Day 23 - Join The Club
Aug. 23rd, 2023 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Join The Club
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Anariel takes some getting used to...
Word Count: 2125
Note: At some point, I'll write this from Anariel's POV, but not today.
Ecthelion wasn’t certain he wasn’t lost.
It was his first time in Finwë’s House. He’d always managed to have an excuse until now when Laurefindil attended a family occasion in Tirion, but this time he’d been left no choice. Both Laurefindil and the girls had insisted – and teamed up against him.
“You fought balrogs, you can’t possibly be afraid of Gran’s family,” Tasariel had snorted.
“She has a point,” Laurefindil smirked from behind her.
Laurefindil, drat him, had pointed out earlier that while it would hardly be good form to steal young Princess FInduilas’ moment, he wanted to be the center of a similar gathering one day, and Ecthelion meeting his mother’s family would be a good first step.
So here he was, wandering the royal gardens in an attempt to remind Califiriel that Princess Írimë had every intention of waking her early in the morning to take her to the jeweler’s street. The girls were no longer so young as to need a set bedtime, but young adults did still need plenty of sleep. Shopping trips with Laurë’s mother were not for the faint of heart or the poorly rested.
He was close to the girls, of course, but he didn’t have as acute a sense of where they were as a parent would have. Fortunately for him, Tasariel had volunteered that her sister was in the jewelbird garden with Anariel.
He’d been tempted to ask her to relay the message. But he’d decided he preferred not to be twitted about lack of bravery again.
He’d not yet been formally introduced to Princess Anariel. Or her brothers, come to that, but he was less concerned about the twin princes. They hadn’t been the ones who dragged Laurë on a balrog hunt.
No one had any choice about fighting the evil creatures in Ondolindë. He couldn’t help feeling it had been remarkably callous of the girl to demand Laurë face them a second time. Especially given that the first time had been fatal.
He’d seen the princess at dinner, but she’d been seated close to her parents, diplomatically placed between King Arafinwë and King Nolofinwë. There had been plenty of royals between her and him.
But now, assuming he hadn’t gone in the wrong direction entirely, every step put him closer to facing the girl.
He must be on the right track, he realized. He could hear Califiriel’s voice from the other side of a hedge.
He was surprised to hear her subdued, almost mournful, and halted lest he intrude on a moment she and Princess Anariel would not wish to share with him.
“What about Jesse and Joy?” Califiriel was asking. “Aunt Arwen wrote some, she assured us they had found happiness, but she said in her last letter that you would be able to tell us more.”
“How much did Arwen tell you?”
“That they’d both met worthy mates, and she had seen less of them in their later years.”
“Bare bones,” Princess Anariel sniffed. “Right… Joy was one of Arwen’s maids of honor until she came of age. She was engaged almost as soon as Estel would allow it, to the son of the captain of the White Company of Ithilien. The held the ceremony in Osgiliath, the first ones to marry in the rebuilt Dome of Stars. We all went. Bergil was appointed Warden of the Bridge, so they stayed in Osgiliath.”
“Is Warden of the Bridge something important?”
“I think it’s meant to be,” the princess laughed. “Bergil was the first, seeing as the new bridge wasn’t properly finished until just before the wedding. For all I know, Estel created it so Bergil would have a graceful way to remain close enough to Minas Tirith that he and Arwen could keep an eye on Joy.”
“Did they have children?” Califiriel asked curiously.
“Five,” the princess replied. “Though their eldest son was killed in the second campaign in Umbar. They had a dozen grandchildren, and the last I knew close to twice as many great-grandchildren, but I imagine there’s probably more of those I don’t know about. I didn’t visit Osgiliath after she died, and most of the grandchildren were of an age to still be having children. She’d just celebrated her hundred twenty-eighth birthday when she went.”
There was a moment of silence as Califiriel apparently considered what she’d been told.
“Is that a good age?” she asked at last. “For Men?”
By her tone when she answered, the princess must have nodded.
“It was an age no one had looked for in someone not of Numenorean heritage.”
“And Jesse?” Califiriel prompted.
“He stayed in Minas Tirith longer,” Princess Anariel replied. “He gradually went from being a page to being on the Council. Poor kid had the noblest ladies of Gondor all but throwing their daughters at him from the day he arrived.”
A giggle from Tasariel sounded as if this wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“I remember them trying already at the wedding,” she replied. “I didn’t realize until later why you and Tindomiel had us dance with him so often!”
“It would have looked odd if it were us rescuing him every time,” the princess laughed. “I think Estel started training him on how not to end up married to a girl he wasn’t interested in as soon as the honeymoon was over. So he managed to hold out until he was thirty, then surprised everyone by announcing he and Elphir of Dol Amroth’s second daughter had come to an understanding. There was some sort of minor scandal about it, but it fizzled quickly with Estel, Arwen, Lothíriel, and Éomer all on the side of the happy couple, not to mention Elphir and his wife so pleased.”
The princess sounded vaguely puzzled by the scandal.
“Once they’d married, Estel sent Jesse north to Annuminas. He needed someone he could trust supervising the rebuilding, and knew it meant Jesse would be able to visit Imladris from time to time. Jesse told us that Minas Tirith was okay, but he’d missed Arnor. The formality and scramble for status in the city really wasn’t for him.”
“So you got to see him often!”
“Often might be an overstatement – it was still a journey from Nenuial to Imladris, and there was far more work there than Osgiliath. Annuminas was barely even ruins anymore when they started. But he did visit us several times, and we looked in on him when we could. He and Mithrellas were happy, and proud of what they built. Eldarion was speaking of naming their son Adrahil Steward of Arnor, with an eye to making it an office reserved for Xander’s house.”
“Uncle Xander would be proud of them,” Califiriel said, but she sounded slightly uncertain.
“He would be,” Princess Anariel agreed. “Though I suspect Anya would be even prouder. Xander would probably be more tickled that Jesse’s sons were all beardless. He thought shaving was annoying.”
“Beard? Jesse had a beard?”
“Men do grow them if they don’t shave,” the princess replied in amusement.
She must have shared a memory, because Califiriel gasped.
“He looks so different!”
“That was the last time I saw him, just a few months before he died,” the princess explained. “He aged like Numenoreans – not much in the way of wrinkles, but his hair and beard went white.”
“It’s still odd,” Califiriel marveled. “Jesse Whitebeard!”
Ecthelion judged it the best opportunity he was likely to get.
“Califiriel?” he asked, striding through the entrance in the hedge.
He was somewhat surprised to find her curled up next to the princess, like a little one with an older sibling or aunt, despite the princess being half her size.
“Ecthelion!” Califiriel exclaimed.
She did not bounce right up as he’d halfway expected.
“Anariel, this is Atto’s… whatever you call him when they haven’t officially admitted yet they’re going to get married.”
Ecthelion couldn’t help the sigh of exasperation. That was an explanation he’d have expected from Tasariel.
“Princess,” he said, with a bow.
Princess Anariel appeared vaguely surprised to be addressed as such.
“Ec-thel-ion,” Califiriel said, sounding as annoyed by his statement as he had been by hers. “This is a family occasion. You are family. Please act like it. Besides, too much formality and Aunt Anariel’s liable to light out for Neldoreth.”
The princess made a slight shushing gesture.
“You’re stressing him out,” she said. “Leave that to Tas.”
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Ecthelion said, “but I thought Califiriel might need a reminder her grandmother fully intends to follow through on that early morning outing.”
That did get Califiriel moving.
“I lost track of time,” she sighed. “We were talking about people I knew from Imladris. And about Ammê and Nana. Anariel knows more about them than Tindomiel does.”
Ecthelion kept his face neutral. He could well imagine that as adults, both girls had more questions about their mothers for the people who had known them best, but he wasn’t sure why they hadn’t asked Princess Celebrían or Prince Elrond.
“Go,” Princess Anariel told Califiriel. “I won’t run away tomorrow, you’ll have plenty of time to talk more about Will and Tara. You already know the most important thing.”
Califiriel grinned, hugged the princess, gave Ecthelion a significant look he wasn’t sure how to properly interpret, then left him to a slightly awkward silence.
Only after the girl he did call his daughter in the privacy of his own fëa had departed did Princess Anariel rise from her spot on the grass, absently brushing off her tunic.
“She’s right – you don’t have to do the princess thing with me. I’m sure we’ve got a relative or two that enjoy formality, but I don’t.”
“As you say,” Ecthelion nodded.
The princess’s face abruptly turned mischievous – an impish expression inherited from Princess Itarillë that looked exceedingly disconcerting on features so entirely Prince Tuor and Prince Eärendil.
“Go on, you can say my name,” she prompted. “Try it!”
It took effort not to put any title to it, but as it was more or less a command…
“Anariel,” he said stiffly.
“Cheer up, you’ll get used to me,” she assured him, taking his arm and turning them toward the main house. “I’m not that bad, really. Though I’d have thought you’d already heard plenty about me from Glorfindel.”
He wasn’t about to admit his reaction to what he’d heard from his mate or the girls. He only hoped her osanwë wasn’t as sharp as her grandmother’s. Queen Elenwë would have already noticed.
“Besides, we’ve got tons in common,” the girl added cheerfully.
“Oh?”
“We both think Glorfindel’s awesome and we’re both members of the balrog slayers club. You get extra cool points for yours being Gothmog, by the way.”
Ecthelion had also been warned about all the California idioms that Anariel in particular had introduced, but this was a new one.
“They are balrogs, shouldn’t it be warm points?”
That got a merry laugh.
“Nope, it doesn’t work like that. And don’t suggest ‘hot points’, that would be worse!”
Ecthelion was entirely at a loss.
“Anyway, give over with the Noldorin formality.”
“It is not Noldorin formality,” he felt compelled to say.
“Oh?”
“My mother is Lindarin,” he informed her. “To number me among the Noldor may be proper according to my father’s people, but my mother would certainly have words.”
“I hope you’re not trying to warn me that I’m about to be disappointed by my Lindarin kin,” she said thoughtfully. “But really, that’s another reason we should get on. We’re neither of us completely Noldor. I guess you’ve gone full tilt with the etiquette and manners, but I spent too much time around Sindar and wood-elves for that.”
“There you two are!”
Laurë looked relieved to have found him.
“Oh, good, you’ve finally met,” he said in obvious relief – though Ecthelion could see there was also some nervousness.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “I’ve been informed I’m in the balrog slayers club.”
“He can be president,” Anariel added.
From her tone, this was a piece of generosity. It might have helped if he knew what a president was.
“Given you’re the one who went looking for them, I think you should be president,” Laurë replied.
“I’ll settle for vice-president,” the girl shrugged. “You can be treasurer. And you can stop looking like I’m about to do something dire to him.”
Turning to Ecthelion, she added, “it was nice to meet you Ecthelion. I’m sure we’ll have more time for me to explain cool points before you go back to Gondolin.”
She blew a cheeky kiss in Laurë’s direction before heading toward what sounded to be the slightly older young folk in the next garden over.
“That sounds like it went well,” Laurë said hopefully.
“Later,” Ecthelion replied firmly.
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Anariel takes some getting used to...
Word Count: 2125
Note: At some point, I'll write this from Anariel's POV, but not today.
Ecthelion wasn’t certain he wasn’t lost.
It was his first time in Finwë’s House. He’d always managed to have an excuse until now when Laurefindil attended a family occasion in Tirion, but this time he’d been left no choice. Both Laurefindil and the girls had insisted – and teamed up against him.
“You fought balrogs, you can’t possibly be afraid of Gran’s family,” Tasariel had snorted.
“She has a point,” Laurefindil smirked from behind her.
Laurefindil, drat him, had pointed out earlier that while it would hardly be good form to steal young Princess FInduilas’ moment, he wanted to be the center of a similar gathering one day, and Ecthelion meeting his mother’s family would be a good first step.
So here he was, wandering the royal gardens in an attempt to remind Califiriel that Princess Írimë had every intention of waking her early in the morning to take her to the jeweler’s street. The girls were no longer so young as to need a set bedtime, but young adults did still need plenty of sleep. Shopping trips with Laurë’s mother were not for the faint of heart or the poorly rested.
He was close to the girls, of course, but he didn’t have as acute a sense of where they were as a parent would have. Fortunately for him, Tasariel had volunteered that her sister was in the jewelbird garden with Anariel.
He’d been tempted to ask her to relay the message. But he’d decided he preferred not to be twitted about lack of bravery again.
He’d not yet been formally introduced to Princess Anariel. Or her brothers, come to that, but he was less concerned about the twin princes. They hadn’t been the ones who dragged Laurë on a balrog hunt.
No one had any choice about fighting the evil creatures in Ondolindë. He couldn’t help feeling it had been remarkably callous of the girl to demand Laurë face them a second time. Especially given that the first time had been fatal.
He’d seen the princess at dinner, but she’d been seated close to her parents, diplomatically placed between King Arafinwë and King Nolofinwë. There had been plenty of royals between her and him.
But now, assuming he hadn’t gone in the wrong direction entirely, every step put him closer to facing the girl.
He must be on the right track, he realized. He could hear Califiriel’s voice from the other side of a hedge.
He was surprised to hear her subdued, almost mournful, and halted lest he intrude on a moment she and Princess Anariel would not wish to share with him.
“What about Jesse and Joy?” Califiriel was asking. “Aunt Arwen wrote some, she assured us they had found happiness, but she said in her last letter that you would be able to tell us more.”
“How much did Arwen tell you?”
“That they’d both met worthy mates, and she had seen less of them in their later years.”
“Bare bones,” Princess Anariel sniffed. “Right… Joy was one of Arwen’s maids of honor until she came of age. She was engaged almost as soon as Estel would allow it, to the son of the captain of the White Company of Ithilien. The held the ceremony in Osgiliath, the first ones to marry in the rebuilt Dome of Stars. We all went. Bergil was appointed Warden of the Bridge, so they stayed in Osgiliath.”
“Is Warden of the Bridge something important?”
“I think it’s meant to be,” the princess laughed. “Bergil was the first, seeing as the new bridge wasn’t properly finished until just before the wedding. For all I know, Estel created it so Bergil would have a graceful way to remain close enough to Minas Tirith that he and Arwen could keep an eye on Joy.”
“Did they have children?” Califiriel asked curiously.
“Five,” the princess replied. “Though their eldest son was killed in the second campaign in Umbar. They had a dozen grandchildren, and the last I knew close to twice as many great-grandchildren, but I imagine there’s probably more of those I don’t know about. I didn’t visit Osgiliath after she died, and most of the grandchildren were of an age to still be having children. She’d just celebrated her hundred twenty-eighth birthday when she went.”
There was a moment of silence as Califiriel apparently considered what she’d been told.
“Is that a good age?” she asked at last. “For Men?”
By her tone when she answered, the princess must have nodded.
“It was an age no one had looked for in someone not of Numenorean heritage.”
“And Jesse?” Califiriel prompted.
“He stayed in Minas Tirith longer,” Princess Anariel replied. “He gradually went from being a page to being on the Council. Poor kid had the noblest ladies of Gondor all but throwing their daughters at him from the day he arrived.”
A giggle from Tasariel sounded as if this wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“I remember them trying already at the wedding,” she replied. “I didn’t realize until later why you and Tindomiel had us dance with him so often!”
“It would have looked odd if it were us rescuing him every time,” the princess laughed. “I think Estel started training him on how not to end up married to a girl he wasn’t interested in as soon as the honeymoon was over. So he managed to hold out until he was thirty, then surprised everyone by announcing he and Elphir of Dol Amroth’s second daughter had come to an understanding. There was some sort of minor scandal about it, but it fizzled quickly with Estel, Arwen, Lothíriel, and Éomer all on the side of the happy couple, not to mention Elphir and his wife so pleased.”
The princess sounded vaguely puzzled by the scandal.
“Once they’d married, Estel sent Jesse north to Annuminas. He needed someone he could trust supervising the rebuilding, and knew it meant Jesse would be able to visit Imladris from time to time. Jesse told us that Minas Tirith was okay, but he’d missed Arnor. The formality and scramble for status in the city really wasn’t for him.”
“So you got to see him often!”
“Often might be an overstatement – it was still a journey from Nenuial to Imladris, and there was far more work there than Osgiliath. Annuminas was barely even ruins anymore when they started. But he did visit us several times, and we looked in on him when we could. He and Mithrellas were happy, and proud of what they built. Eldarion was speaking of naming their son Adrahil Steward of Arnor, with an eye to making it an office reserved for Xander’s house.”
“Uncle Xander would be proud of them,” Califiriel said, but she sounded slightly uncertain.
“He would be,” Princess Anariel agreed. “Though I suspect Anya would be even prouder. Xander would probably be more tickled that Jesse’s sons were all beardless. He thought shaving was annoying.”
“Beard? Jesse had a beard?”
“Men do grow them if they don’t shave,” the princess replied in amusement.
She must have shared a memory, because Califiriel gasped.
“He looks so different!”
“That was the last time I saw him, just a few months before he died,” the princess explained. “He aged like Numenoreans – not much in the way of wrinkles, but his hair and beard went white.”
“It’s still odd,” Califiriel marveled. “Jesse Whitebeard!”
Ecthelion judged it the best opportunity he was likely to get.
“Califiriel?” he asked, striding through the entrance in the hedge.
He was somewhat surprised to find her curled up next to the princess, like a little one with an older sibling or aunt, despite the princess being half her size.
“Ecthelion!” Califiriel exclaimed.
She did not bounce right up as he’d halfway expected.
“Anariel, this is Atto’s… whatever you call him when they haven’t officially admitted yet they’re going to get married.”
Ecthelion couldn’t help the sigh of exasperation. That was an explanation he’d have expected from Tasariel.
“Princess,” he said, with a bow.
Princess Anariel appeared vaguely surprised to be addressed as such.
“Ec-thel-ion,” Califiriel said, sounding as annoyed by his statement as he had been by hers. “This is a family occasion. You are family. Please act like it. Besides, too much formality and Aunt Anariel’s liable to light out for Neldoreth.”
The princess made a slight shushing gesture.
“You’re stressing him out,” she said. “Leave that to Tas.”
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Ecthelion said, “but I thought Califiriel might need a reminder her grandmother fully intends to follow through on that early morning outing.”
That did get Califiriel moving.
“I lost track of time,” she sighed. “We were talking about people I knew from Imladris. And about Ammê and Nana. Anariel knows more about them than Tindomiel does.”
Ecthelion kept his face neutral. He could well imagine that as adults, both girls had more questions about their mothers for the people who had known them best, but he wasn’t sure why they hadn’t asked Princess Celebrían or Prince Elrond.
“Go,” Princess Anariel told Califiriel. “I won’t run away tomorrow, you’ll have plenty of time to talk more about Will and Tara. You already know the most important thing.”
Califiriel grinned, hugged the princess, gave Ecthelion a significant look he wasn’t sure how to properly interpret, then left him to a slightly awkward silence.
Only after the girl he did call his daughter in the privacy of his own fëa had departed did Princess Anariel rise from her spot on the grass, absently brushing off her tunic.
“She’s right – you don’t have to do the princess thing with me. I’m sure we’ve got a relative or two that enjoy formality, but I don’t.”
“As you say,” Ecthelion nodded.
The princess’s face abruptly turned mischievous – an impish expression inherited from Princess Itarillë that looked exceedingly disconcerting on features so entirely Prince Tuor and Prince Eärendil.
“Go on, you can say my name,” she prompted. “Try it!”
It took effort not to put any title to it, but as it was more or less a command…
“Anariel,” he said stiffly.
“Cheer up, you’ll get used to me,” she assured him, taking his arm and turning them toward the main house. “I’m not that bad, really. Though I’d have thought you’d already heard plenty about me from Glorfindel.”
He wasn’t about to admit his reaction to what he’d heard from his mate or the girls. He only hoped her osanwë wasn’t as sharp as her grandmother’s. Queen Elenwë would have already noticed.
“Besides, we’ve got tons in common,” the girl added cheerfully.
“Oh?”
“We both think Glorfindel’s awesome and we’re both members of the balrog slayers club. You get extra cool points for yours being Gothmog, by the way.”
Ecthelion had also been warned about all the California idioms that Anariel in particular had introduced, but this was a new one.
“They are balrogs, shouldn’t it be warm points?”
That got a merry laugh.
“Nope, it doesn’t work like that. And don’t suggest ‘hot points’, that would be worse!”
Ecthelion was entirely at a loss.
“Anyway, give over with the Noldorin formality.”
“It is not Noldorin formality,” he felt compelled to say.
“Oh?”
“My mother is Lindarin,” he informed her. “To number me among the Noldor may be proper according to my father’s people, but my mother would certainly have words.”
“I hope you’re not trying to warn me that I’m about to be disappointed by my Lindarin kin,” she said thoughtfully. “But really, that’s another reason we should get on. We’re neither of us completely Noldor. I guess you’ve gone full tilt with the etiquette and manners, but I spent too much time around Sindar and wood-elves for that.”
“There you two are!”
Laurë looked relieved to have found him.
“Oh, good, you’ve finally met,” he said in obvious relief – though Ecthelion could see there was also some nervousness.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “I’ve been informed I’m in the balrog slayers club.”
“He can be president,” Anariel added.
From her tone, this was a piece of generosity. It might have helped if he knew what a president was.
“Given you’re the one who went looking for them, I think you should be president,” Laurë replied.
“I’ll settle for vice-president,” the girl shrugged. “You can be treasurer. And you can stop looking like I’m about to do something dire to him.”
Turning to Ecthelion, she added, “it was nice to meet you Ecthelion. I’m sure we’ll have more time for me to explain cool points before you go back to Gondolin.”
She blew a cheeky kiss in Laurë’s direction before heading toward what sounded to be the slightly older young folk in the next garden over.
“That sounds like it went well,” Laurë said hopefully.
“Later,” Ecthelion replied firmly.
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Date: 2023-08-24 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-25 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-24 05:02 am (UTC)Also that catch-up chat about Jesse and Joy was both lovely and sad.
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Date: 2023-08-25 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-08-24 06:20 am (UTC)I look forward to seeing this from Anariel's pov.
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Date: 2023-08-25 12:05 am (UTC)