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grundyscribblingTitle: The Harsh Light of Day
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 has to rethink a few things.
Word Count: 1475
Carnistir was tired, but pleased with his day’s work by the time he was ready to call it a night. It was well after midnight, but the satisfaction of having remade something that would look stunning on his grandniece was almost as good as rest – he wouldn’t need to sleep in come morning.
His mother was sitting up in the kitchen, waiting to make sure he wouldn’t stay awake all night.
“All finished?” she asked, knowing perfectly well he was unlikely to have left his studio otherwise.
Carnistir nodded, and hastily assembled a sandwich for himself, for in his absorption in his work, he’d forgotten about dinner.
“I take it I’m to see it in the morning like everyone else?” Ammë continued.
“Yes, I think I’d better show her first, don’t you?” he said thoughtfully.
Not only did he need to make sure Anariel didn’t change her mind, he didn’t want his mother to have time to protest and insist he rework. If she saw his creation now, she knew perfectly well there was still enough time to add another panel or two.
In the morning there would be too little time before they’d need to dress and make their way to Grandfather’s house, given that they were hoping to get the girl through the streets before most of the city realized where she was.
His mother laughed softly.
“She’s every bit as much trouble as Tinwë has claimed all these years.”
Anariel was that. And only just getting started…
“I thought we were all trouble in our own ways?” Carnistir replied with a cheeky grin.
“Also true,” his mother sighed. “Though most of you grew out of it eventually.”
“Tyelko didn’t,” he pointed out cautiously. “And she’s more than a bit like him.”
Ammë looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Were I you, I’d say she’s Artë’s granddaughter to anyone else,” she warned. “Including her. At least for the time being.”
“Oh, I will,” he assured her. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. Where is she?”
“I put her in Tyelko’s room for the night,” Ammë replied. “It was that or Ambarussa’s, since Tinwë usually takes Maitimo’s whenever she’s here. She picked Tyelko’s on the logic that it was closer to the stairs.”
Carnistir blinked.
That was a true statement only if you meant the stairs to his father’s workshop, not the stairs to the kitchen, library, and other family areas found on the ground floor.
“As your father’s not around to tell her no, I said she might start the project she couldn’t quite explain to me adequately in his workshop,” his mother confessed, her eyes dancing.
Carnistir couldn’t help the belly laugh that provoked.
Not even Curvo had ever been allowed to commandeer Atto’s workspace – he’d been set up with space of his own as soon as he was old enough to need it. Though Curvo was also not a grandchild, and a granddaughter at that. Carnisir suspected that might make a material difference to his father’s reaction.
“I have not entirely understood how she intends to make the fountain sing,” his mother continued with a fond smile. “But I did gather it’s based on a technique she knows from California, and also some sort of prank on your father that she wishes to have ready before his return – I daresay she’ll have Lord Namo’s connivance in that.”
Carnistir was well aware his father had been a thorn in the Vala’s side for the past three Ages. So he suspected that provided Anariel could manage to communicate the concept of ‘prank’ to the most literal of the Valar, Namo would cooperate.
“If Atto didn’t want his grandchildren taking over his precious workshop, he shouldn’t have gotten himself stuck in Mandos so long,” he suggested wryly.
“Precisely,” his mother agreed. “Now, as you’ve eaten, we should probably get some sleep. I’m hoping we only have to wrangle one of Elrond’s daughters in the morning, but with Tinwë one never knows…”
Carnistir could only agree – and enjoy the sight of his mother looking in on her sleeping granddaughter before they both sought their own beds.
He was the first one up in the morning as was his wont – at least, he thought he was until he opened his bedroom door to find Anariel standing ramrod-straight against the opposite wall, waiting for him.
“You never told,” she said in an urgent whisper. “You didn’t tell anyone.”
He raised an eyebrow – only to catch the reflection of the last moments he’d seen of Menegroth in her wide eyes. His little brother, dying with her grandmother’s sword in his chest, right before he’d told Artanis to run.
He was too shocked to say a word.
Miryo had mentioned the child was prone to Seeing in her sleep, and how badly Turvo’s wretched book had affected her. But even so, he hadn’t expected this. For the poor child to be drawn so unerringly to the worst moments…
Anariel flung herself at him.
Thank you.
He understood from that nearly too-tight embrace that his silence meant he now had her loyalty.
“What purpose could telling anyone possibly have served?” he asked, steering her swiftly to the stairs.
This was not a conversation to have overheard. If Artë had made it to the Fourth Age without being branded a Kinslayer, so much the
better.
“But…”
She let him guide her into his studio, shutting the door firmly behind them – and he had the impression both of them were keeping an ear out for Miryo and his mother, not to mention Lindë and Silmë. Especially Silmë.
He could see her understanding of his House whirling uncertainly in her head. Tindomiel had made it clear that the peredhel weren’t kindly disposed toward him or his brothers who had died at Menegroth, but he hadn’t realized just how firm an opinion that had been – and consequently what a leap of faith it had been for Tinwë, no matter how dear his son was to her and her family. Or for Elrond.
“That was an accident,” he told her firmly. “One I believe you of all your siblings should understand – sometimes when you play games with swords, people get hurt. Or even killed.”
Anariel flushed slightly. If he had to guess, she had at least one example in mind, if not more, of bloody ‘oopsies’ as her sister called them.
“But… Alqualondë…” she said uncertainly.
“Tyelko and Artë did make fairly heartfelt attempts to kill each other there,” Carnistir sighed. “But they were separated, and kept that way until both of them had cooled off.”
That had taken several decades, but they had eventually agreed on a truce – slightly grudgingly on Artë’s part, but a truce all the same. Also, Curvo was emphatically not Tyelko.
“By Menegroth, Tyelko’s concern was only the Silmaril. If he’d run across Artanis, he’d probably have had his people surround her and march her outside to keep her well out of it. Unfortunately for all involved, he went for Dior, not the nursery. Curvo was the strategist.”
It was the first time he’d ever seen any of the peredhel – even Elrond – fail to show a negative reaction when his younger brother was mentioned outside of Silmë’s presence. (Elrond was better about it than his children were, having been trained by Nelyo and Kano that Curvo was a younger brother they loved. But he couldn’t entirely conceal from those who knew him well that he still didn’t think well of Curvo or Tyelko.)
Come to think of it…
“Out of curiosity, why the special distaste for my younger brother when you seem to stop at annoyance for the older one?”
Anariel now looked confused.
“Tyelko,” he clarified. “They both died at Menegroth, but Tindomiel has somehow reached a point where she just thinks he’s goofy, and you clearly dislike Curvo more – though you’ve been very good about not showing it around Silmë.”
“He went after children,” she said as if it should have been obvious. “Dior and Nimloth were both grown elves who knew how to defend themselves. That was a fair fight. But little kids? Toddlers?”
Her tone echoed the fury of every Sinda who’d ever heard the fate of Dior’s sons.
“He went to capture children,” Carnistir corrected firmly. “I know my brother. He would not hurt children. He was a father himself. Unlike my older brothers, who still raised your father and uncle to the best of their abilities.”
She paused, and he could see the unwelcome logic sinking in.
Capture Dior’s children, and they would have had bargaining chips. Children for a Silmaril should have been an easy decision for any parent to make. (Except perhaps for his own father.)
Anariel didn’t like it – but she wasn’t arguing the point. Carnistir felt like that was enough for today.
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 has to rethink a few things.
Word Count: 1475
Carnistir was tired, but pleased with his day’s work by the time he was ready to call it a night. It was well after midnight, but the satisfaction of having remade something that would look stunning on his grandniece was almost as good as rest – he wouldn’t need to sleep in come morning.
His mother was sitting up in the kitchen, waiting to make sure he wouldn’t stay awake all night.
“All finished?” she asked, knowing perfectly well he was unlikely to have left his studio otherwise.
Carnistir nodded, and hastily assembled a sandwich for himself, for in his absorption in his work, he’d forgotten about dinner.
“I take it I’m to see it in the morning like everyone else?” Ammë continued.
“Yes, I think I’d better show her first, don’t you?” he said thoughtfully.
Not only did he need to make sure Anariel didn’t change her mind, he didn’t want his mother to have time to protest and insist he rework. If she saw his creation now, she knew perfectly well there was still enough time to add another panel or two.
In the morning there would be too little time before they’d need to dress and make their way to Grandfather’s house, given that they were hoping to get the girl through the streets before most of the city realized where she was.
His mother laughed softly.
“She’s every bit as much trouble as Tinwë has claimed all these years.”
Anariel was that. And only just getting started…
“I thought we were all trouble in our own ways?” Carnistir replied with a cheeky grin.
“Also true,” his mother sighed. “Though most of you grew out of it eventually.”
“Tyelko didn’t,” he pointed out cautiously. “And she’s more than a bit like him.”
Ammë looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Were I you, I’d say she’s Artë’s granddaughter to anyone else,” she warned. “Including her. At least for the time being.”
“Oh, I will,” he assured her. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. Where is she?”
“I put her in Tyelko’s room for the night,” Ammë replied. “It was that or Ambarussa’s, since Tinwë usually takes Maitimo’s whenever she’s here. She picked Tyelko’s on the logic that it was closer to the stairs.”
Carnistir blinked.
That was a true statement only if you meant the stairs to his father’s workshop, not the stairs to the kitchen, library, and other family areas found on the ground floor.
“As your father’s not around to tell her no, I said she might start the project she couldn’t quite explain to me adequately in his workshop,” his mother confessed, her eyes dancing.
Carnistir couldn’t help the belly laugh that provoked.
Not even Curvo had ever been allowed to commandeer Atto’s workspace – he’d been set up with space of his own as soon as he was old enough to need it. Though Curvo was also not a grandchild, and a granddaughter at that. Carnisir suspected that might make a material difference to his father’s reaction.
“I have not entirely understood how she intends to make the fountain sing,” his mother continued with a fond smile. “But I did gather it’s based on a technique she knows from California, and also some sort of prank on your father that she wishes to have ready before his return – I daresay she’ll have Lord Namo’s connivance in that.”
Carnistir was well aware his father had been a thorn in the Vala’s side for the past three Ages. So he suspected that provided Anariel could manage to communicate the concept of ‘prank’ to the most literal of the Valar, Namo would cooperate.
“If Atto didn’t want his grandchildren taking over his precious workshop, he shouldn’t have gotten himself stuck in Mandos so long,” he suggested wryly.
“Precisely,” his mother agreed. “Now, as you’ve eaten, we should probably get some sleep. I’m hoping we only have to wrangle one of Elrond’s daughters in the morning, but with Tinwë one never knows…”
Carnistir could only agree – and enjoy the sight of his mother looking in on her sleeping granddaughter before they both sought their own beds.
---
He was the first one up in the morning as was his wont – at least, he thought he was until he opened his bedroom door to find Anariel standing ramrod-straight against the opposite wall, waiting for him.
“You never told,” she said in an urgent whisper. “You didn’t tell anyone.”
He raised an eyebrow – only to catch the reflection of the last moments he’d seen of Menegroth in her wide eyes. His little brother, dying with her grandmother’s sword in his chest, right before he’d told Artanis to run.
He was too shocked to say a word.
Miryo had mentioned the child was prone to Seeing in her sleep, and how badly Turvo’s wretched book had affected her. But even so, he hadn’t expected this. For the poor child to be drawn so unerringly to the worst moments…
Anariel flung herself at him.
Thank you.
He understood from that nearly too-tight embrace that his silence meant he now had her loyalty.
“What purpose could telling anyone possibly have served?” he asked, steering her swiftly to the stairs.
This was not a conversation to have overheard. If Artë had made it to the Fourth Age without being branded a Kinslayer, so much the
better.
“But…”
She let him guide her into his studio, shutting the door firmly behind them – and he had the impression both of them were keeping an ear out for Miryo and his mother, not to mention Lindë and Silmë. Especially Silmë.
He could see her understanding of his House whirling uncertainly in her head. Tindomiel had made it clear that the peredhel weren’t kindly disposed toward him or his brothers who had died at Menegroth, but he hadn’t realized just how firm an opinion that had been – and consequently what a leap of faith it had been for Tinwë, no matter how dear his son was to her and her family. Or for Elrond.
“That was an accident,” he told her firmly. “One I believe you of all your siblings should understand – sometimes when you play games with swords, people get hurt. Or even killed.”
Anariel flushed slightly. If he had to guess, she had at least one example in mind, if not more, of bloody ‘oopsies’ as her sister called them.
“But… Alqualondë…” she said uncertainly.
“Tyelko and Artë did make fairly heartfelt attempts to kill each other there,” Carnistir sighed. “But they were separated, and kept that way until both of them had cooled off.”
That had taken several decades, but they had eventually agreed on a truce – slightly grudgingly on Artë’s part, but a truce all the same. Also, Curvo was emphatically not Tyelko.
“By Menegroth, Tyelko’s concern was only the Silmaril. If he’d run across Artanis, he’d probably have had his people surround her and march her outside to keep her well out of it. Unfortunately for all involved, he went for Dior, not the nursery. Curvo was the strategist.”
It was the first time he’d ever seen any of the peredhel – even Elrond – fail to show a negative reaction when his younger brother was mentioned outside of Silmë’s presence. (Elrond was better about it than his children were, having been trained by Nelyo and Kano that Curvo was a younger brother they loved. But he couldn’t entirely conceal from those who knew him well that he still didn’t think well of Curvo or Tyelko.)
Come to think of it…
“Out of curiosity, why the special distaste for my younger brother when you seem to stop at annoyance for the older one?”
Anariel now looked confused.
“Tyelko,” he clarified. “They both died at Menegroth, but Tindomiel has somehow reached a point where she just thinks he’s goofy, and you clearly dislike Curvo more – though you’ve been very good about not showing it around Silmë.”
“He went after children,” she said as if it should have been obvious. “Dior and Nimloth were both grown elves who knew how to defend themselves. That was a fair fight. But little kids? Toddlers?”
Her tone echoed the fury of every Sinda who’d ever heard the fate of Dior’s sons.
“He went to capture children,” Carnistir corrected firmly. “I know my brother. He would not hurt children. He was a father himself. Unlike my older brothers, who still raised your father and uncle to the best of their abilities.”
She paused, and he could see the unwelcome logic sinking in.
Capture Dior’s children, and they would have had bargaining chips. Children for a Silmaril should have been an easy decision for any parent to make. (Except perhaps for his own father.)
Anariel didn’t like it – but she wasn’t arguing the point. Carnistir felt like that was enough for today.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 03:45 am (UTC)Rivers notwithstanding (I did check back to that one post last August), how is it that Morgoth is able to show Anariel Carnistir's memories of the Second Kinslaying inside Doriath but not Galadriel's? Is it because Carnistir died, or is there something else going on?
no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-25 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 05:16 am (UTC)Anywho, I much enjoyed the entirety of this update, though if I had to pick a favorite part, it would be Anariel hugging Caranthir for sparing Galadriel the epithet of Kinslayer. Thank you and, again, I am hopeful that all goes well and I'm sending the positive and healing thoughts your way.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 03:12 pm (UTC)I don't know that Elrond ever got that explanation - Elros did, but I don't think there were regular discussions about the Second Kinslaying, either in their history classes or between Elros and Elrond.
Anariel missed a rather key moment in the Galadriel dream, on account of firmly noping out on listening to the drunken heart-to-heart between her grandmother and Curufin. (She's not going to be a happy camper when she finds out. Morgoth gets another chance whenever Curufin comes back...)
no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 06:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-24 03:13 pm (UTC)