Fic A Day, Day 14 - Into The Halls
Aug. 14th, 2020 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Into The Halls
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Anariel asked to visit Fëanor. Namo throws in a new wrinkle.
Word Count: 1625
Note: Reverted to form - could have kept working on this one longer, but out of time and posting at the last minute.
Anariel took a deep breath.
Irmo had brought her to a section of the Gardens she hadn’t seen before. Everything here was quieter, more tranquil. Sound seemed almost muffled. Even the colors seemed to be draining away, fading into something more like twilight tones despite it being well into morning.
Irmo left her outside a building that was different than the rest of the small cottages scattered around Lorien. This one was longer, and connected to what she realized must be one end of the Halls.
My brother will collect you shortly.
With that, Irmo withdrew, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Too late to back out now. Not that it would help anything if she did. She was going to have to do it one way or another. Better to face it head on, in a time and place more or less of her own choosing, than wait for an ambush.
The logic was simple – everyone knew how famously stubborn Fëanor was. In Ennor, they’d overlooked the stubbornness and whispered that he would never be allowed out of Mandos without bothering to stop and think that there might actually be a reason for that aside from the punitive.
If her grandfather, who didn’t even actually like the shiny murder rocks had still been oathbound, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that Fëanor was too. Letting Mr. Loose Cannon out to wreak havoc in Valinor was a terrible idea.
She wondered what the odds were of talking him out of it.
You have not changed your mind.
Namo sounded downright disappointed.
Step inside.
“Did you really think I would?”
The silence inside the building was not quite oppressive, but it was the sort that swallowed any sound immediately.
I hoped.
She fought a snicker, and bit her tongue on the irreverent comeback that was her first impulse.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
The change in energy as they went deeper into the building was marked. Finally, they reached a room with an empty bed opposite a wall with an open arch.
Namo regarded the wall intently for moment, and a door appeared.
The other doorway is not for you, he explained. That is for the dead returning to the world. This is the room where their fëa is joined to a new hroä. It is thus the most convenient place to have you enter the Halls. Fortunately, no one is expected to return today.
Anariel shrugged.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen the dead rise.”
It is not at all like your California, Namo said disapprovingly.
“Didn’t think it was. We really have to work on your sense of humor.”
Your eyes.
She had to refrain from rolling them as she pulled out the world’s fanciest blindfold, which had been waiting for her when she woke that morning.
“Tell Aunt Vairë thank you. I could have just used a towel or sheet or something.”
You may tell her yourself. She is expecting your visit as soon as you are able.
“You sound thrilled.”
I expect more mischief to come of it. You are much like your sisters. Come.
Anariel would have looked at him, but with her eyes now fully covered in cloth that was made by the Weaver and blocked light pretty darn effectively, that wasn’t possible. She started walking, carefully, guided more by her sense of where Namo was than anything else.
She took an interest in Arwen. And of course there is Tindomiel.
Now she was glaring.
“You might have mentioned the Arwen thing sooner,” she grumbled. “And I’m curious to hear more about Tinu being a frequent flyer.”
She does not do any flying here. She walks.
If her previous conversation with him hadn’t, her Morgoth-gifted memories would have completely enlightened her about Namo’s tendency to take words literally. So if he said her sister did not do flying here…
“Ok, so where does she fly?”
In Alqualondë. Has she not told you of it?
Anariel snorted.
“The last time I talked to my little sister was in California,” she said.
She let Namo stew in confusion on that one for several minutes.
“Starting to see how Morgoth could pull the wool over your eyes so easily,” she remarked.
Much as she hated to give him credit, the original Big Bad would have seen through that one in a heartbeat. (Even if he hadn’t been there.) Such an untrue truth was right up his alley. Namo, on the other hand, could sense it was not a lie but not see how it could be true.
“You go strictly by the rules.”
It was his nature.
“Kinda explains that whole ‘a man in Aman! Kill it!’ thing you did when my grandfather arrived.”
She got the distinct sense that Namo was rather uncomfortable having that brought up.
Men are forbidden to set foot in the Undying Lands. No Man may do so and live.
“So how’s Tuor here?” she asked.
She knew that he was. Grandmother had mentioned him.
There was a wave of intense disgruntlement and something that was not quite a complaint about cheating from Namo, who declined to answer verbally.
Well, that made things a whole lot more interesting. She wondered who she needed to ask to find out more.
“Fine, you don’t want to answer. But playing everything by the book doesn’t explain why you then followed up with ‘well if he’s not a Man, he’s a Noldo, so kill him anyway.’ Were you still cranky about Lúthien? Or was it just not liking losing an argument to Ulmo?”
Namo did not like dealing with pereldar. Or Ulmo.
“Again with really needing to work on your sense of humor. Come on, even Morgoth has one.”
Do you intend to raise Manwë’s failings with him as well?
Anariel considered that for a moment.
“Maybe. But unless there’s more I don’t know about, I feel like I get why he did what he did.”
Namo’s reaction to that one was surprise – he’d expected more anger toward Manwë for his inaction.
“Hope can make you overlook a lot, let things slide that you shouldn’t.”
You speak as from experience.
“Yeah,” Anariel sighed. “In California – the real California, not the throwdown with Morgoth that was mostly in my head – my mom took up with a guy I thought was my father until we returned to Arda. Pretty good guy, indulgent with his little girl. At least, he was until his little girl turned out to be the Slayer and he and my mom split up.”
She paused for a moment to mentally fill in the concept of divorce, which didn’t exist among ainur any more than it did among elves.
“But he was still supposed to come see me every so often. Visitation, it was called. Daddy-daughter time. Except he turned up less and less. Every time he didn’t show, I’d be totally let down. Pretty sure there were tears several times. But somehow I was always sure he was going to be there next time. Next time was going to be different. Sooner or later, he was going to see the light and things would go back to how they used to be. I think Manwë’s the same about Morgoth. He’s still hoping sooner or later, his big brother’s going to come back and do the right thing.”
What happened to this Man?
Anariel shrugged.
“No idea. If he’s lucky, he went on to live a long, happy life. I used to be upset by it, but I can’t really blame him in retrospect. Near the Slayer isn’t generally a super happy or healthy place to be.”
I do not understand the connection between your words and Jesse. He seemed happy with the course of his life, and satisfied with its length.
“Jesse Harris was named for another Jesse, who died in California,” Anariel explained quietly.
I am sorry? That is the appropriate response?
“After all this time? You don’t have to be sorry. But thanks for saying it anyway.”
They moved on in silence for a few moments. Anariel didn’t know where else to take the conversation, and Namo appeared to be thinking.
Do you wish to visit Kanafinwë Makalaurë as long as you are here?
“You mean in addition to Fëanor?” Anariel asked cautiously. “Because if it’s an either-or, I’m sticking with the plan and calling on Uncle Butthead.”
I am curious to see if he finds that name annoying or amusing coming from you.
Anariel grinned.
“That’s two of us. You know, there may be hope for your sense of humor yet.”
Visiting Kanafinwë Makalaurë was not in place of Curufinwë Fëanaro.
Anariel stopped.
“You’re hoping haru will talk me out of it!”
It has been my observation that I have failed to convince any of the pereldar to be sensible. But you do listen to him.
“If it’s a twofer, sure.”
It was hard not to laugh at Namo’s confusion. In Tindomiel’s place, she’d visit on the regular just for this.
“But you’re not allowed to tell him about the memory thing,” she added. “Or anything about what happened with Morgoth. I want your word on that.”
Namo really did not like bargaining with pereldar. But seeing no way around it, he grudgingly gave in.
Has it ever occurred to you, Anariel Nairallë, that you are in over your head?
Anariel did laugh at that.
“Are you kidding? I somehow managed to piss off a fallen Vala while I was still in diapers. In fact, I hacked him off so badly that he punched a hole between dimensions to get at me. Pretty sure in over my head is where I’ve been my whole life. At this point, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to not be.”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Anariel asked to visit Fëanor. Namo throws in a new wrinkle.
Word Count: 1625
Note: Reverted to form - could have kept working on this one longer, but out of time and posting at the last minute.
Anariel took a deep breath.
Irmo had brought her to a section of the Gardens she hadn’t seen before. Everything here was quieter, more tranquil. Sound seemed almost muffled. Even the colors seemed to be draining away, fading into something more like twilight tones despite it being well into morning.
Irmo left her outside a building that was different than the rest of the small cottages scattered around Lorien. This one was longer, and connected to what she realized must be one end of the Halls.
My brother will collect you shortly.
With that, Irmo withdrew, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Too late to back out now. Not that it would help anything if she did. She was going to have to do it one way or another. Better to face it head on, in a time and place more or less of her own choosing, than wait for an ambush.
The logic was simple – everyone knew how famously stubborn Fëanor was. In Ennor, they’d overlooked the stubbornness and whispered that he would never be allowed out of Mandos without bothering to stop and think that there might actually be a reason for that aside from the punitive.
If her grandfather, who didn’t even actually like the shiny murder rocks had still been oathbound, it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that Fëanor was too. Letting Mr. Loose Cannon out to wreak havoc in Valinor was a terrible idea.
She wondered what the odds were of talking him out of it.
You have not changed your mind.
Namo sounded downright disappointed.
Step inside.
“Did you really think I would?”
The silence inside the building was not quite oppressive, but it was the sort that swallowed any sound immediately.
I hoped.
She fought a snicker, and bit her tongue on the irreverent comeback that was her first impulse.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
The change in energy as they went deeper into the building was marked. Finally, they reached a room with an empty bed opposite a wall with an open arch.
Namo regarded the wall intently for moment, and a door appeared.
The other doorway is not for you, he explained. That is for the dead returning to the world. This is the room where their fëa is joined to a new hroä. It is thus the most convenient place to have you enter the Halls. Fortunately, no one is expected to return today.
Anariel shrugged.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen the dead rise.”
It is not at all like your California, Namo said disapprovingly.
“Didn’t think it was. We really have to work on your sense of humor.”
Your eyes.
She had to refrain from rolling them as she pulled out the world’s fanciest blindfold, which had been waiting for her when she woke that morning.
“Tell Aunt Vairë thank you. I could have just used a towel or sheet or something.”
You may tell her yourself. She is expecting your visit as soon as you are able.
“You sound thrilled.”
I expect more mischief to come of it. You are much like your sisters. Come.
Anariel would have looked at him, but with her eyes now fully covered in cloth that was made by the Weaver and blocked light pretty darn effectively, that wasn’t possible. She started walking, carefully, guided more by her sense of where Namo was than anything else.
She took an interest in Arwen. And of course there is Tindomiel.
Now she was glaring.
“You might have mentioned the Arwen thing sooner,” she grumbled. “And I’m curious to hear more about Tinu being a frequent flyer.”
She does not do any flying here. She walks.
If her previous conversation with him hadn’t, her Morgoth-gifted memories would have completely enlightened her about Namo’s tendency to take words literally. So if he said her sister did not do flying here…
“Ok, so where does she fly?”
In Alqualondë. Has she not told you of it?
Anariel snorted.
“The last time I talked to my little sister was in California,” she said.
She let Namo stew in confusion on that one for several minutes.
“Starting to see how Morgoth could pull the wool over your eyes so easily,” she remarked.
Much as she hated to give him credit, the original Big Bad would have seen through that one in a heartbeat. (Even if he hadn’t been there.) Such an untrue truth was right up his alley. Namo, on the other hand, could sense it was not a lie but not see how it could be true.
“You go strictly by the rules.”
It was his nature.
“Kinda explains that whole ‘a man in Aman! Kill it!’ thing you did when my grandfather arrived.”
She got the distinct sense that Namo was rather uncomfortable having that brought up.
Men are forbidden to set foot in the Undying Lands. No Man may do so and live.
“So how’s Tuor here?” she asked.
She knew that he was. Grandmother had mentioned him.
There was a wave of intense disgruntlement and something that was not quite a complaint about cheating from Namo, who declined to answer verbally.
Well, that made things a whole lot more interesting. She wondered who she needed to ask to find out more.
“Fine, you don’t want to answer. But playing everything by the book doesn’t explain why you then followed up with ‘well if he’s not a Man, he’s a Noldo, so kill him anyway.’ Were you still cranky about Lúthien? Or was it just not liking losing an argument to Ulmo?”
Namo did not like dealing with pereldar. Or Ulmo.
“Again with really needing to work on your sense of humor. Come on, even Morgoth has one.”
Do you intend to raise Manwë’s failings with him as well?
Anariel considered that for a moment.
“Maybe. But unless there’s more I don’t know about, I feel like I get why he did what he did.”
Namo’s reaction to that one was surprise – he’d expected more anger toward Manwë for his inaction.
“Hope can make you overlook a lot, let things slide that you shouldn’t.”
You speak as from experience.
“Yeah,” Anariel sighed. “In California – the real California, not the throwdown with Morgoth that was mostly in my head – my mom took up with a guy I thought was my father until we returned to Arda. Pretty good guy, indulgent with his little girl. At least, he was until his little girl turned out to be the Slayer and he and my mom split up.”
She paused for a moment to mentally fill in the concept of divorce, which didn’t exist among ainur any more than it did among elves.
“But he was still supposed to come see me every so often. Visitation, it was called. Daddy-daughter time. Except he turned up less and less. Every time he didn’t show, I’d be totally let down. Pretty sure there were tears several times. But somehow I was always sure he was going to be there next time. Next time was going to be different. Sooner or later, he was going to see the light and things would go back to how they used to be. I think Manwë’s the same about Morgoth. He’s still hoping sooner or later, his big brother’s going to come back and do the right thing.”
What happened to this Man?
Anariel shrugged.
“No idea. If he’s lucky, he went on to live a long, happy life. I used to be upset by it, but I can’t really blame him in retrospect. Near the Slayer isn’t generally a super happy or healthy place to be.”
I do not understand the connection between your words and Jesse. He seemed happy with the course of his life, and satisfied with its length.
“Jesse Harris was named for another Jesse, who died in California,” Anariel explained quietly.
I am sorry? That is the appropriate response?
“After all this time? You don’t have to be sorry. But thanks for saying it anyway.”
They moved on in silence for a few moments. Anariel didn’t know where else to take the conversation, and Namo appeared to be thinking.
Do you wish to visit Kanafinwë Makalaurë as long as you are here?
“You mean in addition to Fëanor?” Anariel asked cautiously. “Because if it’s an either-or, I’m sticking with the plan and calling on Uncle Butthead.”
I am curious to see if he finds that name annoying or amusing coming from you.
Anariel grinned.
“That’s two of us. You know, there may be hope for your sense of humor yet.”
Visiting Kanafinwë Makalaurë was not in place of Curufinwë Fëanaro.
Anariel stopped.
“You’re hoping haru will talk me out of it!”
It has been my observation that I have failed to convince any of the pereldar to be sensible. But you do listen to him.
“If it’s a twofer, sure.”
It was hard not to laugh at Namo’s confusion. In Tindomiel’s place, she’d visit on the regular just for this.
“But you’re not allowed to tell him about the memory thing,” she added. “Or anything about what happened with Morgoth. I want your word on that.”
Namo really did not like bargaining with pereldar. But seeing no way around it, he grudgingly gave in.
Has it ever occurred to you, Anariel Nairallë, that you are in over your head?
Anariel did laugh at that.
“Are you kidding? I somehow managed to piss off a fallen Vala while I was still in diapers. In fact, I hacked him off so badly that he punched a hole between dimensions to get at me. Pretty sure in over my head is where I’ve been my whole life. At this point, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to not be.”
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Date: 2020-08-15 06:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-15 03:01 pm (UTC)He's trying!
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Date: 2020-08-15 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-15 03:03 pm (UTC)