Fic A Day, Day 21 - Aunts & Uncles
Aug. 21st, 2021 07:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Aunts & Uncles
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel is getting to know some of her kin. Specifically, the House of Fëanor - such as it currently is.
Word Count: 1970
Breakfast was a far more lively affair than usual that morning.
Anariel shot Carnistir curious looks from time to time, but she was polite enough not to stare, and considerably less hostile than he had anticipated. Not that it mattered - he would have kept his mouth shut even if she had been much pricklier, given that she was clearly disposed to adore Lindë and his mother. And no matter what she might think of his younger brother (Curvo was a subject on which Tindomiel was suspiciously tight-lipped, even now), she was treating Silmë like an aunt. That puzzled him until he realized that aunts would be a novelty for her.
He wondered if the girl had any idea just how much coddling and spoiling she was in for. What she was currently experiencing was only two grandmothers and a single aunt. She could say she was grown all she wanted, she was still very much child-sized, and that was what everyone was going to see. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was the younger sister.
The look that got him was a pointed reminder that she was another descendant of Lúthien, and probably heard just as well as Tindomiel. The smirk confirmed it.
She also proved to be marvelously unfussy. Cleanup had traditionally been the chore no one wanted after meals in this house, yet Anariel bounced right up when everyone had finished to take the dishes to the sink – only to be chased right back to her seat by Silmë ‘to sit with your grandmothers’.
After a moment of looking completely bemused, she did, slouching in between Lindë and Ammë with an ease even her younger sister wouldn’t have matched. For someone with such a lethal reputation, not to mention the epessë Slayer, she was downright cuddly.
She briefly started to pull herself upright, only to sink right back into her original lazy pose so swiftly Carnistir might have missed it had he not been looking right at her. He only needed to wonder what had prompted it – and then to cover his surprise that she had been even quicker than he was to recognize Miryo arriving.
“You, young miss, are in bad odor with your grandmothers,” Mirifinwë announced, giving his own grandmother a kiss on the cheek by way of a greeting.
Anariel didn’t bother with a mock innocent look, though Carnistir suspected hers would be one of the all-time greats. But she did goggle for a moment at the sight of Nerdanel fussing over her grandson.
“They’ll live,” she replied unrepentantly. “Besides, I’m with my grandmothers. See?”
Her gesture toward Lindë and his mother was paired with a smile that was all but certain to wreak havoc among the unattached youth of Tirion – and probably get her elders, particularly her many grandparents, to overlook a good deal into the bargain.
Then her gaze returned to Miryo and her eyes narrowed.
“You’re looking way too cheerful,” she said suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
“Aunt Anairë confiscated the clothes your brothers brought for you for tomorrow. She’s declared them unsuitable.”
The spark that blossomed in those green eyes at Miryo’s words was dangerous.
“Arwen packed those for me,” Anariel announced flatly.
Arwen was Elrond’s eldest, the daughter who had chosen mortality – and recently departed the circles of the world, just before Anariel and her brothers had taken ship. It didn’t take any particular cleverness to see that now of all times such a declaration, even if not intended as a provocation, would not be taken well.
“Auntie was already done out of dressing one granddaughter for her first public appearance,” Miryo smirked. “Which means she’s seizing the opportunity that just presented itself. And she had the perfect opening, since what you girls are accustomed to does not meet Noldorin standards of modesty.”
Carnistir privately thought that Anairë would have fussed over Anariel anyway. Besides being newly arrived, she was small enough to make it more like dressing Rillë, the granddaughter whose childhood and youth Anairë had missed out on.
“I’m old enough to dress myself,” Anariel said, every word flying warning flags. “I’ve been doing it just fine since I was a kid. Like, in California. If I can’t wear what Arwen picked-”
“Darling, you could whip up something for Anarya, couldn’t you?” his mother broke in smoothly.
It was slightly surprising she’d let it run this long, but she had spotted where that sentence was heading just as well as Carnistir had.
Fortunately, Anariel hadn’t actually finished it – Carnistir was sure that if she had, she was more than Sindarin enough in her sensibilities to follow through on ‘nothing at all’. She was also a good deal older than Ambarussa had been the time they’d attempted much the same. At her age, it wouldn’t be just a scandal, it would be the scandal.
He glanced at her thoughtfully. She was small, which was to the good, but time would be tight even so. Unless…
“I think so,” he said, trying not to smirk. “Given her coloring, I should be able to make over something of Tyelko’s for her.”
As he’d expected, Anariel fired up to protest at once. But he had an argument he was sure she’d go for. He was less certain his mother would agree – her nose for trouble between her children was as sharp as ever. But there genuinely wasn’t adequate time to make something entirely new, particularly not when he didn’t have any fabric on hand in the right colors to suit the girl. And he wasn’t about to let her set foot outside the door in something that wasn’t right for her.
“Unfortunately, it will hardly fit him once I’ve cut it down to her size.”
Anariel’s mouth closed, but he knew he hadn’t completely convinced her. She was only considering it.
“Carnistir,” his mother said warningly. “You can’t possibly be thinking of your brother’s favorite court tunic.”
“The colors are perfect for her, Ammë,” he said, making sure to keep his face almost as innocent as Anariel’s had been earlier, and his tone one of total reasonableness rather than utter glee.
His favorite tunic? Anariel asked.
She was as intrigued – and as alert to the potential for mischief – as he’d hoped she would be.
“Is that truly necessary?” his mother asked at almost the same time.
“Yes,” he assured both of them earnestly.
“All right,” Anariel shrugged. “But only because it definitely won’t fit him anymore.”
Nerdanel gave her a fond yet exasperated look that Carnistir was very familiar with, while Lindë smothered a giggle. Silmë looked as though she couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or tell them they were both terrible.
Carnistir shot his son a grateful look. It couldn’t hurt his chances of a decent relationship with Kano’s littlest grandchild to be the slightly mischievous uncle who saved the day.
“We’d better make a start,” he said. “Time will be tight even if we don’t dawdle. Not you, Miryo. Stay here and keep your grandmother company.”
He had a feeling Anariel and his son could antagonize each other all the day long – though he didn’t doubt either of them would tear anyone who was half as bad to the other as they were themselves to remarkably small pieces. It would no doubt be entertaining to watch the verbal sparring at any other time, but not while he was working.
He led her upstairs to Tyelko’s room, which he hadn’t looked in at all since his return. The most convincing proof that his brother hadn’t been there in several Ages was how spotless it was. Not that Tyelko was disorderly – he was actually fairly organized, particularly compared to Kano or Ambarussa. But between Huan and the various plants, birds, and small animals that he always had trailing in and out, his room didn’t stay clean very long.
The wardrobe was much as it had been left. Tyelko had been slightly more practical than the rest of them in his packing, and left most of his Tirion clothes behind in favor of the things he normally would wear in Formenos, on a hunt, or rambling through the wilder parts of Aman. He’d only bothered with one or two court outfits, none of them anything he was particularly fond of.
The one that Carnistir had in mind for Anariel was his older brother’s absolute favorite. Carnistir was fully conscious that what he was doing would likely provoke a heated fight whenever his brother returned and found out what he’d done. But it was so worth it. Also, Tyelko wouldn’t be able to retaliate, given it was for the grandniece that was a dead cert to be his favorite…
He flicked through the contents of the wardrobe until he found what he was after.
It was downright simple compared to most fashions of Tirion in the years of the Trees, which was the other reason he thought it suited for Anariel. The fabric was lighter than much of what they used even now, and while at first glance it looked plain white, he had taken great care when weaving it. When the material caught the light, it would sparkle. The effect might be slightly different by sunlight and moonlight than by Telperion and Laurelin, but it should still work. He’d used a soft grey and true silver – well, what they’d called true silver in those days – for accents he hoped would complement Anariel’s golden blonde as well as they had Tyelko’s silver.
If he’d had sufficient time, he would have made a new fabric specifically for her. (He already had ideas of what might work best. He’d keep them for the next festival.) But with just over a day, he’d settle for something that looked reasonably like it had been conceived with her in mind. If time weren’t so short, he’d be able to do a lot more – change the accents and add some fresh embroidery. As it was, just sizing it down and fitting it to her would have to do.
“That’s huge,” Anariel protested as he pulled it out. “It’s practically a tent!”
But he could tell she appreciated the style, it was only the size making her object.
“It will get smaller,” he said drily. “You did hear me say it wouldn’t fit him when I was through.”
She gave him a slightly dubious look, but it was the sort he’d given his brothers often enough – I hope you know what you’re doing.
Fortunately, he did.
“Workshop,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.
He led the way back downstairs and around to his studio. Like both his father and mother, his workspace opened onto the courtyard on one side. He had modelled the organization of it on his grandmother’s workspace, which Indis had gifted to him in his youth. One wall was entirely fabric and another thread, both on the specially designed racks Curvo had made him. (The workbenches were his little brother’s design as well.)
He gestured for her to step up onto the fitting pedestal so he could begin measuring. Eyeballing was good enough to know he could make it work, but accurate measurements were what would make certain of it. Not to mention, he wasn’t about to let her set foot outside the walls without looking her best, which meant this tunic was going to fit.
Possibly a little better than his aunt would appreciate, he decided.
“Am I allowed to talk while you work?” Anariel asked curiously as he began.
“Could I stop you?” he asked, scrawling the first measurements down onto a sheet of paper.
“Not really, but I would at least try,” she replied with a grin.
Given how like Tyelko she was, her ‘trying’ wouldn’t have lasted very long.
“Go on,” Carnistir sighed.
“So,” she grinned. “You and Haleth?”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel is getting to know some of her kin. Specifically, the House of Fëanor - such as it currently is.
Word Count: 1970
Breakfast was a far more lively affair than usual that morning.
Anariel shot Carnistir curious looks from time to time, but she was polite enough not to stare, and considerably less hostile than he had anticipated. Not that it mattered - he would have kept his mouth shut even if she had been much pricklier, given that she was clearly disposed to adore Lindë and his mother. And no matter what she might think of his younger brother (Curvo was a subject on which Tindomiel was suspiciously tight-lipped, even now), she was treating Silmë like an aunt. That puzzled him until he realized that aunts would be a novelty for her.
He wondered if the girl had any idea just how much coddling and spoiling she was in for. What she was currently experiencing was only two grandmothers and a single aunt. She could say she was grown all she wanted, she was still very much child-sized, and that was what everyone was going to see. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was the younger sister.
The look that got him was a pointed reminder that she was another descendant of Lúthien, and probably heard just as well as Tindomiel. The smirk confirmed it.
She also proved to be marvelously unfussy. Cleanup had traditionally been the chore no one wanted after meals in this house, yet Anariel bounced right up when everyone had finished to take the dishes to the sink – only to be chased right back to her seat by Silmë ‘to sit with your grandmothers’.
After a moment of looking completely bemused, she did, slouching in between Lindë and Ammë with an ease even her younger sister wouldn’t have matched. For someone with such a lethal reputation, not to mention the epessë Slayer, she was downright cuddly.
She briefly started to pull herself upright, only to sink right back into her original lazy pose so swiftly Carnistir might have missed it had he not been looking right at her. He only needed to wonder what had prompted it – and then to cover his surprise that she had been even quicker than he was to recognize Miryo arriving.
“You, young miss, are in bad odor with your grandmothers,” Mirifinwë announced, giving his own grandmother a kiss on the cheek by way of a greeting.
Anariel didn’t bother with a mock innocent look, though Carnistir suspected hers would be one of the all-time greats. But she did goggle for a moment at the sight of Nerdanel fussing over her grandson.
“They’ll live,” she replied unrepentantly. “Besides, I’m with my grandmothers. See?”
Her gesture toward Lindë and his mother was paired with a smile that was all but certain to wreak havoc among the unattached youth of Tirion – and probably get her elders, particularly her many grandparents, to overlook a good deal into the bargain.
Then her gaze returned to Miryo and her eyes narrowed.
“You’re looking way too cheerful,” she said suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
“Aunt Anairë confiscated the clothes your brothers brought for you for tomorrow. She’s declared them unsuitable.”
The spark that blossomed in those green eyes at Miryo’s words was dangerous.
“Arwen packed those for me,” Anariel announced flatly.
Arwen was Elrond’s eldest, the daughter who had chosen mortality – and recently departed the circles of the world, just before Anariel and her brothers had taken ship. It didn’t take any particular cleverness to see that now of all times such a declaration, even if not intended as a provocation, would not be taken well.
“Auntie was already done out of dressing one granddaughter for her first public appearance,” Miryo smirked. “Which means she’s seizing the opportunity that just presented itself. And she had the perfect opening, since what you girls are accustomed to does not meet Noldorin standards of modesty.”
Carnistir privately thought that Anairë would have fussed over Anariel anyway. Besides being newly arrived, she was small enough to make it more like dressing Rillë, the granddaughter whose childhood and youth Anairë had missed out on.
“I’m old enough to dress myself,” Anariel said, every word flying warning flags. “I’ve been doing it just fine since I was a kid. Like, in California. If I can’t wear what Arwen picked-”
“Darling, you could whip up something for Anarya, couldn’t you?” his mother broke in smoothly.
It was slightly surprising she’d let it run this long, but she had spotted where that sentence was heading just as well as Carnistir had.
Fortunately, Anariel hadn’t actually finished it – Carnistir was sure that if she had, she was more than Sindarin enough in her sensibilities to follow through on ‘nothing at all’. She was also a good deal older than Ambarussa had been the time they’d attempted much the same. At her age, it wouldn’t be just a scandal, it would be the scandal.
He glanced at her thoughtfully. She was small, which was to the good, but time would be tight even so. Unless…
“I think so,” he said, trying not to smirk. “Given her coloring, I should be able to make over something of Tyelko’s for her.”
As he’d expected, Anariel fired up to protest at once. But he had an argument he was sure she’d go for. He was less certain his mother would agree – her nose for trouble between her children was as sharp as ever. But there genuinely wasn’t adequate time to make something entirely new, particularly not when he didn’t have any fabric on hand in the right colors to suit the girl. And he wasn’t about to let her set foot outside the door in something that wasn’t right for her.
“Unfortunately, it will hardly fit him once I’ve cut it down to her size.”
Anariel’s mouth closed, but he knew he hadn’t completely convinced her. She was only considering it.
“Carnistir,” his mother said warningly. “You can’t possibly be thinking of your brother’s favorite court tunic.”
“The colors are perfect for her, Ammë,” he said, making sure to keep his face almost as innocent as Anariel’s had been earlier, and his tone one of total reasonableness rather than utter glee.
His favorite tunic? Anariel asked.
She was as intrigued – and as alert to the potential for mischief – as he’d hoped she would be.
“Is that truly necessary?” his mother asked at almost the same time.
“Yes,” he assured both of them earnestly.
“All right,” Anariel shrugged. “But only because it definitely won’t fit him anymore.”
Nerdanel gave her a fond yet exasperated look that Carnistir was very familiar with, while Lindë smothered a giggle. Silmë looked as though she couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or tell them they were both terrible.
Carnistir shot his son a grateful look. It couldn’t hurt his chances of a decent relationship with Kano’s littlest grandchild to be the slightly mischievous uncle who saved the day.
“We’d better make a start,” he said. “Time will be tight even if we don’t dawdle. Not you, Miryo. Stay here and keep your grandmother company.”
He had a feeling Anariel and his son could antagonize each other all the day long – though he didn’t doubt either of them would tear anyone who was half as bad to the other as they were themselves to remarkably small pieces. It would no doubt be entertaining to watch the verbal sparring at any other time, but not while he was working.
He led her upstairs to Tyelko’s room, which he hadn’t looked in at all since his return. The most convincing proof that his brother hadn’t been there in several Ages was how spotless it was. Not that Tyelko was disorderly – he was actually fairly organized, particularly compared to Kano or Ambarussa. But between Huan and the various plants, birds, and small animals that he always had trailing in and out, his room didn’t stay clean very long.
The wardrobe was much as it had been left. Tyelko had been slightly more practical than the rest of them in his packing, and left most of his Tirion clothes behind in favor of the things he normally would wear in Formenos, on a hunt, or rambling through the wilder parts of Aman. He’d only bothered with one or two court outfits, none of them anything he was particularly fond of.
The one that Carnistir had in mind for Anariel was his older brother’s absolute favorite. Carnistir was fully conscious that what he was doing would likely provoke a heated fight whenever his brother returned and found out what he’d done. But it was so worth it. Also, Tyelko wouldn’t be able to retaliate, given it was for the grandniece that was a dead cert to be his favorite…
He flicked through the contents of the wardrobe until he found what he was after.
It was downright simple compared to most fashions of Tirion in the years of the Trees, which was the other reason he thought it suited for Anariel. The fabric was lighter than much of what they used even now, and while at first glance it looked plain white, he had taken great care when weaving it. When the material caught the light, it would sparkle. The effect might be slightly different by sunlight and moonlight than by Telperion and Laurelin, but it should still work. He’d used a soft grey and true silver – well, what they’d called true silver in those days – for accents he hoped would complement Anariel’s golden blonde as well as they had Tyelko’s silver.
If he’d had sufficient time, he would have made a new fabric specifically for her. (He already had ideas of what might work best. He’d keep them for the next festival.) But with just over a day, he’d settle for something that looked reasonably like it had been conceived with her in mind. If time weren’t so short, he’d be able to do a lot more – change the accents and add some fresh embroidery. As it was, just sizing it down and fitting it to her would have to do.
“That’s huge,” Anariel protested as he pulled it out. “It’s practically a tent!”
But he could tell she appreciated the style, it was only the size making her object.
“It will get smaller,” he said drily. “You did hear me say it wouldn’t fit him when I was through.”
She gave him a slightly dubious look, but it was the sort he’d given his brothers often enough – I hope you know what you’re doing.
Fortunately, he did.
“Workshop,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.
He led the way back downstairs and around to his studio. Like both his father and mother, his workspace opened onto the courtyard on one side. He had modelled the organization of it on his grandmother’s workspace, which Indis had gifted to him in his youth. One wall was entirely fabric and another thread, both on the specially designed racks Curvo had made him. (The workbenches were his little brother’s design as well.)
He gestured for her to step up onto the fitting pedestal so he could begin measuring. Eyeballing was good enough to know he could make it work, but accurate measurements were what would make certain of it. Not to mention, he wasn’t about to let her set foot outside the walls without looking her best, which meant this tunic was going to fit.
Possibly a little better than his aunt would appreciate, he decided.
“Am I allowed to talk while you work?” Anariel asked curiously as he began.
“Could I stop you?” he asked, scrawling the first measurements down onto a sheet of paper.
“Not really, but I would at least try,” she replied with a grin.
Given how like Tyelko she was, her ‘trying’ wouldn’t have lasted very long.
“Go on,” Carnistir sighed.
“So,” she grinned. “You and Haleth?”
no subject
Date: 2021-08-22 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-23 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-22 05:40 am (UTC)As always, this was a wonderful read, thank you. :)
no subject
Date: 2021-08-23 02:47 am (UTC)She's very much loving taking over Tyelko's favorite tunic. After all, like Carnistir said, it won't fit him anymore after this...
no subject
Date: 2021-08-22 10:25 am (UTC)Anariel (and the Els) are not going to be forgetting the insult to Arwen they will consider Anaire’s action to be, no matter how justified, I don’t think. Ouch.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-23 02:48 am (UTC)They may be exasperated, but they're not going to consider it as grave an insult as all that. Anariel will be perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones once she's shocked Anairë with the outfit she does show up in...