grundyscribbling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grundyscribbling) wrote2023-08-27 09:10 pm
grundyscribbling) wrote2023-08-27 09:10 pm
Entry tags:
Day 27 - Little Miss Trouble
Title: Little Miss Trouble
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 finds a somewhat willing conspirator.
Word Count: 1100
Mahtan looked up from his desk in surprise. It was rare for Rilmë to disturb him when he was working – rarer still when he was teaching.
But his wife would not do so without good cause, so he dismissed his young apprentice with an assurance they would discuss the concept further another day.
“Yes?” he asked, trying not to smile at her excited fluttering.
“You have a visitor,” Rilmë said with a smile.
“One worth disturbing a meeting with an apprentice?” he asked.
“I think you’ll find it so,” she smiled. “Come.”
She held out a hand. When he took it, she led him out through his workshops, toward her garden.
“Woof!”
“Huan?” he gasped, recognizing the large dog at once. “Does this mean Tyelko has returned?”
He’d been relieved to find any of Nerdanel’s boys permitted to walk among the living, if somewhat surprised that Moryo had been the first. Son or not, he’d bloodied his hands at Alqualondë.
He regretted the question at once when a shadow momentarily darkened Rilmë’s silver eyes.
“No, not yet,” she sighed. “But there’s more hope there than we had before, I think.”
Sitting at the low table in Rilmë’s favorite garden were two blondes. Ingoldo’s youngest boy Mahtan recognized immediately. The little girl was unknown to him.
“Anariel, darling, this is Mahtan,” Rilmë said.
Aulë’s beard but the girl was tiny! He’d been picturing someone built along Artanis’ lines!
“I am honored,” he said politely.
Anariel looked to Rilmë uncertainly.
“Go on, darling, explain it to him,” his wife encouraged. “Huan, down! You getting your dirty paws all over everyone has never yet improved a situation.”
Privately she added don’t you dare go startling her into leaving at once, Mahtan! She’s even more of a sweetheart than Elrond.
Ah. That put rather a different spin on things. This wasn’t a princess of the Noldor calling on one of their foremost living smiths, it was a granddaughter visiting her grandparents – though from the sound of it, with some ulterior motive.
Huan barked in a grumpy tone, but the girl giggled.
“She has a point. And I wouldn’t antagonize someone who makes such good cookies. You might not get anymore.”
“So what brings you here?” he asked. “I had understood you were still at Finwë’s House with any number of grandfathers on hand.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t ask them for help with this,” she grinned.
The color of her eyes might be unusual, but they lit up with a brand of mischief he recognized well enough.
“Oh dear oh dear,” he sighed. “Who’s in for it now?”
“Grandpa Butthead,” she replied brightly.
“She means Uncle Fëanáro,” Arador clarified immediately.
Mahtan raised an eyebrow.
“Is he back?”
“No, not yet,” the girl shrugged. “But he will be eventually. I want to have a proper welcome ready for him.”
“Go on,” Mahtan prompted.
He was wholly unprepared for the explanation she launched into, which involved the strange land of California he’d heard Tinwë mention on occasion, music from that world she wanted to make Fëanáro’s fountain sing at him – Mahtan didn’t fully understand why it was so amusing but trusted if it didn’t become apparent when he heard the music in question, Tinwë or Elrond would explain – and some technique wholly unknown to the Noldor of capturing sound so that it might be repeated later.
Anariel, it transpired, knew only the broad outline of the technique. She was missing details vital to making it work properly, and was hoping for a master to help her discover them. She was able to explain that the sounds were somehow coded into indentations on a disc, but she didn’t know how to then go back from the disc to the sound.
“A fascinating problem,” Mahtan said when she’d finished, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You do realize the one who would be the most help on this matter is Fëanáro himself?”
“I can’t ask him when it’s for pranking him!” she exclaimed.
“Nolofinwë may be commonly thought less innovative, but he is a master in his own right,” Mahtan pointed out. “I suspect he’d quite enjoy getting one over on his older brother.”
“Yeah, but he’d never hear the end of it if he did,” Anariel said practically. “But Grandpa Butthead can’t say boo to you – you’re his elder and his father-in-law. And anyway, it’s mild compared to what you’d be within your rights to say or do whenever he turns up.”
Mahtan chuckled. It was nice to have someone acknowledge the hurt done to his family, and not just his daughter.
“You make a fair point,” he said. “Hm. It needs thought, and not just from me. By the sound of it, you know more about this technique than you think you do. I suspect a good start would be you thinking on it and writing down everything you remember – everything, not just a brief explanation as you’ve given me now. You might also try some basic experiments. I’m told you’ve appropriated young Butthead’s workspace.”
The girl looked quite pleased with herself at the thought. The expression put him in mind of Tyelko. (He couldn’t help thinking that while that particular grandson wouldn’t be much help with the project, he’d thoroughly enjoy the end result.)
“Woof,” Huan announced.
“If he didn’t want me taking it over, he shouldn’t have gotten himself stranded in Mandos for such a ridiculous length of time,” Anariel sniffed.
“I suspect that’s enough there to get you started,” Mahtan continued before Huan could make any more noise. “Once you have some results, we can go from there.”
“Are you children staying for dinner?” Rilmë asked brightly.
She was back with lemonade and savory snacks, but Mahtan suspected that if Anariel agreed, she’d somehow produce a dinner worthy of Finwë’s kitchens. (Mahtan was normally the cook, but Rilmë was quite capable of rising to an occasion.)
“Not if it’s any trouble,” Anariel replied immediately, looking contrite.
“No trouble at all,” Rilmë said so firmly that Mahtan didn’t miss the silent command.
Arador looked to be holding back laughter, apparently as unsurprised as Mahtan at Rilmë’s insistence.
Anariel looked after her in concern.
“I didn’t mean to cause any fuss. I just wanted to ask if you’d help...”
“Child, the only way you’re causing a fuss is if you try to run off before dinner,” Mahtan assured her.
“Now, as I’ve already told you how we’ll proceed about that problem of yours, suppose you tell me how this furry menace came to be in your company?”
At Huan’s indignant expression, Arador lost the battle not to laugh.
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 finds a somewhat willing conspirator.
Word Count: 1100
Mahtan looked up from his desk in surprise. It was rare for Rilmë to disturb him when he was working – rarer still when he was teaching.
But his wife would not do so without good cause, so he dismissed his young apprentice with an assurance they would discuss the concept further another day.
“Yes?” he asked, trying not to smile at her excited fluttering.
“You have a visitor,” Rilmë said with a smile.
“One worth disturbing a meeting with an apprentice?” he asked.
“I think you’ll find it so,” she smiled. “Come.”
She held out a hand. When he took it, she led him out through his workshops, toward her garden.
“Woof!”
“Huan?” he gasped, recognizing the large dog at once. “Does this mean Tyelko has returned?”
He’d been relieved to find any of Nerdanel’s boys permitted to walk among the living, if somewhat surprised that Moryo had been the first. Son or not, he’d bloodied his hands at Alqualondë.
He regretted the question at once when a shadow momentarily darkened Rilmë’s silver eyes.
“No, not yet,” she sighed. “But there’s more hope there than we had before, I think.”
Sitting at the low table in Rilmë’s favorite garden were two blondes. Ingoldo’s youngest boy Mahtan recognized immediately. The little girl was unknown to him.
“Anariel, darling, this is Mahtan,” Rilmë said.
Aulë’s beard but the girl was tiny! He’d been picturing someone built along Artanis’ lines!
“I am honored,” he said politely.
Anariel looked to Rilmë uncertainly.
“Go on, darling, explain it to him,” his wife encouraged. “Huan, down! You getting your dirty paws all over everyone has never yet improved a situation.”
Privately she added don’t you dare go startling her into leaving at once, Mahtan! She’s even more of a sweetheart than Elrond.
Ah. That put rather a different spin on things. This wasn’t a princess of the Noldor calling on one of their foremost living smiths, it was a granddaughter visiting her grandparents – though from the sound of it, with some ulterior motive.
Huan barked in a grumpy tone, but the girl giggled.
“She has a point. And I wouldn’t antagonize someone who makes such good cookies. You might not get anymore.”
“So what brings you here?” he asked. “I had understood you were still at Finwë’s House with any number of grandfathers on hand.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t ask them for help with this,” she grinned.
The color of her eyes might be unusual, but they lit up with a brand of mischief he recognized well enough.
“Oh dear oh dear,” he sighed. “Who’s in for it now?”
“Grandpa Butthead,” she replied brightly.
“She means Uncle Fëanáro,” Arador clarified immediately.
Mahtan raised an eyebrow.
“Is he back?”
“No, not yet,” the girl shrugged. “But he will be eventually. I want to have a proper welcome ready for him.”
“Go on,” Mahtan prompted.
He was wholly unprepared for the explanation she launched into, which involved the strange land of California he’d heard Tinwë mention on occasion, music from that world she wanted to make Fëanáro’s fountain sing at him – Mahtan didn’t fully understand why it was so amusing but trusted if it didn’t become apparent when he heard the music in question, Tinwë or Elrond would explain – and some technique wholly unknown to the Noldor of capturing sound so that it might be repeated later.
Anariel, it transpired, knew only the broad outline of the technique. She was missing details vital to making it work properly, and was hoping for a master to help her discover them. She was able to explain that the sounds were somehow coded into indentations on a disc, but she didn’t know how to then go back from the disc to the sound.
“A fascinating problem,” Mahtan said when she’d finished, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You do realize the one who would be the most help on this matter is Fëanáro himself?”
“I can’t ask him when it’s for pranking him!” she exclaimed.
“Nolofinwë may be commonly thought less innovative, but he is a master in his own right,” Mahtan pointed out. “I suspect he’d quite enjoy getting one over on his older brother.”
“Yeah, but he’d never hear the end of it if he did,” Anariel said practically. “But Grandpa Butthead can’t say boo to you – you’re his elder and his father-in-law. And anyway, it’s mild compared to what you’d be within your rights to say or do whenever he turns up.”
Mahtan chuckled. It was nice to have someone acknowledge the hurt done to his family, and not just his daughter.
“You make a fair point,” he said. “Hm. It needs thought, and not just from me. By the sound of it, you know more about this technique than you think you do. I suspect a good start would be you thinking on it and writing down everything you remember – everything, not just a brief explanation as you’ve given me now. You might also try some basic experiments. I’m told you’ve appropriated young Butthead’s workspace.”
The girl looked quite pleased with herself at the thought. The expression put him in mind of Tyelko. (He couldn’t help thinking that while that particular grandson wouldn’t be much help with the project, he’d thoroughly enjoy the end result.)
“Woof,” Huan announced.
“If he didn’t want me taking it over, he shouldn’t have gotten himself stranded in Mandos for such a ridiculous length of time,” Anariel sniffed.
“I suspect that’s enough there to get you started,” Mahtan continued before Huan could make any more noise. “Once you have some results, we can go from there.”
“Are you children staying for dinner?” Rilmë asked brightly.
She was back with lemonade and savory snacks, but Mahtan suspected that if Anariel agreed, she’d somehow produce a dinner worthy of Finwë’s kitchens. (Mahtan was normally the cook, but Rilmë was quite capable of rising to an occasion.)
“Not if it’s any trouble,” Anariel replied immediately, looking contrite.
“No trouble at all,” Rilmë said so firmly that Mahtan didn’t miss the silent command.
Arador looked to be holding back laughter, apparently as unsurprised as Mahtan at Rilmë’s insistence.
Anariel looked after her in concern.
“I didn’t mean to cause any fuss. I just wanted to ask if you’d help...”
“Child, the only way you’re causing a fuss is if you try to run off before dinner,” Mahtan assured her.
“Now, as I’ve already told you how we’ll proceed about that problem of yours, suppose you tell me how this furry menace came to be in your company?”
At Huan’s indignant expression, Arador lost the battle not to laugh.