Fic A Day - Day 3 - An Unfortunate Cut
Aug. 3rd, 2021 07:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: An Unfortunate Cut
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: On the way home from her adventures in Mordor, Buffy learns about a difference between California and Middle-earth.
Word Count: 1325
Note: Sorry, I know everyone was looking forward to more Anariel in Aman. But I've not had the best day today (minor medical issue, I'll be fine but I'm not feeling too fantastic at the moment) and couldn't get in the right headspace. Fingers crossed a good night's sleep will see me better. Look on the bright side - more Scoobies!
It was hard to say which of her brothers looked more appalled.
“Ok, what’s wrong?” Anariel sighed.
The twins had finally caught up with them at the southernmost end of the Celduin. They hadn’t so much as said hello yet. She hadn’t even gotten to ‘hey, guess where we went this summer’, which was what she’d been expecting to rate expressions like this.
“Did they guess?” Anya muttered from behind her, as the silence stretched out to uncomfortable and beyond. “Or did they already know?”
Xander nervously shushed her, while Willow tried not to laugh. (Tara was quiet, but probably smiling.)
“Your hair,” Elrohir said finally, sounding scandalized.
“What happened?” Elladan demanded.
Anariel traded bemused looks with the Scoobies. She thought her hair was looking rather cute today. They’ve been near water ever since she and Anya had met up with Xander, Willow, and Tara near the Sea of Rhûn, so daily bathing has been a thing again much to everyone’s satisfaction. (Particularly hers and Anya's, as they'd gone the longest and most disgusting spell without it.)
“I think it’s safe to say they’re having feelings about the chop,” Xander suggested. “And not the warm fuzzy kind.”
Anariel sighed.
She and Anya had ended up cropping their hair as short as possible after a particularly unfortunate experience just south of the Ered Lithui.
On the bright side, the mud pit they’d stumbled into hadn’t been superheated like some in the area they’d seen. But the overpowering stench of the mud had been both nauseating and lasting. It had somehow managed to combine the stink of sulfur with eau de rotten garbage, and caused Anya to wonder more than once if perhaps being cooked instantly might not have been less miserable. (She’d also concluded that she hadn’t paid enough attention to smell in her vengeance demon days, and then gotten a slightly abstract look that suggested Sauron should be very happy those days were firmly behind her.)
They’d given it two days on the non-minion-infested side of the mountains before reluctantly admitting their attempts to scrub the smell out weren’t working and resorted to more drastic damage control measures. They’d gotten rid of just about anything the mud had touched – including their hair, once Anya realized that it was holding onto the stink as stubbornly as their clothes had.
That had been a couple months ago, so the terrible initial cuts (‘chop’ had been sadly accurate, given they had to use knives) had grown out. Once they’d been a safe distance from Mordor, and more importantly, rejoined Xander, Willow, and Tara and had better tools to work with, they’d taken the time to rework them into something more fashionable. At least, it would have been fashionable by California standards. Based on the Els’ reactions, Middle Earth thought differently. At least, the elven part of it did.
“Some extremely smelly mud happened,” she said brightly. “It claimed some clothes, too. But unfortunately those don’t grow back.”
Her brothers circled her, looking critically at her head. Their expressions were far from impressed.
“How long has it been like this?” Elrohir asked.
He was trying for clinical rather than shocked but not quite succeeding.
“Not long. We cut it not long after midsummer,” she shrugged. “It’s growing back nicely.”
The twins looked aghast at the notion that her hair had been shorter still.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anariel could see Xander trying heroically to hold back laughter. She hoped he managed it. If he starting laughing, she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face either. The way her brothers were acting, you’d think she’d lost a limb, not just had to get a haircut.
“Smelly mud…” Elladan said thoughtfully. “Were you in the Dead Marshes? We have not been there recently but I do recall the mud held the scent of decay.”
That sobered everyone up slightly.
They had been hoping to make it home before fessing up – and to get it out to everyone at once. Now it was going to turn into a thing, and the twins would probably tell Thranduil, who would have the same reaction but more so, and Thranduil would tell her grandparents, who would fret thinking it was worse than it actually was, and they would tell Elrond and Celebrían …
Anariel sighed. She could see the chain reaction coming, but it wasn’t like lying to her big brothers was in any way a better plan.
“No, we were in the north of Gorgoroth,” she said cheerfully.
It took a second for the twins to register that ‘the north of Gorgoroth’ meant ‘south of the Ash Mountains’ – in other words, ‘in Mordor’.
Elladan was so horrified his mouth worked soundlessly.
Elrohir sighed deeply as if this were the most painful thing he had heard in his entire life. Given that he was older than his sister by nearly twenty-four hundred years, this was a fairly effective guilt tactic.
“It wasn’t that bad!” Anariel protested. “Aside from the haircuts, we’re fine! And we made really good maps.”
“You should definitely mention that point to Nana, I’m sure it will go over well,” Elrohir replied drily. “You did understand we were joking when we suggested dancing through Mordor?”
“I promise there was no dancing in Mordor.”
“I am also not so sure Ada will be as calm as we said now that you have done it,” Elladan added. “What’s more, we cannot possibly take you to the Greenwood as we had intended looking like this. Thranduil will be more upset at the sight of your head than we were.”
“Why?” Anariel asked. “It’s hair, guys, it grows back. Give it a couple years and it will be right back to where it was before.”
“No self-respecting elf-”
“Half-elf,” Anariel corrected brightly.
“Or half-elf,” Elrohir amended without missing a beat. “Would be seen with such hair.”
“Why?”
Half an hour of bugging her brothers later, Anariel still had no clear answer to why short hair on an elf was so unseemly, but apparently it was.
“Fine,” she sighed. “No visiting Thranduil, because apparently elves do not appreciate short hair no matter how cute.”
Elladan started to say something but thought better of it.
“So what are we supposed to do?” Anariel asked. “If my hair means I’m not fit for company…wait. Idea!”
“Uh-oh,” Xander muttered.
“We haven’t been to the Withered Heath. Aren’t there supposed to be dragons there?”
“NO.”
Both twins had spoken as one.
Anariel waited expectantly.
“We will go around the Greenwood to the south,” Elladan said firmly. “It will take somewhat longer, but by the time we reach Lórien, hopefully your hair will be long enough again to not bring Grandmother to tears.”
“Perhaps we can encourage it to grow faster,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “It should be similar to singing over an injury to heal it.”
“Tears?” Anariel asked skeptically. “I get that you two don’t like the new style, but aren’t you overreacting just a little?”
Their grandmother had lived through enough that she really doubted a bad haircut (in other people’s opinion) that was already growing out was worth crying over.
Elrohir gave her a look that confirmed that yes, there would be tears.
“But-”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say yet!”
“I didn’t need to,” Elladan told his sister. “Given that your current idea involves looking for dragons and your previous idea led to touring Mordor and leaving your hair behind…”
“Leave it behind?” Anya snorted indignantly. “What sort of amateurs do you think we are to leave something like that sitting around with a Dark Lord in the neighborhood? We burned it. And our clothes, which I note you are not nearly as fussed over even though it is autumn and getting chillier.”
Elrohir pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sure you will between you tell us the full story this evening. We may as well make camp now.”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: On the way home from her adventures in Mordor, Buffy learns about a difference between California and Middle-earth.
Word Count: 1325
Note: Sorry, I know everyone was looking forward to more Anariel in Aman. But I've not had the best day today (minor medical issue, I'll be fine but I'm not feeling too fantastic at the moment) and couldn't get in the right headspace. Fingers crossed a good night's sleep will see me better. Look on the bright side - more Scoobies!
It was hard to say which of her brothers looked more appalled.
“Ok, what’s wrong?” Anariel sighed.
The twins had finally caught up with them at the southernmost end of the Celduin. They hadn’t so much as said hello yet. She hadn’t even gotten to ‘hey, guess where we went this summer’, which was what she’d been expecting to rate expressions like this.
“Did they guess?” Anya muttered from behind her, as the silence stretched out to uncomfortable and beyond. “Or did they already know?”
Xander nervously shushed her, while Willow tried not to laugh. (Tara was quiet, but probably smiling.)
“Your hair,” Elrohir said finally, sounding scandalized.
“What happened?” Elladan demanded.
Anariel traded bemused looks with the Scoobies. She thought her hair was looking rather cute today. They’ve been near water ever since she and Anya had met up with Xander, Willow, and Tara near the Sea of Rhûn, so daily bathing has been a thing again much to everyone’s satisfaction. (Particularly hers and Anya's, as they'd gone the longest and most disgusting spell without it.)
“I think it’s safe to say they’re having feelings about the chop,” Xander suggested. “And not the warm fuzzy kind.”
Anariel sighed.
She and Anya had ended up cropping their hair as short as possible after a particularly unfortunate experience just south of the Ered Lithui.
On the bright side, the mud pit they’d stumbled into hadn’t been superheated like some in the area they’d seen. But the overpowering stench of the mud had been both nauseating and lasting. It had somehow managed to combine the stink of sulfur with eau de rotten garbage, and caused Anya to wonder more than once if perhaps being cooked instantly might not have been less miserable. (She’d also concluded that she hadn’t paid enough attention to smell in her vengeance demon days, and then gotten a slightly abstract look that suggested Sauron should be very happy those days were firmly behind her.)
They’d given it two days on the non-minion-infested side of the mountains before reluctantly admitting their attempts to scrub the smell out weren’t working and resorted to more drastic damage control measures. They’d gotten rid of just about anything the mud had touched – including their hair, once Anya realized that it was holding onto the stink as stubbornly as their clothes had.
That had been a couple months ago, so the terrible initial cuts (‘chop’ had been sadly accurate, given they had to use knives) had grown out. Once they’d been a safe distance from Mordor, and more importantly, rejoined Xander, Willow, and Tara and had better tools to work with, they’d taken the time to rework them into something more fashionable. At least, it would have been fashionable by California standards. Based on the Els’ reactions, Middle Earth thought differently. At least, the elven part of it did.
“Some extremely smelly mud happened,” she said brightly. “It claimed some clothes, too. But unfortunately those don’t grow back.”
Her brothers circled her, looking critically at her head. Their expressions were far from impressed.
“How long has it been like this?” Elrohir asked.
He was trying for clinical rather than shocked but not quite succeeding.
“Not long. We cut it not long after midsummer,” she shrugged. “It’s growing back nicely.”
The twins looked aghast at the notion that her hair had been shorter still.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anariel could see Xander trying heroically to hold back laughter. She hoped he managed it. If he starting laughing, she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face either. The way her brothers were acting, you’d think she’d lost a limb, not just had to get a haircut.
“Smelly mud…” Elladan said thoughtfully. “Were you in the Dead Marshes? We have not been there recently but I do recall the mud held the scent of decay.”
That sobered everyone up slightly.
They had been hoping to make it home before fessing up – and to get it out to everyone at once. Now it was going to turn into a thing, and the twins would probably tell Thranduil, who would have the same reaction but more so, and Thranduil would tell her grandparents, who would fret thinking it was worse than it actually was, and they would tell Elrond and Celebrían …
Anariel sighed. She could see the chain reaction coming, but it wasn’t like lying to her big brothers was in any way a better plan.
“No, we were in the north of Gorgoroth,” she said cheerfully.
It took a second for the twins to register that ‘the north of Gorgoroth’ meant ‘south of the Ash Mountains’ – in other words, ‘in Mordor’.
Elladan was so horrified his mouth worked soundlessly.
Elrohir sighed deeply as if this were the most painful thing he had heard in his entire life. Given that he was older than his sister by nearly twenty-four hundred years, this was a fairly effective guilt tactic.
“It wasn’t that bad!” Anariel protested. “Aside from the haircuts, we’re fine! And we made really good maps.”
“You should definitely mention that point to Nana, I’m sure it will go over well,” Elrohir replied drily. “You did understand we were joking when we suggested dancing through Mordor?”
“I promise there was no dancing in Mordor.”
“I am also not so sure Ada will be as calm as we said now that you have done it,” Elladan added. “What’s more, we cannot possibly take you to the Greenwood as we had intended looking like this. Thranduil will be more upset at the sight of your head than we were.”
“Why?” Anariel asked. “It’s hair, guys, it grows back. Give it a couple years and it will be right back to where it was before.”
“No self-respecting elf-”
“Half-elf,” Anariel corrected brightly.
“Or half-elf,” Elrohir amended without missing a beat. “Would be seen with such hair.”
“Why?”
Half an hour of bugging her brothers later, Anariel still had no clear answer to why short hair on an elf was so unseemly, but apparently it was.
“Fine,” she sighed. “No visiting Thranduil, because apparently elves do not appreciate short hair no matter how cute.”
Elladan started to say something but thought better of it.
“So what are we supposed to do?” Anariel asked. “If my hair means I’m not fit for company…wait. Idea!”
“Uh-oh,” Xander muttered.
“We haven’t been to the Withered Heath. Aren’t there supposed to be dragons there?”
“NO.”
Both twins had spoken as one.
Anariel waited expectantly.
“We will go around the Greenwood to the south,” Elladan said firmly. “It will take somewhat longer, but by the time we reach Lórien, hopefully your hair will be long enough again to not bring Grandmother to tears.”
“Perhaps we can encourage it to grow faster,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “It should be similar to singing over an injury to heal it.”
“Tears?” Anariel asked skeptically. “I get that you two don’t like the new style, but aren’t you overreacting just a little?”
Their grandmother had lived through enough that she really doubted a bad haircut (in other people’s opinion) that was already growing out was worth crying over.
Elrohir gave her a look that confirmed that yes, there would be tears.
“But-”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say yet!”
“I didn’t need to,” Elladan told his sister. “Given that your current idea involves looking for dragons and your previous idea led to touring Mordor and leaving your hair behind…”
“Leave it behind?” Anya snorted indignantly. “What sort of amateurs do you think we are to leave something like that sitting around with a Dark Lord in the neighborhood? We burned it. And our clothes, which I note you are not nearly as fussed over even though it is autumn and getting chillier.”
Elrohir pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sure you will between you tell us the full story this evening. We may as well make camp now.”
no subject
Date: 2021-08-03 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-05 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-04 12:01 am (UTC)Pardon my fangirling here...
Date: 2021-08-04 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-05 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-04 03:41 am (UTC)ETA: Anya's reaction to Elladan's comment about leaving their hair behind was perfect. I really do hope you throw in a few more snippets like this at points in the future whenever the inclination strikes, because this ficlet is pure gold.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-05 04:07 am (UTC)Maybe ? I am being not so subtly encouraged to take a crack at the Dragon Incident...
no subject
Date: 2021-08-05 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-29 11:04 pm (UTC)LOL Indeed not! What a culture shock for the twins.
(I confess I have a weakness for anything involving elves, their hair, and possibly a hair complex, no matter how silly. *g* )
no subject
Date: 2021-09-07 01:38 am (UTC)