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grundyscribbling) wrote2023-08-25 11:09 pm
grundyscribbling) wrote2023-08-25 11:09 pm
Entry tags:
Day 25 - If At First You Don't Succeed
Title: If At First You Don't Succeed
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel isn't exactly rested.
Word Count: 615
Note: Alas, Anariel is not the only tired one.
Glorfindel was glad he hadn’t announced himself before he strode onto the patio Anariel and the twins shared.
The three of them were lounging in a way he hadn’t seen since before the Ring War.
Anariel, who looked like she ought to go back to bed, was sitting on the ground, leaning against Elrohir’s legs while Elladan sprawled on the well-cushioned bench opposite his siblings.
It was surprisingly adorable, and a bit like peeking in on those missing years when she and Celebrían had been believed dead but actually in California, as the effect of her sleepiness and using her big brother for a pillow took years off her apparent age.
Unfortunately, he suspected there was very little chance most of their relatives currently in residence in Tirion would be permitted to see them like this just yet. Eventually, but not today.
“Didn’t you sleep?” he demanded bluntly.
Anariel startled briefly upright before sinking back to her previous, apparently very comfortable position, with a glare for the disturbance.
“Too much excitement,” Elladan snickered as her sister muttered something no doubt unflattering under her breath. “So many new relatives in so little time… plus the dressing up!”
Glorfindel had meant to try to catch her to explain about Ecthelion – he was certain Anariel had not failed to notice Ecthelion wasn’t entirely thrilled with her, although he also knew Thel hadn’t told her why – but now was definitely not the time.
“Go,” he ordered, hauling her to her feet, using much the same tone he would have taken with her on the practice ground in Imladris. “All those kin can wait a few more hours until you’ve actually rested.”
To his relief, the twins followed his lead, cheerfully shooing her back inside.
He hoped she would actually sleep. Anariel didn’t need nearly as much as her youngest sister, but she was still more mannish than elvish in her sleep habits. And Nienna knew they didn’t need her short-tempered from lack of adequate rest.
Particularly not when his uncles were still highly unsettled at the thought of her usual methods of dealing with a foul mood.
At some point he would have to sit down with them and explain that whatever else they had or hadn’t taught her, the masters of California had apparently succeeding in one thing: training her to channel all her anger into the fight, distilling it into a potent form that came when she called and could be wielded at will. Given that she appeared to have the same temper as anyone else in the House of Finwë, on the battlefield that finely honed rage was more deadly than any weapon the Noldor had ever forged.
Had she been the one who had ridden north after the Sudden Flame, he suspected Morgoth would have come away with far worse than just a limp – assuming he survived the encounter.
Perhaps he should tell them that story about the orcs and the one knife. That had made more than a few Imladrim take notice.
His mother arrived just after Anariel was out of sight.
“Where is the child?” she asked.
Glorfindel clucked at the twins before they could say anything.
“Before you take issue,” he warned them, “kindly recall I was begotten in the Years of the Trees, and that is my mother…”
“Fair,” Elladan admitted. “But it would probably still not be wise to let Anariel hear you call her child.”
“I don’t know,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “Phrased as Glorfindel did, she might ‘shrug it off’ as she puts it.”
His mother raised an eyebrow.
“Descendants of both Finwë and Elwë who listen to reason? And to think some claim there are no wonders in these later Ages.”
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Summary: Anariel isn't exactly rested.
Word Count: 615
Note: Alas, Anariel is not the only tired one.
Glorfindel was glad he hadn’t announced himself before he strode onto the patio Anariel and the twins shared.
The three of them were lounging in a way he hadn’t seen since before the Ring War.
Anariel, who looked like she ought to go back to bed, was sitting on the ground, leaning against Elrohir’s legs while Elladan sprawled on the well-cushioned bench opposite his siblings.
It was surprisingly adorable, and a bit like peeking in on those missing years when she and Celebrían had been believed dead but actually in California, as the effect of her sleepiness and using her big brother for a pillow took years off her apparent age.
Unfortunately, he suspected there was very little chance most of their relatives currently in residence in Tirion would be permitted to see them like this just yet. Eventually, but not today.
“Didn’t you sleep?” he demanded bluntly.
Anariel startled briefly upright before sinking back to her previous, apparently very comfortable position, with a glare for the disturbance.
“Too much excitement,” Elladan snickered as her sister muttered something no doubt unflattering under her breath. “So many new relatives in so little time… plus the dressing up!”
Glorfindel had meant to try to catch her to explain about Ecthelion – he was certain Anariel had not failed to notice Ecthelion wasn’t entirely thrilled with her, although he also knew Thel hadn’t told her why – but now was definitely not the time.
“Go,” he ordered, hauling her to her feet, using much the same tone he would have taken with her on the practice ground in Imladris. “All those kin can wait a few more hours until you’ve actually rested.”
To his relief, the twins followed his lead, cheerfully shooing her back inside.
He hoped she would actually sleep. Anariel didn’t need nearly as much as her youngest sister, but she was still more mannish than elvish in her sleep habits. And Nienna knew they didn’t need her short-tempered from lack of adequate rest.
Particularly not when his uncles were still highly unsettled at the thought of her usual methods of dealing with a foul mood.
At some point he would have to sit down with them and explain that whatever else they had or hadn’t taught her, the masters of California had apparently succeeding in one thing: training her to channel all her anger into the fight, distilling it into a potent form that came when she called and could be wielded at will. Given that she appeared to have the same temper as anyone else in the House of Finwë, on the battlefield that finely honed rage was more deadly than any weapon the Noldor had ever forged.
Had she been the one who had ridden north after the Sudden Flame, he suspected Morgoth would have come away with far worse than just a limp – assuming he survived the encounter.
Perhaps he should tell them that story about the orcs and the one knife. That had made more than a few Imladrim take notice.
His mother arrived just after Anariel was out of sight.
“Where is the child?” she asked.
Glorfindel clucked at the twins before they could say anything.
“Before you take issue,” he warned them, “kindly recall I was begotten in the Years of the Trees, and that is my mother…”
“Fair,” Elladan admitted. “But it would probably still not be wise to let Anariel hear you call her child.”
“I don’t know,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “Phrased as Glorfindel did, she might ‘shrug it off’ as she puts it.”
His mother raised an eyebrow.
“Descendants of both Finwë and Elwë who listen to reason? And to think some claim there are no wonders in these later Ages.”
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