(no subject)

[grundyscribbling]

Title: Breakfast With Grandfathers
Rating: FR13
Summary: Her grandmothers aren't the only one angling to spend time with Anariel...
Word Count: 1915
Note: I'll get it on AO3 eventually, I just haven't decided if there's anything else that goes between the previous short in The Sun Also Rises and this...

Arafinwë was amused to discover Anariel sound asleep in the kitchen garden, just next to the door.

While he didn’t doubt it was a pleasant place to sleep – given the herbs surrounding the bench she had curled up on, he imagined it was rather delightful – he did wonder at her logic. She had a comfortable bed, and apparently liked her room.

At least sleeping here was less likely to lead to injury than the armory. Two days of relative peace had not been nearly enough to settle her elders’ nerves.

He was up later than usual this morning, and meant to break his fast with Nolo. And Celeborn, if he would come. He and Nolo were both trying to get to know his law-son. (Even if he hadn’t been curious about the only man his daughter had ever thought worth a second look, Eärwen was frustrated with the lack of progress on certain fronts, and as a result he was under orders to see if he couldn’t pry a hint or two from their daughter’s mate.)

Perhaps Anariel could be persuaded to join them?

The sounds he could hear from inside indicated that young Anairon was still in the kitchens.

His children he would have woken without a second thought. Anariel, however…

He tapped gently on one shoulder.

Pitya?

She did not, as he’d half expected, shoot right up in alarm.

One eye opened almost lazily – though the other followed suit immediately, with some consternation.

“You’re not Anairon,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“If you were hoping he would wake you, I’m afraid your strategy has deficiencies at multiple points,” Arafinwë informed her. “First, he usually enters the kitchens from inside the house.”

“And second?” she asked, stretching rather like a cat before getting to her feet.

“I don’t think my youngest nephew would be in any particular hurry to find out if you always react to being woken as you did the other night,” he told her. “Your sister has done a good deal to build his courage, but I’m certain it doesn’t stretch as far as disturbing you.”

“That was not normal,” she grumbled. “And I doubt Anairon sounds like my sister if he chooses to scream.”

“There are also considerably fewer weapons out here, but even so,” Arafinwë shrugged.

He did not say no or none. After dinner that first evening, he’d accustomed himself to the notion that Anariel was likely armed at all times, even if only lightly.

She gave him an innocent look that surpassed any of Artë’s, and benefitted considerably from her child-like stature.

“Were you looking for Anairon for some particular reason?” he asked, opening the door and gesturing for her to precede him.

“He makes good breakfasts,” Anariel grinned. “And nobody else had plans for where I was going to eat this morning.”

Anairon looked up at their entrance, and must have caught enough of their conversation to recognize it was about him. The boy blushed.

“I didn’t know if I was meant to wake you or not,” he told Anariel.

“I’m awake now,” she said cheerfully. “But that doesn’t look very breakfasty. Did I sleep through it?”

The bowl in Anairon’s hand was clearly another experiment with chocolate. Arafinwë carefully filed away the notion that chocolate was apparently not a breakfast food.

“No,” Anairon replied, his whisk not pausing. “Your muffins should be out in a few minutes. And I have a few other things ready for you besides. Your basket, Uncle, is on the hearth.”

“Thank you,” Arafinwë said, retrieving it as Anariel inspected the chocolate proceedings with interest, and at a nod from Anairon, began happily clearing stray bits of chocolate on the counter that had not made it into the bowl. Despite her previous words, apparently eating chocolate that might otherwise go to waste was acceptable.

Lickins don’t count as food, Anariel informed him airily.

“Care to join your father and me?” Arafinwë asked Anairon.

The boy shook his head decisively.

“I’m eating with my brothers. As soon as this gets to the stage where I leave it to rest for a couple hours, I’m taking our meal to Finno’s rooms.”

Arafinwë found it heartwarming how excited the lad was at the prospect, and chose not to point out that it wasn’t all of his brothers. Turvo had, as his sister had remarked in exasperation more than once, made his own bed.

“I shall just have to settle for Anariel, then,” he sighed in mock-regret.

“Hey!” the girl protested. “Since when am I ‘settling’?”

“You are not, pitya, as you well know,” he chuckled. “Though if you’re not in a mood for grandfathers, I believe even Irissë and Artë have been inveigled into joining your grandmothers for the morning.”

“Grandfathers are fine,” Anariel said immediately. “Just the one basket?”

“No, there’s your muffins and the rest of what I already have packed for you,” Anairon said firmly. “Patience!”

He swatted at her with a spoon, which was more than Arafinwë had expected from him. Anariel grinned. A quick brush against her mind proved she had been surprised at Anairon’s unexpected assertiveness as well – and pleased.

 “I really did not invite you to breakfast so you could carry everything,” Arafinwë protested a few minutes later, once Anairon had loaded her with both baskets and the injunction that she was not to unwrap the muffins for at least five minutes, even if they were no longer in the oven it did not mean they were not still cooking!

“Everything is only two lightweight baskets,” Anariel sniffed dismissively. “I carry more than this on trips to our favorite swimming hole back home.”

Arafinwë could do little but sigh and open doors. (He hoped the girl put the sigh down to her insistence on carrying everything. It was reasonable that it would take some time for her to adjust to thinking of Imlanthiriath as home rather than Imladris.)

Oh, I could open the doors too…

“Would they still be on the hinges after you did?” he asked.

“Maybe?”

“It’s too early in the morning for mischief.”

Arafinwë looked up to find Nolo had managed to corral Celeborn after all. His law-son was giving Anariel a look of healthy skepticism.

“Who’s into mischief?” Anariel asked brightly. “I only just woke up.”

“You say that as if you need to be fully awake to make trouble,” Celeborn snorted.

The innocent look made a reappearance, and held while Celeborn relieved her of both baskets.

Nolo was clearly charmed by it. Celeborn was unimpressed – which shaded into amusement as Anariel was steered to the chair opposite him, placing her between Arafinwë and his older brother.

He didn’t quite catch the quick burst of thought that passed between Artë’s mate and her littlest granddaughter.

Anariel’s green eyes followed curiously as he unpacked the contents of the basket Anairon had prepared for them. Arafinwë laid the last of the items – a berry salad – on the table, then waited expectantly.

“Your turn, trouble,” Celeborn prompted.

“She is no trouble,” Nolo said firmly.

“I shall remind you within the year that you said that,” Celeborn replied.

“I thought you find my brand of trouble amusing,” Anariel said cheerfully, bringing out the first of the dishes from her basket. “And we’re not allowed to unwrap that one for another five minutes.”

“It is usually amusing at a later date, once we’re sure all your limbs are still attached,” Celeborn said wryly.

“Usually?” Nolo said softly.

“One or two adventures have not been amusing even in retrospect – and those are not for the breakfast table, Anariel.”

“I wasn’t going to tell that one,” Anariel sniffed, more interested in the covered dish she’d just unpacked than whatever past incident Celeborn had in his now well-guarded mind.

“Which one would that be?” Arafinwë asked mildly.

A truly impressive glance from Celeborn kept his granddaughter from any useful answer.

“Some things are not for discussion at table,” he said firmly. “Or with your grandmothers.”

He was listening more carefully this time, so he heard her indignant I wasn’t planning on telling any of them how I got into Mordor!

“Ah,” Arafinwë sighed. “Here, pitya, I think you’ll find this ham goes almost as well with those as the bacon you’re regretting the absence of.”

Anariel brightened, and while she ate, she was content to listen to the conversation flowing around her. Anairon had given her poached eggs, a potato dish Arafinwë was not familiar with, sliced melon, and of course the muffins that she unwrapped the exact second the proscribed time was up.

She proved happy to share them. Judging by Celeborn’s lack of surprise, Anariel had the same easy generosity as her younger sister, and no matter how fond she was of such a treat, would not hoard it for herself alone. She volunteered while watching for their reactions that banana walnut was a combination popular in California, and also among Elrond’s people.

Anariel finished eating before anyone else at the table, and pillowed her chin on her arms. She seemed rather delighted with the light blue wrap she wore, which Arafinwë recognized as his mother-in-law’s work. It had been sent on from Alqualondë with Eärwen after the royal family of the Teleri had reluctantly accepted they would have to wait somewhat longer to meet the girl.

Celeborn seized on it as a diversion to evade Nolo’s patient questioning about some feast or other early on in Beleriand.

“Has your grandmother seen that yet?” he asked Anariel.

The girl shook her head.

“No, but I’m sure she’ll approve. It’s soft.”

She brushed one cheek against the finely woven material with a sigh of blissful appreciation.

“I should hope so,” Arafinwë murmured.

“Yes, I expect it is,” Celeborn said at the same time.

Arafinwë and Nolo both raised an eyebrow. How would Celeborn recognize Súyelírë’s work?

“Galadriel wore something remarkably similar when we first met.”

Arafinwë started to ask, but was stopped by a surprisingly firm hush! from his little granddaughter.

“I don’t think I’ve heard this before,” she said aloud.

The honest curiosity in her eyes showed that this was no stratagem to curry favor with him or Nolo.

Celeborn laughed.

“No, you would not have. Your grandmother probably still finds the tale too embarrassing!”

“So you’re actually going to tell it, right?” Anariel prompted.

“By Noldorin lights, that tale may be as inappropriate for the table as some of your wilder doings,” Celeborn said.

“Pfft,” Anariel snorted. “Lúthien did worse.”

“True,” Celeborn sighed. “But I didn’t realize that you would take that as a challenge.”

Now Arafinwë was close to bursting from curiosity – all the more so when he caught the at least they died happy that he clearly hadn’t been meant to hear.

“Do not try to get away with such asides in front of your grandmother,” was Celeborn’s slightly tight-lipped advice.

Nolo’s eyes hardened slightly, as he evidently didn’t like whatever conclusion he’d just reached.

“Who wishes to tell their tale first?” he asked, his voice making it clear there would be no evasions.

Anariel snickered.

“Guess we’re finding out how shockable they are,” she told Celeborn. “I’ll go first! It’s really not a long story. I Mata Hari’ed my way into Mordor.”

“Indeed, it would not be a long story if they had any idea what mata hari meant,” Celeborn remarked into the slightly confused silence, calmly peeling an apple as he settled more comfortably into his chair. “Do let me know when the explanations are over.”