolofinwë had pillowed his head on his hands, though whether because his head was also pounding or to hide his emotions was a question only he himself (or possibly Anairë) could answer.
Farther down the table, Turgon looked at though he might be sick. Elenwë seemed torn between looking after her husband and an equally distressed Itarillë.
Tindomiel answered before Elrond could.
“That,” she said calmly, reaching for the chocolate cake she had previously ignored, “was my sister. And from the sound of it, she’s giving Morgoth the ass-kicking he so royally deserves. I hope she gives him another limp.”
She smiled blissfully as she took her first bite of the evening.
“Cake, anyone?”
*Link goes to post on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: A tense dinner in Tirion as Elrond and family prepare to travel to Alqualondë to await a certain ship.
Word Count: 1050ish
Note: Just a reminder, I do skip around the timeline a bit, and while I've been more or less in chronological order so far, it's a good bet that won't hold true all this week. (Busy week, limited writing time = I'll go with whatever's easiest to dash off quickly.)
Elrond sighed internally.
He really wished they could have avoided this. He knew that under the circumstances, his daughter was in no mood for a ‘family’ dinner when family meant all of their kin currently in residence in Tirion. His wife wasn’t much better.
While Celebrian was outwardly mourning Arwen, she was also trying to keep up the impression that she was not unduly concerned about Anariel so as not to cause an uproar among their kin. Their extended families were all unsettled to some degree by Arwen’s death, long-expected though it was.
But his wife had been deeply troubled by Tindomiel’s account of what most of her grandparents (save Turgon, interestingly) took for nothing more than a bad dream. She had not forgotten the full power of the Key – and had reminded him that while here their daughter might use it as little more than a pass in and out of Mandos, it had been potent enough to return her, their daughters, and Anariel’s mortal siblings from the strange world of California. That would be more than enough to interest Morgoth.
The idea that the power of the Key could snap the bond between the two girls tight in a moment of stress or desperation did not seem so far-fetched to Celebrían as it did to most. Even Arafinwë, who knew perfectly well that Tindomiel waltzed in and out of Mandos as she pleased and that Anariel has been known to use osanwë to reach the Blessed Land from the Hither Shore without any apparent strain or difficulty, chalked up Tindomiel’s experience to the grief of Arwen’s death and fear for the sister she had left in Endorë.
Celebrían feared it might be more than that – her youngest child had been a target once before, and her older daughter willing to do whatever it took, up to and including fighting what sounded suspiciously like a vala or at the very least a maia, to protect her. Hearing that Tindomiel had seen exactly that had given her more than one sleepless night of late.
Elrond was inclined to agree with his wife. She knew far more of the Key than he did, and far more of California and how Anariel might react to any threat to her younger sister. He had seen only that one incident, not long after the girls had returned to Imladris, and that alone made him think that Anariel would fight to the death and beyond if she thought Tindomiel was in danger.
But their kin in Tirion wanted to show their support, and those who would remain in Tirion wanted to give them a suitable send-off as they prepared to depart for Alqualondë to await the arrival of the children and Celeborn. (And, in a few irreverent cases, to find out whether or not Thranduil had sailed with his son and that dwarf or whether he had decided that Legolas was old enough to manage the crossing unsupervised and taken ship with Celeborn. Erestor reported the betting was evenly split. Elrond suspected Gildor stood to win a tidy sum given that Celebrían had disdainfully refused to bet on a sure thing.)
He could feel the tension in his wife’s hand in his as they walked in to dinner – and see it in Tindomiel’s face and posture. His daughter was fed up with trying to pretend everything was ok for the sake of her grandparents. He had asked only that she manage one hour, then she could retreat to her rooms for the remainder of the evening.
His law-son’s expression was a practiced neutral, but his shoulders and neck showed that he was no less tense than Tindomiel. Elrond hoped for both their sakes dinner would go quickly, and without any painful remarks from kin who meant well but knew too little of mortal death to understand what not to say.
Dessert had just been brought out when it happened.
Tindomiel, who had been slouched in her seat, ignoring all food offered to her and likely mentally counting down minutes, suddenly sat up straighter as if she were listening for something.
Before anyone could ask what had drawn her attention, they all felt and heard it.
A wave of pure rage washed over them.
Silverware and cups clattered from startled hands all up and down the table.
AURË ENTULUVA!
He didn’t recognize the snarled word that followed, but judging by the not entirely smothered giggle from his youngest daughter, it had to be an insult – or possibly obscenity – of California.
Elrond pressed a hand to his temple, a useless shield against the headache he knew would inevitably follow.
Anariel was louder than he would have guessed – he has never before heard her from across the Sea, and certainly never in the middle of what sounded suspiciously like the fury of battle.
He looked up to find that most of the table were reacting as he was, though a few were clearly worse off. Arafinwë in particular looked terrible – a worried Eärwen was pressing a cup of wine into his hand – and on his other side, Galadriel wasn’t much better.
He supposed he should be thankful Findis was in Valimar, for she was nearly as sensitive.
Celebrian had gone utterly white, and he gripped her hand urgently, trying to buoy her strength as much as he could despite the incipient pounding in his head.
In contrast to everyone else in the room, Tindomiel looked at ease for the first time since they’d arrived in Tirion.
“What in Varda’s name was that?” Anairë demanded in strangled tones.
Next to her, Nolofinwë had pillowed his head on his hands, though whether because his head was also pounding or to hide his emotions was a question only he himself (or possibly Anairë) could answer.
Farther down the table, Turgon looked at though he might be sick. Elenwë seemed torn between looking after her husband and an equally distressed Itarillë.
Tindomiel answered before Elrond could.
“That,” she said calmly, reaching for the chocolate cake she had previously ignored, “was my sister. And from the sound of it, she’s giving Morgoth the ass-kicking he so royally deserves. I hope she gives him another limp.”
She smiled blissfully as she took her first bite of the evening.
“Cake, anyone?”
*Link goes to post on
twistedshorts
