Fic A Day - Day 14 - The Kids Are Home
Aug. 14th, 2021 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: The Kids Are Home
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel arrives home while Elrond has visitors.
Word Count: 2290. According to Word. I have not dared edit in the LJ post window as I usually do, to be sure I don't wander over the limit.
Elrond sighed.
It had been a long season since his older children arrived in Aman. Anariel had been whisked off to Lórien immediately, leaving a crowd of highly concerned relatives in a state of shock. The longer her stay there extended, the wilder the rumors grew.
His mother’s people needed no rumors, for word of Anariel’s victory and its cost had flown around Thingol’s realm like wildfire. And what the the Sindar knew, the Lindar of Alqualondë did as well. Unfortunately, others were not as sensible. Their Vanyar kin chalked her spell in Lórien up to fading. And of course the ever-inventive Noldor had the most lurid tales. Elrond was told that some in Tirion were convinced she had arrived heavily pregnant and brokenhearted that the Avarin father of her child had refused to accompany her into the West.
While he didn’t doubt his daughter would find that particular wild speculation hilarious – which was probably half the reason Miryo had mentioned it in the first place – he wondered if it was any less cruel than the truth he doubted she was eager to share with any beyond her immediate family.
Neither his sons nor Celeborn had spoken at any length about what happened, despite Galadriel’s best efforts. Even Thranduil had been maddeningly tightlipped.
Elrond had been reluctant to question his boys closely, given how distraught they had been at their little sister’s injuries - and they had been severe. He had been deeply shocked by what Estë’s initial examination had revealed.
He had finally had to ask on his return from Lórien, only to have Elrohir tell him shortly that there was no part of his baby sister, from her littlest toe to the top of her skull, that had not been bruised, battered, or broken at least once at some point on their agonizing journey from Caras Galadhon to Alqualondë. Her brothers had been powerless to do anything to protect her. Only when their ship crossed into the West had she finally been safe.
He had not needed to ask who had done it. The answer had been woven into his daughter’s hair. The Noldor had not recognized it, of course, but Anariel had been sporting a very particular braid when she left her ship, one not seen since the First Age- reserved for Thingol’s people, given only to those who had faced the Great Enemy. Lúthien and Maeglin were the only other ones he knew to be entitled to wear it.
Fortunately, their Noldorin kin, with the possible exception of his wife’s mother, had never learned to differentiate the various braids worn by the Sindar, or their significance. So it had entirely escaped the notice of most of her relations waiting in Alqualondë that Anariel’s head had been a veritable war banner, proclaiming her a warrior of Doriath, Eregion, Lothlorien, and the Greenwood, and highlighting both her royal status and that no enemy could claim to have defeated her, not even the Enemy.
Whatever Morgoth had wanted with his sunshine child, the Dark One hadn’t achieved it.
That was little comfort.
He and Celebrian had visited their daughter in Lorien several times. He would have happily remained with her the entire time, but Irmo, Estë, and their maiar had been polite yet firm in their insistence that Anariel would make a show of being recovered long before she was truly restored to full physical and mental health if her parents were hovering anxiously over her.
The most aggravating part had been knowing that they were right.
Instead of remaining with their child, he and Celebrían have played host to a seemingly endless rotation of visitors at Imlanthiriath over the past weeks. It seemed nearly all their numerous kin, with the notable exceptions of his parents and Celebrían’s, were vying to be the lucky ones present whenever Anariel finally arrived.
He dared hope that day might be close at hand, for not only had Tindomiel and Maeglin made themselves scarce several days ago, the latest rumor to reach him had the ring of truth to it. A nis so tiny she could be mistaken for an elfling had been seen walking outside Valimar to the forests beyond, after descending from Oiolossë.
That had been a week ago, which was just long enough that she might be home any time now. Though it would be as well if it were not today that she showed up. While Elrond suspected Nolofinwë stood to be one of her favorite grandfathers, he knew enough of Anairë to suspect that she and Anariel would be oil and water. Or possibly oil and flame…
They were the visitors of the moment, very politely not asking if there had been any news of Anariel.
Celebrían shot him a reproving look, warning him silently that he was not paying adequate attention.
That was when he heard it.
The footsteps were familiar – all three sets of them. So was the sound of them splitting up to search for whatever it was they wanted more quickly. His sons had spent very little time in the house he and Celebrían had built, likely not enough to be familiar with much more than their own rooms, their mother’s sitting room, his study, and the dining room.
So he was unsurprised when Anariel slipped into the room on her own. He was slightly exasperated to discover that she had managed to acquire a fresh injury on the point of arriving home. Though the hand on her upper arm might look light to those not used to her tricks, he could see she was subtly applying considerable pressure.
“Ada,” she began immediately, as if they have not been parted from each other for nearly a yen, and she had not seen him only for a few brief visits in Lorien, aside from that desperate haze before unconsciousness claimed her after her ship arrived. “Where is the healing hall here? I need bandages.”
Given how tightly she was holding her upper arm, he suspected it was an urgent need. Peering closer, she looked a bit pale, and he could see the telltale trickle of red running down toward her elbow. Likely more than just bandages were needed.
He sighed.
Apparently not even in the Blessed Realm could he count on his children amusing themselves without bloodshed.
“Let me see what you have done to yourself now, my sunshine,” he suggested patiently.
“It is nothing serious,” she assured him, coming further into the room – and only then noticing that there were unfamiliar elves present. “Oh, sorry, I did not realize you had guests. I’ll find the healing hall, do not trouble yourselves, Ada, Nana.”
She nodded to his grandparents, mumuring mae lovannen, hir nin, hiril nin and would have retreated, had he not stopped her.
“Anariel,” he said quietly, deciding to ignore for the moment that while Nolofinwë knew modern Sindarin well enough to recognize her polite – and formal – greeting, it was doubtful Anairë did.
Though judging by the thunderstruck expression on her face, even before he had said her name, his great-great grandmother had already worked out which of his children was standing before her. Perhaps the visit had been more optimism than any real expectation.
“Let me be the judge of how serious it is,” he suggested to his daughter, knowing perfectly well that according to her, almost any given injury would be classed as ‘nothing’, particularly as long as she was still upright. “Unless things have changed rather drastically between my ship sailing and yours, I believe I am the healer here.”
She reluctantly came further into the room, not minding him examining her arm so much as strangers being present for it. He waited until she reluctantly released her grip so he could assess the damage.
Anairë’s strangled exclamation at the blood that welled up from the deep slash on Anariel’s upper arm once his daughter removed her hand told him that his grandmother was a stranger to true injuries.
More to the point, looking at the current state of the wound, and adjusting for the children not having been close enough to the house for anyone in the room to have heard swordplay, it had originally been more serious. Slayer healing was already at work, outstripping even the natural resilience of elves in Aman.
“That will need more than bandages, my sunshine. I’m afraid it requires stitching,” Elrond sighed as she once again clamped down firmly. “How did this happen?”
At Anariel’s studiously innocent expression, he was certain the honest answer was some variation on ‘sparring with her brothers’.
It was unusual but not unheard of for Anariel or one of the boys to misjudge each other’s intent, and all three were capable of doing damage even with practice swords – which he rather doubted they’d been using this time. It was a particularly unfortunate mistake, though not nearly as severe as the time Glorfindel had nearly taken her arm off. But his daughter would never admit to it being her brothers’ fault in front of folk she did not know.
“That was done by a blade,” Nolofinwë observed. To Elrond’s ear, he sounded to be suppressing anger. “Who did this, child?”
Anariel blinked, her expression bemused.
He felt the pressure of her unspoken query against his mind – Ada, who are these people and do they have to watch you fix my arm?
That was when the rest of his children caught up. The twins, unsurprisingly, had found the healing hall, and brought the usual supplies necessary for patching up their little sister – not to mention cloths to protect the floor and furniture. Tindomiel was telling her older brothers what a pair of ninnies they were wasting time running around looking for things when she knew exactly where everything was kept.
That she froze when she saw Anairë helped fill in the rest of the story. His youngest daughter had either known or suspected Anairë and Nolofinwë were visiting and tried to buy her older siblings time to deal with the mishap themselves.
Perhaps at some point his children might start acting their fully adult ages, but clearly it would not be this day.
“Ada, stitches?” Anariel protested. “Can’t you just butterfly it?”
“As ever, little one, it will heal faster and better stitched. I have yet to understand why you always fuss so about stitching when you vehemently insist the wound itself is no bother.”
Elrohir and Elladan both snickered, as it was a longstanding joke in the family that Anariel was rarely as disturbed about her injuries as she was about the healing of them. Maeglin, on the other hand, was looking a bit green.
“Enough,” Elrond said firmly. Even without taking Maeglin’s state of mind into consideration, the wound was sufficiently serious that it should be attended to without further delay. He waved Elladan over with the sutures.
Anariel glared at her brother, but it was Tindomiel who rolled her eyes and told her sister in the California tongue to stop being such a big baby.
“Sit down, little one, before you fall down,” Anairë fluttered, clearing space on the sofa, and pulling pillows over to cushion her – pillows Anariel no doubt thought entirely superfluous. “How did this happen?”
Maeglin shifted from foot to foot like a guilty elfling, and that led Elrond to understand that it was not her brothers Anariel had been sparring with. Unfortunately, the lad had also caught his grandmother’s attention.
“Lomion,” she said, her tone dangerous. “You surely did not have anything to do with your law-sister’s injury?”
“It was my fault,” Anariel announced, sounding almost bored. “Ouch! Ada!”
“We have been through this often enough for you to know that stitching would run much smoother if you would hold still, little sun,” Elrond replied mildly. “Anariel, I do not believe you have met your grandfather Nolofinwë and grandmother Anairë.”
He was certain she hadn’t.
Her visitors in Lórien had been limited, and there had been some consternation among their Noldorin kin when it became known that Melian had contrived to arrange for Thingol to see her. The only other visitor she’d had that she hadn’t known from Ennor had been Finrod, escorted by Galadriel. That hadn’t been nearly enough to mollify the Tirion relatives.
The look Anariel gave Anairë was not one of her warmer ones. Elrond concluded from this that much as he and Celebrían had suspected would be the case, Tindomiel’s husband had gained Anariel’s seal of approval, and was now another brother she would defend against all comers. Hardly surprising, considering he had made her favorite sword – and, more importantly, adored her little sister.
Her eyes had sparked at the name Nolofinwë, however.
She regarded him thoughfully for a moment before she smiled - one of her genuine ones, and Elrond could see his grandfather’s delight.
“Nolofinwë!” she repeated, in what was for her a remarkably respectful tone at odds with her rather satisfied grin. “You gave Morgoth a limp.”
Elladan groaned as Tindomiel crowed.
“Ha! Told you so – pay up!” Elrohir grinned.
“You bet on me?” Anariel demanded indignantly.
“Not on you, little one,” Elrohir said smugly.
“On your reaction,” Elladan said, somewhat less pleased than his brother. “And whether or not you would recognize grandfather Nolofinwë.”
Tindomiel was still snickering in the background.
“What part of ‘gave Morgoth a limp’ did you suppose I would forget?” Anariel asked, looking insulted. Turning to her other brother, she added, “You’re sharing the winnings.”
Elrohir snorted.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because otherwise I’m sparring with you next,” Anariel replied with a deceptively sweet smile.
“There will be no more sparring today, with any of your brothers,” Elrond said evenly. “I think they’ve already had enough for one day.”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel arrives home while Elrond has visitors.
Word Count: 2290. According to Word. I have not dared edit in the LJ post window as I usually do, to be sure I don't wander over the limit.
Elrond sighed.
It had been a long season since his older children arrived in Aman. Anariel had been whisked off to Lórien immediately, leaving a crowd of highly concerned relatives in a state of shock. The longer her stay there extended, the wilder the rumors grew.
His mother’s people needed no rumors, for word of Anariel’s victory and its cost had flown around Thingol’s realm like wildfire. And what the the Sindar knew, the Lindar of Alqualondë did as well. Unfortunately, others were not as sensible. Their Vanyar kin chalked her spell in Lórien up to fading. And of course the ever-inventive Noldor had the most lurid tales. Elrond was told that some in Tirion were convinced she had arrived heavily pregnant and brokenhearted that the Avarin father of her child had refused to accompany her into the West.
While he didn’t doubt his daughter would find that particular wild speculation hilarious – which was probably half the reason Miryo had mentioned it in the first place – he wondered if it was any less cruel than the truth he doubted she was eager to share with any beyond her immediate family.
Neither his sons nor Celeborn had spoken at any length about what happened, despite Galadriel’s best efforts. Even Thranduil had been maddeningly tightlipped.
Elrond had been reluctant to question his boys closely, given how distraught they had been at their little sister’s injuries - and they had been severe. He had been deeply shocked by what Estë’s initial examination had revealed.
He had finally had to ask on his return from Lórien, only to have Elrohir tell him shortly that there was no part of his baby sister, from her littlest toe to the top of her skull, that had not been bruised, battered, or broken at least once at some point on their agonizing journey from Caras Galadhon to Alqualondë. Her brothers had been powerless to do anything to protect her. Only when their ship crossed into the West had she finally been safe.
He had not needed to ask who had done it. The answer had been woven into his daughter’s hair. The Noldor had not recognized it, of course, but Anariel had been sporting a very particular braid when she left her ship, one not seen since the First Age- reserved for Thingol’s people, given only to those who had faced the Great Enemy. Lúthien and Maeglin were the only other ones he knew to be entitled to wear it.
Fortunately, their Noldorin kin, with the possible exception of his wife’s mother, had never learned to differentiate the various braids worn by the Sindar, or their significance. So it had entirely escaped the notice of most of her relations waiting in Alqualondë that Anariel’s head had been a veritable war banner, proclaiming her a warrior of Doriath, Eregion, Lothlorien, and the Greenwood, and highlighting both her royal status and that no enemy could claim to have defeated her, not even the Enemy.
Whatever Morgoth had wanted with his sunshine child, the Dark One hadn’t achieved it.
That was little comfort.
He and Celebrian had visited their daughter in Lorien several times. He would have happily remained with her the entire time, but Irmo, Estë, and their maiar had been polite yet firm in their insistence that Anariel would make a show of being recovered long before she was truly restored to full physical and mental health if her parents were hovering anxiously over her.
The most aggravating part had been knowing that they were right.
Instead of remaining with their child, he and Celebrían have played host to a seemingly endless rotation of visitors at Imlanthiriath over the past weeks. It seemed nearly all their numerous kin, with the notable exceptions of his parents and Celebrían’s, were vying to be the lucky ones present whenever Anariel finally arrived.
He dared hope that day might be close at hand, for not only had Tindomiel and Maeglin made themselves scarce several days ago, the latest rumor to reach him had the ring of truth to it. A nis so tiny she could be mistaken for an elfling had been seen walking outside Valimar to the forests beyond, after descending from Oiolossë.
That had been a week ago, which was just long enough that she might be home any time now. Though it would be as well if it were not today that she showed up. While Elrond suspected Nolofinwë stood to be one of her favorite grandfathers, he knew enough of Anairë to suspect that she and Anariel would be oil and water. Or possibly oil and flame…
They were the visitors of the moment, very politely not asking if there had been any news of Anariel.
Celebrían shot him a reproving look, warning him silently that he was not paying adequate attention.
That was when he heard it.
The footsteps were familiar – all three sets of them. So was the sound of them splitting up to search for whatever it was they wanted more quickly. His sons had spent very little time in the house he and Celebrían had built, likely not enough to be familiar with much more than their own rooms, their mother’s sitting room, his study, and the dining room.
So he was unsurprised when Anariel slipped into the room on her own. He was slightly exasperated to discover that she had managed to acquire a fresh injury on the point of arriving home. Though the hand on her upper arm might look light to those not used to her tricks, he could see she was subtly applying considerable pressure.
“Ada,” she began immediately, as if they have not been parted from each other for nearly a yen, and she had not seen him only for a few brief visits in Lorien, aside from that desperate haze before unconsciousness claimed her after her ship arrived. “Where is the healing hall here? I need bandages.”
Given how tightly she was holding her upper arm, he suspected it was an urgent need. Peering closer, she looked a bit pale, and he could see the telltale trickle of red running down toward her elbow. Likely more than just bandages were needed.
He sighed.
Apparently not even in the Blessed Realm could he count on his children amusing themselves without bloodshed.
“Let me see what you have done to yourself now, my sunshine,” he suggested patiently.
“It is nothing serious,” she assured him, coming further into the room – and only then noticing that there were unfamiliar elves present. “Oh, sorry, I did not realize you had guests. I’ll find the healing hall, do not trouble yourselves, Ada, Nana.”
She nodded to his grandparents, mumuring mae lovannen, hir nin, hiril nin and would have retreated, had he not stopped her.
“Anariel,” he said quietly, deciding to ignore for the moment that while Nolofinwë knew modern Sindarin well enough to recognize her polite – and formal – greeting, it was doubtful Anairë did.
Though judging by the thunderstruck expression on her face, even before he had said her name, his great-great grandmother had already worked out which of his children was standing before her. Perhaps the visit had been more optimism than any real expectation.
“Let me be the judge of how serious it is,” he suggested to his daughter, knowing perfectly well that according to her, almost any given injury would be classed as ‘nothing’, particularly as long as she was still upright. “Unless things have changed rather drastically between my ship sailing and yours, I believe I am the healer here.”
She reluctantly came further into the room, not minding him examining her arm so much as strangers being present for it. He waited until she reluctantly released her grip so he could assess the damage.
Anairë’s strangled exclamation at the blood that welled up from the deep slash on Anariel’s upper arm once his daughter removed her hand told him that his grandmother was a stranger to true injuries.
More to the point, looking at the current state of the wound, and adjusting for the children not having been close enough to the house for anyone in the room to have heard swordplay, it had originally been more serious. Slayer healing was already at work, outstripping even the natural resilience of elves in Aman.
“That will need more than bandages, my sunshine. I’m afraid it requires stitching,” Elrond sighed as she once again clamped down firmly. “How did this happen?”
At Anariel’s studiously innocent expression, he was certain the honest answer was some variation on ‘sparring with her brothers’.
It was unusual but not unheard of for Anariel or one of the boys to misjudge each other’s intent, and all three were capable of doing damage even with practice swords – which he rather doubted they’d been using this time. It was a particularly unfortunate mistake, though not nearly as severe as the time Glorfindel had nearly taken her arm off. But his daughter would never admit to it being her brothers’ fault in front of folk she did not know.
“That was done by a blade,” Nolofinwë observed. To Elrond’s ear, he sounded to be suppressing anger. “Who did this, child?”
Anariel blinked, her expression bemused.
He felt the pressure of her unspoken query against his mind – Ada, who are these people and do they have to watch you fix my arm?
That was when the rest of his children caught up. The twins, unsurprisingly, had found the healing hall, and brought the usual supplies necessary for patching up their little sister – not to mention cloths to protect the floor and furniture. Tindomiel was telling her older brothers what a pair of ninnies they were wasting time running around looking for things when she knew exactly where everything was kept.
That she froze when she saw Anairë helped fill in the rest of the story. His youngest daughter had either known or suspected Anairë and Nolofinwë were visiting and tried to buy her older siblings time to deal with the mishap themselves.
Perhaps at some point his children might start acting their fully adult ages, but clearly it would not be this day.
“Ada, stitches?” Anariel protested. “Can’t you just butterfly it?”
“As ever, little one, it will heal faster and better stitched. I have yet to understand why you always fuss so about stitching when you vehemently insist the wound itself is no bother.”
Elrohir and Elladan both snickered, as it was a longstanding joke in the family that Anariel was rarely as disturbed about her injuries as she was about the healing of them. Maeglin, on the other hand, was looking a bit green.
“Enough,” Elrond said firmly. Even without taking Maeglin’s state of mind into consideration, the wound was sufficiently serious that it should be attended to without further delay. He waved Elladan over with the sutures.
Anariel glared at her brother, but it was Tindomiel who rolled her eyes and told her sister in the California tongue to stop being such a big baby.
“Sit down, little one, before you fall down,” Anairë fluttered, clearing space on the sofa, and pulling pillows over to cushion her – pillows Anariel no doubt thought entirely superfluous. “How did this happen?”
Maeglin shifted from foot to foot like a guilty elfling, and that led Elrond to understand that it was not her brothers Anariel had been sparring with. Unfortunately, the lad had also caught his grandmother’s attention.
“Lomion,” she said, her tone dangerous. “You surely did not have anything to do with your law-sister’s injury?”
“It was my fault,” Anariel announced, sounding almost bored. “Ouch! Ada!”
“We have been through this often enough for you to know that stitching would run much smoother if you would hold still, little sun,” Elrond replied mildly. “Anariel, I do not believe you have met your grandfather Nolofinwë and grandmother Anairë.”
He was certain she hadn’t.
Her visitors in Lórien had been limited, and there had been some consternation among their Noldorin kin when it became known that Melian had contrived to arrange for Thingol to see her. The only other visitor she’d had that she hadn’t known from Ennor had been Finrod, escorted by Galadriel. That hadn’t been nearly enough to mollify the Tirion relatives.
The look Anariel gave Anairë was not one of her warmer ones. Elrond concluded from this that much as he and Celebrían had suspected would be the case, Tindomiel’s husband had gained Anariel’s seal of approval, and was now another brother she would defend against all comers. Hardly surprising, considering he had made her favorite sword – and, more importantly, adored her little sister.
Her eyes had sparked at the name Nolofinwë, however.
She regarded him thoughfully for a moment before she smiled - one of her genuine ones, and Elrond could see his grandfather’s delight.
“Nolofinwë!” she repeated, in what was for her a remarkably respectful tone at odds with her rather satisfied grin. “You gave Morgoth a limp.”
Elladan groaned as Tindomiel crowed.
“Ha! Told you so – pay up!” Elrohir grinned.
“You bet on me?” Anariel demanded indignantly.
“Not on you, little one,” Elrohir said smugly.
“On your reaction,” Elladan said, somewhat less pleased than his brother. “And whether or not you would recognize grandfather Nolofinwë.”
Tindomiel was still snickering in the background.
“What part of ‘gave Morgoth a limp’ did you suppose I would forget?” Anariel asked, looking insulted. Turning to her other brother, she added, “You’re sharing the winnings.”
Elrohir snorted.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because otherwise I’m sparring with you next,” Anariel replied with a deceptively sweet smile.
“There will be no more sparring today, with any of your brothers,” Elrond said evenly. “I think they’ve already had enough for one day.”
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Date: 2021-08-15 03:38 am (UTC)Anyway, I did very much enjoy this update, thank you! Gods, I love August. *very happy smile*
Pardon the edit.
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Date: 2021-08-19 12:04 am (UTC)They will get on very well. And she may get on better than expected with Anairë if she can bear her brother's take on that particular grandmother in mind...
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Date: 2021-08-15 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-19 12:05 am (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2021-09-14 11:42 pm (UTC)This is also another aspect I didn't consider before: what it must mean to come into a new-to-you culture and society where a large part are your relatives, and others believe to know you so well, and you have do adapt to their ways no matter how much you like them...
That braid is nifty idea! (I don't remember if you introduced it before and I just forgot, or if it's new.) Oh, and how hard it must have been for Elrond and Celebrian to stay away, to not be able to help Anariel in person, and not even through their presence...
Anariel's return with a fresh injury is particularly delightful seen from his POV. Poor, longsuffering him! XD The meeting with the grandparents is going to be most interesting - particularly with these ones, I imagine. ^^
Apparently not even in the Blessed Realm could he count on his children amusing themselves without bloodshed. *ggg*
Perhaps at some point his children might start acting their fully adult ages, but clearly it would not be this day.
Too true. *g*
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Date: 2021-10-02 01:00 am (UTC)The braid was introduced a while back, but dropped out of sight for a bit.
Yes, Elrond and Celebrían had a hard time with that, but on the bright side, they know Anariel wasn't entirely happy about it either...
Thank you!