Day 1 - Sun, Bird, and Star
Aug. 1st, 2024 05:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Sun, Bird, and Star
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: Finally, they meet...
Word Count: 1275 (according to Word)
Note: Here we go!
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: Finally, they meet...
Word Count: 1275 (according to Word)
Note: Here we go!
Elwing smiled to herself.
If Anariel had expected some dramatic Noldorin reaction to her choice, she had been pleasantly disappointed. Her reluctant explanation had wandered around the point, but as far as Elwing could make out, the reasoning boiled down to ‘well if elves can’t beat Morgoth…’
It made perfect sense to Elwing. Had it not been for Eärendil, she might have tried that herself. Though she doubted she would be able to do as much damage as her granddaughter the Slayer. She’d never taken on so much as a single orc, for as the Queen, she’d always had guards if she left the Havens. (Unless it was just on private outings with Eärendil, sailing down the coast.)
She’d hustled the little one off to the bath with the promise of actual breakfast once Eärendil was home. She might have missed that part of her sons’ childhoods, but from what she’d seen of her brothers’ youth, ‘travelled through the night’ generally corresponded with ‘could do with a bath’.
She was fairly sure breakfast was less important to the girl than finally meeting Eärendil. Not that he’s entirely unknown – Anariel had been the grandchild who talked to him the most in Middle-earth.
Elrond’s older children had occasionally greeted ‘grandfather star’ when they were young, but they had grown out of those limited one-sided conversations fairly quickly. Anariel, once she had been convinced a star was in fact her grandfather sailing the sky in his ship, had taken it for granted that of course he could hear her even if he couldn’t answer.
Anariel had kept the conversations private until she discovered that appealing to their grandfather in the middle of sibling quarrels irritated her brothers no end. (Her contention that her grandfather was on her side had generally been correct, though they haven’t told the boys that yet. They also haven’t mentioned to anyone just how delighted Eärendil had been by it.)
In some ways, that had only made it harder for Eärendil, limited as he was to watching from above. He adored his littlest granddaughter. Watching her rocket around Middle-earth finding all the most dangerous creatures to fling herself at had been tough on his nerves.
Once Gorthaur was defeated, he’d finally breathed easy. Then had come Arwen’s death and the twins’ frantic dash for the Havens with their stricken little sister. Her frantic husband and his crew hadn’t returned to port until the children’s ship had docked.
They’d gotten to see the boys. Grandmother had taken Anariel directly to Lórien.
She’d been reminding herself for the past few months that it was not a contest. That Anariel had gone from Elrond’s house to Tirion was simply chance, because Eärendil’s great-grandparents had happened to be there. She’d even tried reminding herself that if it were a contest, the Lindar had won – Grandmother had taken Grandfather to meet Anariel in Lórien. And of course, she was the Eluchil now.
It hadn’t helped. Not when Eärendil had still only gotten to see her from afar.
This morning should go some way toward mending that, for both of them.
Elwing set about making the egg tartlets that were her husband’s favorite breakfast treat. If she was quick, there should be just enough time…
By the time Anariel emerged from the hallway, hair damp but neatly braided (in a style that made Elwing want to crow – she’d stood undefeated before she chose!) and wearing a colorful outfit Elwing recognized as Arwen’s work, the tartlets were nearly ready to come out of the oven.
“My love?”
Anariel perked up at the sound and looked toward the seaward door. (Tindomiel had given up trying to match the doors of her grandparents’ house to ‘front’ and ‘back’ as was evidently a California custom. In the vicinity of Alqualondë, and indeed anywhere Lindarin near the coast, ‘landward’ and ‘seaward’ were far more sensible descriptions.)
Elwing turned that way herself, wanting nothing more than to see the look on Eärendil’s face.
“Why is there a large dog in the garden? I-”
Eärendil broke off in utter bemusement, unprepared to find his miniature mirror image looking back at him.
“Hi, Granddad,” Anariel said, managing nonchalant – though Elwing suspected she was nearly as excited as Eärendil was about to be. “That’s Huan. I was originally waiting outside, but he has a thing about salt water, so he chose garden.”
Eärendil glossed right over the explanation, striding up to bear hug his long-awaited granddaughter. Elwing had to wait until he’d release her (at least partially – she doubted he was going to actually let go anytime soon) to ask.
“Huan?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What have you been up to with Celegorm Feanorion?”
“Nothing,” Anariel shrugged. “He’s still in the Halls. But it’s the popular opinion among the Noldorin relatives, living and dead, that I need a minder. Grandpop Maitimo sent one of his people, Uncle Celegorm sent his dog.”
She sounded rather nettled.
Elwing wasn’t about to admit that despite the lack of orcs, wargs, trolls, dragons, balrogs, Gorthaur or Belegurth in the Blessed Land, she halfway agreed with them. All the same…
“Does he follow you everywhere, darling?” she asked.
Anariel nodded, still looking minorly annoyed.
“He’s a lot of fun. But harder to shake than anyone else assigned to watch me so far.”
Eärendil was chuckling.
“It’s not funny!” Anariel protested.
“Oh, it’s a little funny, little sun,” he replied genially. “You might finally have met the one being that has a prayer of keeping you out of trouble. Which reminds me… what did happen with that dragon?”
“I got disemboweled when the stupid thing tossed me into a rack of spears,” Anariel muttered, sounding remarkably grumpy about an injury done nearly a long-year ago. “Which would not have been a problem if we’d known at the time how to treat that properly. Thranduil had his healers give us detailed lessons once I woke up and once he got through reading me the riot act.”
Elwing had no idea what the riot act might be, but she gathered it meant Thranduil had given the girl what for. She should have liked to see Thranduil trying to scold Anariel. She doubted it had been very successful.
“It worked better than you think,” Anariel grumbled. “And then he sent me home under guard to make sure I didn’t ‘inflict any other grievous injuries on myself, my companions, or my poor innocent horse’.”
Elwing was going to have to ask about that whenever she next met her cousin. She’d seen him briefly after his arrival, but he hadn’t stayed long near the shore before making his way to Thingol’s realm. She knew this was a story no one still alive other than Anariel knew in full. But it sounded as though Thranduil knew more about it than most.
“We put my guts back in wrong and they tangled into a knot,” Anariel said in a much put upon tone. “But inside, after the wound had already healed. And it turns out Slayer healing doesn’t actually help with that. Which we didn’t know.”
“Sounds like it was quite the learning experience,” Eärendil said as cheerfully as if he hadn’t been a nervous wreck by the time she reached the Greenwood.
“Yes, lesson learned: be very careful putting guts back in,” Anariel snorted. “Anyway…”
“Anyway, why don’t we all sit down to breakfast?” Elwing said brightly. “The egg tarts are just ready, and there’s a fruit salad I think you’ll like, my little sun.”
It was difficult to say who liked that suggestion better, her husband or her granddaughter. Elwing thought her heart might burst at those matching smiles.
If Anariel had expected some dramatic Noldorin reaction to her choice, she had been pleasantly disappointed. Her reluctant explanation had wandered around the point, but as far as Elwing could make out, the reasoning boiled down to ‘well if elves can’t beat Morgoth…’
It made perfect sense to Elwing. Had it not been for Eärendil, she might have tried that herself. Though she doubted she would be able to do as much damage as her granddaughter the Slayer. She’d never taken on so much as a single orc, for as the Queen, she’d always had guards if she left the Havens. (Unless it was just on private outings with Eärendil, sailing down the coast.)
She’d hustled the little one off to the bath with the promise of actual breakfast once Eärendil was home. She might have missed that part of her sons’ childhoods, but from what she’d seen of her brothers’ youth, ‘travelled through the night’ generally corresponded with ‘could do with a bath’.
She was fairly sure breakfast was less important to the girl than finally meeting Eärendil. Not that he’s entirely unknown – Anariel had been the grandchild who talked to him the most in Middle-earth.
Elrond’s older children had occasionally greeted ‘grandfather star’ when they were young, but they had grown out of those limited one-sided conversations fairly quickly. Anariel, once she had been convinced a star was in fact her grandfather sailing the sky in his ship, had taken it for granted that of course he could hear her even if he couldn’t answer.
Anariel had kept the conversations private until she discovered that appealing to their grandfather in the middle of sibling quarrels irritated her brothers no end. (Her contention that her grandfather was on her side had generally been correct, though they haven’t told the boys that yet. They also haven’t mentioned to anyone just how delighted Eärendil had been by it.)
In some ways, that had only made it harder for Eärendil, limited as he was to watching from above. He adored his littlest granddaughter. Watching her rocket around Middle-earth finding all the most dangerous creatures to fling herself at had been tough on his nerves.
Once Gorthaur was defeated, he’d finally breathed easy. Then had come Arwen’s death and the twins’ frantic dash for the Havens with their stricken little sister. Her frantic husband and his crew hadn’t returned to port until the children’s ship had docked.
They’d gotten to see the boys. Grandmother had taken Anariel directly to Lórien.
She’d been reminding herself for the past few months that it was not a contest. That Anariel had gone from Elrond’s house to Tirion was simply chance, because Eärendil’s great-grandparents had happened to be there. She’d even tried reminding herself that if it were a contest, the Lindar had won – Grandmother had taken Grandfather to meet Anariel in Lórien. And of course, she was the Eluchil now.
It hadn’t helped. Not when Eärendil had still only gotten to see her from afar.
This morning should go some way toward mending that, for both of them.
Elwing set about making the egg tartlets that were her husband’s favorite breakfast treat. If she was quick, there should be just enough time…
By the time Anariel emerged from the hallway, hair damp but neatly braided (in a style that made Elwing want to crow – she’d stood undefeated before she chose!) and wearing a colorful outfit Elwing recognized as Arwen’s work, the tartlets were nearly ready to come out of the oven.
“My love?”
Anariel perked up at the sound and looked toward the seaward door. (Tindomiel had given up trying to match the doors of her grandparents’ house to ‘front’ and ‘back’ as was evidently a California custom. In the vicinity of Alqualondë, and indeed anywhere Lindarin near the coast, ‘landward’ and ‘seaward’ were far more sensible descriptions.)
Elwing turned that way herself, wanting nothing more than to see the look on Eärendil’s face.
“Why is there a large dog in the garden? I-”
Eärendil broke off in utter bemusement, unprepared to find his miniature mirror image looking back at him.
“Hi, Granddad,” Anariel said, managing nonchalant – though Elwing suspected she was nearly as excited as Eärendil was about to be. “That’s Huan. I was originally waiting outside, but he has a thing about salt water, so he chose garden.”
Eärendil glossed right over the explanation, striding up to bear hug his long-awaited granddaughter. Elwing had to wait until he’d release her (at least partially – she doubted he was going to actually let go anytime soon) to ask.
“Huan?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What have you been up to with Celegorm Feanorion?”
“Nothing,” Anariel shrugged. “He’s still in the Halls. But it’s the popular opinion among the Noldorin relatives, living and dead, that I need a minder. Grandpop Maitimo sent one of his people, Uncle Celegorm sent his dog.”
She sounded rather nettled.
Elwing wasn’t about to admit that despite the lack of orcs, wargs, trolls, dragons, balrogs, Gorthaur or Belegurth in the Blessed Land, she halfway agreed with them. All the same…
“Does he follow you everywhere, darling?” she asked.
Anariel nodded, still looking minorly annoyed.
“He’s a lot of fun. But harder to shake than anyone else assigned to watch me so far.”
Eärendil was chuckling.
“It’s not funny!” Anariel protested.
“Oh, it’s a little funny, little sun,” he replied genially. “You might finally have met the one being that has a prayer of keeping you out of trouble. Which reminds me… what did happen with that dragon?”
“I got disemboweled when the stupid thing tossed me into a rack of spears,” Anariel muttered, sounding remarkably grumpy about an injury done nearly a long-year ago. “Which would not have been a problem if we’d known at the time how to treat that properly. Thranduil had his healers give us detailed lessons once I woke up and once he got through reading me the riot act.”
Elwing had no idea what the riot act might be, but she gathered it meant Thranduil had given the girl what for. She should have liked to see Thranduil trying to scold Anariel. She doubted it had been very successful.
“It worked better than you think,” Anariel grumbled. “And then he sent me home under guard to make sure I didn’t ‘inflict any other grievous injuries on myself, my companions, or my poor innocent horse’.”
Elwing was going to have to ask about that whenever she next met her cousin. She’d seen him briefly after his arrival, but he hadn’t stayed long near the shore before making his way to Thingol’s realm. She knew this was a story no one still alive other than Anariel knew in full. But it sounded as though Thranduil knew more about it than most.
“We put my guts back in wrong and they tangled into a knot,” Anariel said in a much put upon tone. “But inside, after the wound had already healed. And it turns out Slayer healing doesn’t actually help with that. Which we didn’t know.”
“Sounds like it was quite the learning experience,” Eärendil said as cheerfully as if he hadn’t been a nervous wreck by the time she reached the Greenwood.
“Yes, lesson learned: be very careful putting guts back in,” Anariel snorted. “Anyway…”
“Anyway, why don’t we all sit down to breakfast?” Elwing said brightly. “The egg tarts are just ready, and there’s a fruit salad I think you’ll like, my little sun.”
It was difficult to say who liked that suggestion better, her husband or her granddaughter. Elwing thought her heart might burst at those matching smiles.
