Day 11 - Tattle and Tales
Aug. 11th, 2023 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Tattle and Tales
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Tindomiel does not approve of people encouraging her sister to go charging headlong into bad ideas.
Word Count: 1450
All six sons of Fëanor and their father startled when Tindomiel strode in looking uncomfortably like Aunt Anairë about to scold someone.
“There you are!”
Her glare was leveled at Fëanor, who looked equal parts intrigued and puzzled. This was entirely understandable, as the potential for him to have done anything was fairly limited, but Tindomiel’s expression suggested he had somehow managed it.
“Did you try to talk her out of it for even a second?” she demanded.
“Talk who out of what?” Maitimo asked in bemusement.
“Her older sister, obviously,” Curvo snorted. “Try to keep up.”
“Of course not,” Fëanor sniffed, looking insulted. “Why would I try to talk her out of it?”
“What are we talking Anariel out of this time?”
Makalaurë already looked stressed, even without knowing what was going on yet.
“Anariel taking a run at Morgoth, obviously,” Tindomiel said, her tone screaming duh.
“Is that what I was meant to talk her out of?” Makalaurë asked in a strangled tone.
“Why should she be talked out of it?” Fëanor demanded.
“Wait, she visited you, too?” Tindomiel asked suspiciously.
“Yes, I knew Namo was hoping I’d talk sense into her about something, but it was rather difficult as he didn’t say what,” Makalaurë sighed.
“Ending the threat of Morgoth is sense,” Fëanor announced, speaking to his second son and youngest granddaughter equally.
“Yes, because that went so well for you and Grandpop Nolo both,” Tindomiel snorted. “Let’s count up the score, shall we? You – dead. Grandpop Nolo – dead. Morgoth – laughing both times. Oh, and went on to laugh some more as he played whack-a-mole with High Kings of the Noldor.”
She ignored Ambarussa’s bemused whisper of ‘what’s whack-a-mole?’
“Your sister seems confident that she has a better plan,” Fëanor pointed out.
Tindomiel’s eyes narrowed, but it was Makalaurë who answered.
“Yes, no doubt she believes she has a better plan. She had a plan for balrog hunting, too. It worked – until it didn’t.”
“You did say the balrogs were slain. And she seems to have survived,” Fëanor said drily. “Looked quite alive to me.”
“Alive – but with a permanent mark on her hand from where she grabbed a balrog’s whip,” Makalaurë shot back. “Also, that very nearly went quite badly.”
“Isn’t the balrog plan one of the things we’re not supposed to mention in front of her?” Tyelko asked.
“She’s had more time to plan for Morgoth,” Curvo pointed out practically, and smirked at the stinkeye that got from Tindomiel. She hadn’t yet tried to enforce the ‘no talking to me’ on him with his father present.
“He is correct, if your tally of the years remains accurate,” Fëanor said thoughtfully.
“Oh, no, she’s not put out because he’s wrong,” Tyelko announced gleefully. “He’s probably right. Her nose is out of joint because Curvo spoke to her.”
“Tattletale!” she protested.
Fëanor raised an eyebrow.
“Why under the stars should Curvo be forbidden to speak to you?” he asked. “And do not try ‘he knows why’. That was tiresome enough from your grandmother.”
“Grandmother had an excellent reason for not speaking to him,” Tindomiel said frostily.
She paused at the look she was getting from Makalaurë.
“Artanis never stopped speaking to Curvo as far as I’m aware, pitya,” he sighed. “Tyelko, yes, but they made up after half a long-year or so.”
“Curufin-”
“Curufinwë,” came the correction from nearly the entire room.
“-nearly killed her,” Tindomiel finished without taking the slightest notice of the attempt to get her to use his Noldorin name rather than the Sindarin one she knew he disliked.
“So did I,” Tyelko said cheerfully. “And she almost killed me. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. We got over it.”
“How?” Curvo snorted. “And when was this? I’d like to think I’d remember if I almost killed my favorite little cousin!”
“Menegroth, you jackass!”
“Tindomiel, no curses, including California ones,” Makalaurë said sternly.
Curvo actually looked shaken.
“That-”
“-is quite enough,” Fëanor interrupted. “Tindomiel, apologize to your uncle.”
“I’m not sorry at all, and I’m not going to pretend I am,” Tindomiel protested, crossing her arms. “And anyway, the main point of this wasn’t what he did, it’s that you’re being a bad influence!”
“Why? Because I founded Team Kick Morgoth’s ass?” Fëanor asked. “I admit she’s… how do you say it? Team captain? now, but in point of fact we’ve been on the same team for quite some time.”
Makalaurë pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t very well tell her not to use California curses when you’re sitting here talking about kicking ass,” he sighed.
“Did you at least ask her what the plan was?” Tindomiel asked.
“No, I trusted she’d share at the appropriate time,” Fëanor shrugged.
“Did she say she would?” Tindomiel snorted.
“No, but to be fair, she had injured her leg and was also looking to make a quiet exit before Namo noticed the damage to the wall.”
“Oh, so you two did fight. I knew it!” Tindomiel exclaimed.
“We did not,” Fëanor said airily. “She was simply frustrated.”
“Frustrated enough to forget to hold back the Slayer strength?” Tindomiel asked skeptically.
“The damage to the wall of my chamber would suggest so,” Fëanor replied. “At any rate, I’m not sure why you’re so worried. She gave no sign that she intended to go looking for him immediately. I should imagine she’s still quite occupied meeting relatives.”
“Sorta…”
“Either she is or she isn’t, there’s no halfway there unless everyone has suddenly developed a lot more patience about adorable younger relatives,” Tyelko observed.
“Mostly meeting relatives, but she also found time to sneak out to party in the Great Square when she wasn’t supposed to be at the festival and play matchmaker for Finduilas and Gwindor,” Tindomiel explained. “And before you get all down on the guy you sent to babysit her, Grandpa Maitimo, she didn’t tell anyone, he was back at his house or maybe out partying himself, and she’s really good at sneaking.”
“I am so looking forward to getting out of here, she sounds like so much fun.”
Tindomiel rolled her eyes.
“I’m not sure how she didn’t end up yelling at him,” she said, waving at Fëanor, “but I would put money on her volunteering you to be her new sparring partner.”
“She sounds like Elros is what she sounds like,” Maitimo sighed.
“In more ways than one,” Makalaurë said dourly.
Tindomiel’s head swiveled toward him at that.
“Go on…” she prompted hopefully.
“His plans were also rather unorthodox and not always thought through. It’s how he chose the fate of Men.”
“Wait, that was a plan?” Tindomiel exclaimed. “Why haven’t I heard this before?”
“Probably because your father is the only one currently outside the Halls who would know, and I don’t imagine he speaks of it often.”
Tindomiel did deflate slightly at that.
“Ok, but what was the plan?” she asked. “How did choosing mortality help anything?”
Fëanor looked curious about that point as well.
“His choice came after Maitimo’s death,” Makalaurë said slowly. “At that time, we all feared that with the Silmarils still in the hands of others, the Oath consigned him – and all of you – to the Everlasting Darkness. His idea was that since the souls of Men go beyond the circles of the world…”
“He could go find Grandpa Maitimo,” Tindomiel finished, the light dawning. “Not a terrible plan, but how was he figuring on getting back?”
“I don’t think he worked that part out,” Maitimo said drily.
“You never know, he could still be looking,” Tindomiel shrugged. “There’s a lot of dimensions out there.”
She looked thoughtful enough that Makalaurë felt the need to intervene.
“You are not to go looking for him, Tinwë.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t. I mean, I can’t. I’m safe in Arda, and it’s ok to use the Key here in Aman, but I’d be Morgoth-bait anywhere else,” she replied. “But Uncle Elros is out there somewhere…”
“No sending your sister looking for him either.”
Several heads turned in surprise, because that hadn’t come from Makalaurë or Maitimo.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Tyelko said, not looking sorry in the least. “I am a responsible adult on occasion. And I know how that game is played. So no trying to send siblings or gullible cousins.”
“Speaking of responsible adults,” Makalaurë suggested, “where are you supposed to be right now, Tinwë?”
“Probably dinner by now,” she replied after a moment of thought. “Which…I can tell Gramma Nerdanel about you being a bad influence!”
She waved brightly at the room in general, smiled smugly at Fëanor, and then vanished as suddenly as she’d arrived – quickly enough that she missed Tyelko’s attempt at the last word.
“Oh, who’s the tattletale now?”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Tindomiel does not approve of people encouraging her sister to go charging headlong into bad ideas.
Word Count: 1450
All six sons of Fëanor and their father startled when Tindomiel strode in looking uncomfortably like Aunt Anairë about to scold someone.
“There you are!”
Her glare was leveled at Fëanor, who looked equal parts intrigued and puzzled. This was entirely understandable, as the potential for him to have done anything was fairly limited, but Tindomiel’s expression suggested he had somehow managed it.
“Did you try to talk her out of it for even a second?” she demanded.
“Talk who out of what?” Maitimo asked in bemusement.
“Her older sister, obviously,” Curvo snorted. “Try to keep up.”
“Of course not,” Fëanor sniffed, looking insulted. “Why would I try to talk her out of it?”
“What are we talking Anariel out of this time?”
Makalaurë already looked stressed, even without knowing what was going on yet.
“Anariel taking a run at Morgoth, obviously,” Tindomiel said, her tone screaming duh.
“Is that what I was meant to talk her out of?” Makalaurë asked in a strangled tone.
“Why should she be talked out of it?” Fëanor demanded.
“Wait, she visited you, too?” Tindomiel asked suspiciously.
“Yes, I knew Namo was hoping I’d talk sense into her about something, but it was rather difficult as he didn’t say what,” Makalaurë sighed.
“Ending the threat of Morgoth is sense,” Fëanor announced, speaking to his second son and youngest granddaughter equally.
“Yes, because that went so well for you and Grandpop Nolo both,” Tindomiel snorted. “Let’s count up the score, shall we? You – dead. Grandpop Nolo – dead. Morgoth – laughing both times. Oh, and went on to laugh some more as he played whack-a-mole with High Kings of the Noldor.”
She ignored Ambarussa’s bemused whisper of ‘what’s whack-a-mole?’
“Your sister seems confident that she has a better plan,” Fëanor pointed out.
Tindomiel’s eyes narrowed, but it was Makalaurë who answered.
“Yes, no doubt she believes she has a better plan. She had a plan for balrog hunting, too. It worked – until it didn’t.”
“You did say the balrogs were slain. And she seems to have survived,” Fëanor said drily. “Looked quite alive to me.”
“Alive – but with a permanent mark on her hand from where she grabbed a balrog’s whip,” Makalaurë shot back. “Also, that very nearly went quite badly.”
“Isn’t the balrog plan one of the things we’re not supposed to mention in front of her?” Tyelko asked.
“She’s had more time to plan for Morgoth,” Curvo pointed out practically, and smirked at the stinkeye that got from Tindomiel. She hadn’t yet tried to enforce the ‘no talking to me’ on him with his father present.
“He is correct, if your tally of the years remains accurate,” Fëanor said thoughtfully.
“Oh, no, she’s not put out because he’s wrong,” Tyelko announced gleefully. “He’s probably right. Her nose is out of joint because Curvo spoke to her.”
“Tattletale!” she protested.
Fëanor raised an eyebrow.
“Why under the stars should Curvo be forbidden to speak to you?” he asked. “And do not try ‘he knows why’. That was tiresome enough from your grandmother.”
“Grandmother had an excellent reason for not speaking to him,” Tindomiel said frostily.
She paused at the look she was getting from Makalaurë.
“Artanis never stopped speaking to Curvo as far as I’m aware, pitya,” he sighed. “Tyelko, yes, but they made up after half a long-year or so.”
“Curufin-”
“Curufinwë,” came the correction from nearly the entire room.
“-nearly killed her,” Tindomiel finished without taking the slightest notice of the attempt to get her to use his Noldorin name rather than the Sindarin one she knew he disliked.
“So did I,” Tyelko said cheerfully. “And she almost killed me. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. We got over it.”
“How?” Curvo snorted. “And when was this? I’d like to think I’d remember if I almost killed my favorite little cousin!”
“Menegroth, you jackass!”
“Tindomiel, no curses, including California ones,” Makalaurë said sternly.
Curvo actually looked shaken.
“That-”
“-is quite enough,” Fëanor interrupted. “Tindomiel, apologize to your uncle.”
“I’m not sorry at all, and I’m not going to pretend I am,” Tindomiel protested, crossing her arms. “And anyway, the main point of this wasn’t what he did, it’s that you’re being a bad influence!”
“Why? Because I founded Team Kick Morgoth’s ass?” Fëanor asked. “I admit she’s… how do you say it? Team captain? now, but in point of fact we’ve been on the same team for quite some time.”
Makalaurë pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t very well tell her not to use California curses when you’re sitting here talking about kicking ass,” he sighed.
“Did you at least ask her what the plan was?” Tindomiel asked.
“No, I trusted she’d share at the appropriate time,” Fëanor shrugged.
“Did she say she would?” Tindomiel snorted.
“No, but to be fair, she had injured her leg and was also looking to make a quiet exit before Namo noticed the damage to the wall.”
“Oh, so you two did fight. I knew it!” Tindomiel exclaimed.
“We did not,” Fëanor said airily. “She was simply frustrated.”
“Frustrated enough to forget to hold back the Slayer strength?” Tindomiel asked skeptically.
“The damage to the wall of my chamber would suggest so,” Fëanor replied. “At any rate, I’m not sure why you’re so worried. She gave no sign that she intended to go looking for him immediately. I should imagine she’s still quite occupied meeting relatives.”
“Sorta…”
“Either she is or she isn’t, there’s no halfway there unless everyone has suddenly developed a lot more patience about adorable younger relatives,” Tyelko observed.
“Mostly meeting relatives, but she also found time to sneak out to party in the Great Square when she wasn’t supposed to be at the festival and play matchmaker for Finduilas and Gwindor,” Tindomiel explained. “And before you get all down on the guy you sent to babysit her, Grandpa Maitimo, she didn’t tell anyone, he was back at his house or maybe out partying himself, and she’s really good at sneaking.”
“I am so looking forward to getting out of here, she sounds like so much fun.”
Tindomiel rolled her eyes.
“I’m not sure how she didn’t end up yelling at him,” she said, waving at Fëanor, “but I would put money on her volunteering you to be her new sparring partner.”
“She sounds like Elros is what she sounds like,” Maitimo sighed.
“In more ways than one,” Makalaurë said dourly.
Tindomiel’s head swiveled toward him at that.
“Go on…” she prompted hopefully.
“His plans were also rather unorthodox and not always thought through. It’s how he chose the fate of Men.”
“Wait, that was a plan?” Tindomiel exclaimed. “Why haven’t I heard this before?”
“Probably because your father is the only one currently outside the Halls who would know, and I don’t imagine he speaks of it often.”
Tindomiel did deflate slightly at that.
“Ok, but what was the plan?” she asked. “How did choosing mortality help anything?”
Fëanor looked curious about that point as well.
“His choice came after Maitimo’s death,” Makalaurë said slowly. “At that time, we all feared that with the Silmarils still in the hands of others, the Oath consigned him – and all of you – to the Everlasting Darkness. His idea was that since the souls of Men go beyond the circles of the world…”
“He could go find Grandpa Maitimo,” Tindomiel finished, the light dawning. “Not a terrible plan, but how was he figuring on getting back?”
“I don’t think he worked that part out,” Maitimo said drily.
“You never know, he could still be looking,” Tindomiel shrugged. “There’s a lot of dimensions out there.”
She looked thoughtful enough that Makalaurë felt the need to intervene.
“You are not to go looking for him, Tinwë.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t. I mean, I can’t. I’m safe in Arda, and it’s ok to use the Key here in Aman, but I’d be Morgoth-bait anywhere else,” she replied. “But Uncle Elros is out there somewhere…”
“No sending your sister looking for him either.”
Several heads turned in surprise, because that hadn’t come from Makalaurë or Maitimo.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Tyelko said, not looking sorry in the least. “I am a responsible adult on occasion. And I know how that game is played. So no trying to send siblings or gullible cousins.”
“Speaking of responsible adults,” Makalaurë suggested, “where are you supposed to be right now, Tinwë?”
“Probably dinner by now,” she replied after a moment of thought. “Which…I can tell Gramma Nerdanel about you being a bad influence!”
She waved brightly at the room in general, smiled smugly at Fëanor, and then vanished as suddenly as she’d arrived – quickly enough that she missed Tyelko’s attempt at the last word.
“Oh, who’s the tattletale now?”
no subject
Date: 2023-08-12 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-13 03:14 am (UTC)Elros' plan has been hinted at in some of my Silm fic. It wasn't entirely without thought, but it's hard to plan properly for something nobody knows about...
no subject
Date: 2023-08-14 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-14 02:50 am (UTC)