Fic A Day, Day 20 - The House of Nerdanel
Aug. 20th, 2021 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: The House of Nerdanel
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: Nerdanel receives a surprise visitor.
Word Count: 1830
Carnistir was unsurprised to find that he was the first one stirring.
They had arrived from Formenos the previous evening, after spending several months there to be well out of the way. But Miryo had sent word that Tindomiel and Maeglin had slipped away from Imlanthiriath, which he took to be a sign that Anariel’s arrival was imminent. His son had departed Elrond’s house to discreetly inform a few others the girl might appreciate seeing in her first days home, such as Gildor and Galadriel.
Removing to Formenos had been a way to convey to Elrond his Feanorian kin would not add to the pressure ahead of his older children’s arrival in Alqualondë – and to give Silmë, Lindë, and Ammë somewhere to deal with their terror out of view of the gossips of Tirion. (Carnistir hadn’t minded being well away from the stress of the city himself. No one in the House of Fëanaro had doubted Tindomiel’s word on what was happening to her older sister.)
That young Anariel had been whisked directly to Lorien practically the instant she set foot on the dock had not lessened the strain on any of her relatives, particularly not the mother and grandmother of a boy whose life had ended in Sauron’s dungeons only for his corpse to be displayed to his remaining kin as a perverted banner.
It had been a surprise to find his Aunt Anairë stopping by just as they arrived last night, eager to tell Carnistir’s mother that young Anariel was indeed home now, and expected in Tirion the day after next. That meant the family would gather at his grandfather’s house, and his aunt wanted to make sure his mother was there also.
It amused Carnistir no end that even now in the Fourth Age, with Uncle Ara King longer than Grandfather had been, everyone still thought of it as Finwë’s house. (Uncle Ara included, from what he’d seen and heard.)
His aunt hadn’t stayed long – just long enough to make sure his mother was clear they were all expected. From the look on Anairë’s face when she headed off, poor Anariel was in for an occasion.
Between his aunt’s visit and unpacking, the household had gone to bed much later than usual, so he took his time getting downstairs. He doubted his mother or law-sisters would be in any hurry to be up and about this morning, and he didn’t want to wake them. They could all use the rest.
That became slightly awkward when he looked outside and discovered they had an unexpected addition to the courtyard.
Tindomiel hadn’t exaggerated when she had warned everyone her sister was small. But Carnistir suspected that most of the family were in for a surprise all the same – and was a bit startled that his aunt hadn’t mentioned it.
The tiny blonde sitting beneath the tree in the center of the courtyard, facing the kitchen door, legs crossed, back straight, and eyes closed was small enough to be taken for a child only just into adolescence. She was balancing a sword not at all to her scale across her knees, hands resting lightly on it.
He wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or irritated that the sword Kano hadn’t particularly wanted in the first place had survived Beleriand and Ennor when little else had. It was some consolation that among that little had been two of his grandmother’s tapestries, handed on to Elrond; he had been told one of them had been passed to Anariel.
The gates to the yard were still closed, but he couldn’t work out if that was because they had recognized Anariel and she’d closed them after herself, or if she’d borrowed a page from Tyelko’s book and gotten in by a more unorthodox route. His older brother had generally favored the roof over their father’s workshop.
He was torn whether he should tell the girl to come in and sit down somewhere more comfortable or wait until his mother or Lindë came downstairs. He was well aware that Tindomiel had initially dealt with him only for his son’s sake, and she was by all accounts the most easygoing of her father’s children. And Anariel was the one with the title Slayer…
Fortunately for his peace of mind, he didn’t have to dither very long. The footfalls he could hear on the stairs were his mother’s.
“Ammë,” he called softly the moment she entered the kitchen. “I believe you have a visitor.”
“Who under the stars would come calling this early?” his mother asked in mild exasperation.
He beckoned her over so she could see for herself – and barely avoided being smacked by the door as his mother yanked it open.
To both his surprise and his mother’s, Anariel was on her feet before anyone could say a word.
That would have been impressive enough given that she had to all appearances been asleep, but it became more impressive when you considered she’d managed to get to her feet in a split second without dropping the sword – and now that she was upright, the sword was nearly as tall as she was.
“Anariel Elerondiel!” Nerdanel exclaimed.
“Hi,” the girl began, only to break off in distraction staring at the upper stories. “Why is there a crime scene outline up by the roof?”
Carnistir followed her gaze. He had heard enough translated California idioms and associated explanations from Tindomiel by now to recognize a new one. Unfortunately, this was not the time to ask.
“It commemorates my younger brother hitting the house in an ill-advised attempt to fly,” he said. “Aided and abetted by your grandmother.”
She blinked, and couldn’t quite seem to decide whether she wanted to look up at the memorial to his little brothers’ and cousins’ daring (or foolishness, depending on who was telling the story) or at him.
“They were children at the time,” Carnistir added helpfully, dodging his mother’s half-hearted swat.
“Yeah, the size of the outline kinda…”
Anariel refocused on the sword in her hands and then shifted her attention to his mother.
“Um, I brought haru’s sword back.”
By the sounds of it, she didn’t have any plan beyond that – or perhaps she was more thrown by the outline of Pityo on the wall than he’d thought.
“You should come inside,” his mother sighed, handing him his brother’s sword with a pointed look that meant he should find someplace to put the ridiculous thing before Lindë joined them.
The return of Kano’s harp had been bittersweet, he knew. But the sword would only be painful. Though he could see why the girl would feel bound to bring it. Everyone who knew the full story was agreed that Balrog hunting had been her idea.
His father’s workshop was as good a place as any, he decided. If Kano didn’t show up first, Atar could decide what to do with it whenever he returned. (Kano’s ‘what to do with it’ would likely be ‘melt it down’.)
When he returned to the kitchen, he found Anariel looking around in fascination while his mother was setting out the breakfast things.
“Have you eaten yet, dear?” Ammë asked.
Anariel shook her head.
“How long were you out there?” Carnistir put in, for he suspected that was the more relevant question.
She shrugged.
“An hour or so maybe? Not long before sunup.”
Which explained why she hadn’t spotted the outline of Pityo sooner, though not why she had chosen such an early arrival.
He set a frying pan on the stove and began making breakfast – bearing in mind as he did all that Tindomiel had mentioned over the years about how her sister could eat. He decided cooking as if they had two extra rather than one should be just about right.
“Anariel,” Nerdanel said in a tone of fond exasperation that hadn’t been heard since the First Age so far as Carnistir knew. “What possessed you to ride through the night – and to come here rather than the King’s House? Your grandmother is expecting you there, but not until a later hour, I’m sure.”
Anariel’s expression turned quizzical.
“Grandmother doesn’t know I’m here,” she said. “I’m not even sure where she is.”
She was definitely talking about Artë.
“Your grandmother Anairë,” Carnistir clarified, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, her. Like you said, she’s expecting me at the King’s House. But I wanted to come here first. So I figured if I got to the city early, no one would be looking for me yet, which meant I didn’t have to worry about anyone having other ideas about where I should go. So I could come here.”
She wound that up with a bright smile.
Carnistir had to work even harder not to laugh now, because despite many, many offhand comments over the years, he hadn’t really gotten the full measure of her character from her sister.
Now that he was dealing with her in person, Anariel struck him as an unholy combination of Artanis and Tyelkormo – and he had a feeling both of them would be equally annoyed at having it pointed out. Fortunately for his peace of mind, she looked very like her father’s father. Otherwise he might have wondered if he wasn’t the only one to have hidden a child during their years in Beleriand.
He would have to point the likeness in character out to Artë at the first possible opportunity. Shame teasing Tyelko about it would have to wait somewhat longer.
“We’ll send you over after breakfast,” his mother sighed. “Anairë’s going to fret even worse over you not turning up than she did about Tinwë.”
“Why, what did she do?” Anariel asked curiously. “But you don’t have to send me anywhere. I mean, unless you don’t want me here…”
It had been hard enough not to laugh before the girl suggested something so ridiculous. It was just as well he had to face the stove to make sure he wasn’t burning the eggs.
Ammë would likely have hurried to reassure her even if the child hadn’t sounded so crestfallen at the notion – though Carnistir couldn’t tell how much of that was genuine and how much was milking his mother’s reaction because she was in no particular hurry to be the center of his aunt’s attention again.
“Of course we want you here, darling,” Ammë told her with a hug. “But you know Anairë’s expecting you.”
“I’ll get there eventually,” Anariel shrugged. “There’s no hurry. Her shindig isn’t until tomorrow sometime. Besides, she’ll have my brothers to fuss over this morning. They went to the King’s House. At least, they should be there by now. We didn’t know where exactly it was, but they figured they would find it.”
Carnistir suspected his aunts would disagree with both her reasoning and her assessment that there was ‘no hurry’ – particularly Aunt Anairë. But he was hardly going to argue that Anariel should run right off.
Especially not before Lindë had seen her.
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: Nerdanel receives a surprise visitor.
Word Count: 1830
Carnistir was unsurprised to find that he was the first one stirring.
They had arrived from Formenos the previous evening, after spending several months there to be well out of the way. But Miryo had sent word that Tindomiel and Maeglin had slipped away from Imlanthiriath, which he took to be a sign that Anariel’s arrival was imminent. His son had departed Elrond’s house to discreetly inform a few others the girl might appreciate seeing in her first days home, such as Gildor and Galadriel.
Removing to Formenos had been a way to convey to Elrond his Feanorian kin would not add to the pressure ahead of his older children’s arrival in Alqualondë – and to give Silmë, Lindë, and Ammë somewhere to deal with their terror out of view of the gossips of Tirion. (Carnistir hadn’t minded being well away from the stress of the city himself. No one in the House of Fëanaro had doubted Tindomiel’s word on what was happening to her older sister.)
That young Anariel had been whisked directly to Lorien practically the instant she set foot on the dock had not lessened the strain on any of her relatives, particularly not the mother and grandmother of a boy whose life had ended in Sauron’s dungeons only for his corpse to be displayed to his remaining kin as a perverted banner.
It had been a surprise to find his Aunt Anairë stopping by just as they arrived last night, eager to tell Carnistir’s mother that young Anariel was indeed home now, and expected in Tirion the day after next. That meant the family would gather at his grandfather’s house, and his aunt wanted to make sure his mother was there also.
It amused Carnistir no end that even now in the Fourth Age, with Uncle Ara King longer than Grandfather had been, everyone still thought of it as Finwë’s house. (Uncle Ara included, from what he’d seen and heard.)
His aunt hadn’t stayed long – just long enough to make sure his mother was clear they were all expected. From the look on Anairë’s face when she headed off, poor Anariel was in for an occasion.
Between his aunt’s visit and unpacking, the household had gone to bed much later than usual, so he took his time getting downstairs. He doubted his mother or law-sisters would be in any hurry to be up and about this morning, and he didn’t want to wake them. They could all use the rest.
That became slightly awkward when he looked outside and discovered they had an unexpected addition to the courtyard.
Tindomiel hadn’t exaggerated when she had warned everyone her sister was small. But Carnistir suspected that most of the family were in for a surprise all the same – and was a bit startled that his aunt hadn’t mentioned it.
The tiny blonde sitting beneath the tree in the center of the courtyard, facing the kitchen door, legs crossed, back straight, and eyes closed was small enough to be taken for a child only just into adolescence. She was balancing a sword not at all to her scale across her knees, hands resting lightly on it.
He wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or irritated that the sword Kano hadn’t particularly wanted in the first place had survived Beleriand and Ennor when little else had. It was some consolation that among that little had been two of his grandmother’s tapestries, handed on to Elrond; he had been told one of them had been passed to Anariel.
The gates to the yard were still closed, but he couldn’t work out if that was because they had recognized Anariel and she’d closed them after herself, or if she’d borrowed a page from Tyelko’s book and gotten in by a more unorthodox route. His older brother had generally favored the roof over their father’s workshop.
He was torn whether he should tell the girl to come in and sit down somewhere more comfortable or wait until his mother or Lindë came downstairs. He was well aware that Tindomiel had initially dealt with him only for his son’s sake, and she was by all accounts the most easygoing of her father’s children. And Anariel was the one with the title Slayer…
Fortunately for his peace of mind, he didn’t have to dither very long. The footfalls he could hear on the stairs were his mother’s.
“Ammë,” he called softly the moment she entered the kitchen. “I believe you have a visitor.”
“Who under the stars would come calling this early?” his mother asked in mild exasperation.
He beckoned her over so she could see for herself – and barely avoided being smacked by the door as his mother yanked it open.
To both his surprise and his mother’s, Anariel was on her feet before anyone could say a word.
That would have been impressive enough given that she had to all appearances been asleep, but it became more impressive when you considered she’d managed to get to her feet in a split second without dropping the sword – and now that she was upright, the sword was nearly as tall as she was.
“Anariel Elerondiel!” Nerdanel exclaimed.
“Hi,” the girl began, only to break off in distraction staring at the upper stories. “Why is there a crime scene outline up by the roof?”
Carnistir followed her gaze. He had heard enough translated California idioms and associated explanations from Tindomiel by now to recognize a new one. Unfortunately, this was not the time to ask.
“It commemorates my younger brother hitting the house in an ill-advised attempt to fly,” he said. “Aided and abetted by your grandmother.”
She blinked, and couldn’t quite seem to decide whether she wanted to look up at the memorial to his little brothers’ and cousins’ daring (or foolishness, depending on who was telling the story) or at him.
“They were children at the time,” Carnistir added helpfully, dodging his mother’s half-hearted swat.
“Yeah, the size of the outline kinda…”
Anariel refocused on the sword in her hands and then shifted her attention to his mother.
“Um, I brought haru’s sword back.”
By the sounds of it, she didn’t have any plan beyond that – or perhaps she was more thrown by the outline of Pityo on the wall than he’d thought.
“You should come inside,” his mother sighed, handing him his brother’s sword with a pointed look that meant he should find someplace to put the ridiculous thing before Lindë joined them.
The return of Kano’s harp had been bittersweet, he knew. But the sword would only be painful. Though he could see why the girl would feel bound to bring it. Everyone who knew the full story was agreed that Balrog hunting had been her idea.
His father’s workshop was as good a place as any, he decided. If Kano didn’t show up first, Atar could decide what to do with it whenever he returned. (Kano’s ‘what to do with it’ would likely be ‘melt it down’.)
When he returned to the kitchen, he found Anariel looking around in fascination while his mother was setting out the breakfast things.
“Have you eaten yet, dear?” Ammë asked.
Anariel shook her head.
“How long were you out there?” Carnistir put in, for he suspected that was the more relevant question.
She shrugged.
“An hour or so maybe? Not long before sunup.”
Which explained why she hadn’t spotted the outline of Pityo sooner, though not why she had chosen such an early arrival.
He set a frying pan on the stove and began making breakfast – bearing in mind as he did all that Tindomiel had mentioned over the years about how her sister could eat. He decided cooking as if they had two extra rather than one should be just about right.
“Anariel,” Nerdanel said in a tone of fond exasperation that hadn’t been heard since the First Age so far as Carnistir knew. “What possessed you to ride through the night – and to come here rather than the King’s House? Your grandmother is expecting you there, but not until a later hour, I’m sure.”
Anariel’s expression turned quizzical.
“Grandmother doesn’t know I’m here,” she said. “I’m not even sure where she is.”
She was definitely talking about Artë.
“Your grandmother Anairë,” Carnistir clarified, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, her. Like you said, she’s expecting me at the King’s House. But I wanted to come here first. So I figured if I got to the city early, no one would be looking for me yet, which meant I didn’t have to worry about anyone having other ideas about where I should go. So I could come here.”
She wound that up with a bright smile.
Carnistir had to work even harder not to laugh now, because despite many, many offhand comments over the years, he hadn’t really gotten the full measure of her character from her sister.
Now that he was dealing with her in person, Anariel struck him as an unholy combination of Artanis and Tyelkormo – and he had a feeling both of them would be equally annoyed at having it pointed out. Fortunately for his peace of mind, she looked very like her father’s father. Otherwise he might have wondered if he wasn’t the only one to have hidden a child during their years in Beleriand.
He would have to point the likeness in character out to Artë at the first possible opportunity. Shame teasing Tyelko about it would have to wait somewhat longer.
“We’ll send you over after breakfast,” his mother sighed. “Anairë’s going to fret even worse over you not turning up than she did about Tinwë.”
“Why, what did she do?” Anariel asked curiously. “But you don’t have to send me anywhere. I mean, unless you don’t want me here…”
It had been hard enough not to laugh before the girl suggested something so ridiculous. It was just as well he had to face the stove to make sure he wasn’t burning the eggs.
Ammë would likely have hurried to reassure her even if the child hadn’t sounded so crestfallen at the notion – though Carnistir couldn’t tell how much of that was genuine and how much was milking his mother’s reaction because she was in no particular hurry to be the center of his aunt’s attention again.
“Of course we want you here, darling,” Ammë told her with a hug. “But you know Anairë’s expecting you.”
“I’ll get there eventually,” Anariel shrugged. “There’s no hurry. Her shindig isn’t until tomorrow sometime. Besides, she’ll have my brothers to fuss over this morning. They went to the King’s House. At least, they should be there by now. We didn’t know where exactly it was, but they figured they would find it.”
Carnistir suspected his aunts would disagree with both her reasoning and her assessment that there was ‘no hurry’ – particularly Aunt Anairë. But he was hardly going to argue that Anariel should run right off.
Especially not before Lindë had seen her.
