grundyscribbling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-11 10:27 am
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-11 10:27 am
Entry tags:
Day 10 - Fashionably Late
Title: Fashionably Late
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: The dinner guests waited for her.
Word Count: 1635
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: The dinner guests waited for her.
Word Count: 1635
Anariel stumbled slightly as she arrived back in her grandmother’s kitchen.
Add ‘travel like a maia’ to the list of skills she needed to practice. Actually, put ‘learn how to do that’ to the list first… Aunt Vairë – once she got over clucking about rudeness, destruction of walls, and some more about rudeness – seemed to class not being able to do this for herself up there with not being able to heal herself at will.
Uncle Namo, devoted to justice as he was, saw no contradiction between her detailing all the ways he’d screwed up with relatives of hers and her essentially asking for a ride home. He’d set her down as smoothly as Grandmother Melian could have. That discussion was still ongoing, and she hadn’t been particularly sorry to leave them to it. (She didn’t think Namo was too sorry to send her on her way, either.)
They’d all learned things this evening.
Huan picked his head up from the floor to huff at her disapprovingly.
“What, you wanted along for the yelling at him part?”
“Woof.”
“Fine, if I have to do that again, you can come with. But I’m hoping he doesn’t have to be told twice.”
Voices floated in from the veranda.
“Guess I’d better go apologize for being late, huh?”
“Woof.”
“Thanks for the moral support.”
“Woof!”
Anariel sighed and shrugged her sweater on, leaving it unbuttoned. The breeze coming in from outside was cooler now that night had fallen. That and there was probably a healing bruise from that bit of door that had hit her. No sense worrying a whole new set of relatives.
Particularly not when at least some of the Noldorin ones had already heard the news. Namo pulling her little sister in was totally uncalled for, above and beyond trying to hide behind the still-dead relatives. That had been a fairly dirty trick, given he knew perfectly well what that could do for her. She’d done her best to ignore them, to keep her focus solely on the target of her anger, but there was still a decent risk she was in for an interesting night. She still didn’t know for sure how much it took to trigger Morgoth’s stupid booby trap.
Then again, if she did wind up seeing whoever else had been there besides Haru and Grandpa Butthead, what were a couple more dreams of dead relatives on top of whatever she was in for with Finwë? (She needed to ask Tinu what she was supposed to call him. She was guessing there was some special title for their double grandfather.) She’d already seen Morgoth’s attention had been on his wives and eldest son long before the darkening; she was sure Finwë had come in for his share.
Anariel picked up the tray with what she really hoped was a form of fried cheese. Her night could do with some of that. Then she pasted on a smile and marched out onto the veranda, a surprisingly subdued Huan trailing in her wake.
Huan’s attitude made a lot more sense once she saw who tonight’s dinner guests were.
Olwë and Súyelírë, the king and queen of the Lindar of Aman. Grandmother’s grandparents. Which made them her grandparents too. (Also the ones who had sent the sweater she was wearing to Tirion for her.)
“And here she is,” Gramma Elwing smiled brightly, as if she’d been somewhere in the house the whole time.
“Sorry,” she said.
She wasn’t sorry about going after Namo, only about the leaving her grandmother to make her excuses. She was under no illusion the king and queen of Alqualondë were here because they were keen to have dinner with Elwing. She was faintly surprised that Arador hadn’t managed to tag along for this. He must have known they were coming.
“Sit down, my sweet,” Súyelírë suggested, patting the cushion next to her on the settee.
Anariel was experienced enough with grandmothers by now to know that was more than just a suggestion. Also, that there was little point in arguing. She sat down.
“The sweater looks good on you,” Olwë said genially. “Though I think the color is more Tinu, my love.”
“Huh? What’s wrong with it?” Anariel demanded indignantly.
She liked her super-soft sweater, and was resisting the urge to pet it. It was very soothing!
“I usually try to bring out the eyes with the color,” Súyelírë laughed. “This one would work for your sister, but I think I’ll need to try again with you. A sea-green, I think.”
“I think that’s the look of she won’t say no to more clothes if you’re inclined to make them, but she’s not giving that one up,” Olwë chuckled. “What are these?”
He picked up one of the maybe-fried-cheese things.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Gramma made those. I just carried them outside. I was hoping…”
“They’re the mozzarella Tinu says you’re so fond of,” Elwing said calmly. “I thought you’d appreciate them. And maybe share what you were up to while I was making them?”
Ok, didn’t see that coming.
Olwë chuckled again.
“This is feeling very like that visit to Numenor, my love.”
“Mmm,” Súyelírë said noncommittally. “It is rather similar to speaking to her uncle after he’d been in mischief with Ingo.”
Anariel looked from one to the other..
“Wait, I haven’t heard this story. Uncle Ingo? And Uncle Elros? Mischief? Hijinks? Stories?”
“You first, I think, my little love,” Súyelírë suggested.
Balls. Guess she was going to find out if they were as excitable as the Noldorin grannies.
“Went to share my thoughts on his conduct with Uncle Namo,” she sighed. “I’d say he’s been told, except when I left Grandmother Melian was still in the process of telling.”
“Oh?”
It was surprising how much Olwë managed to put into that one syllable. She belatedly remembered he wasn’t just Grandmother’s grandfather, he was also Grampa Thingol’s brother – Grandmother Melian’s brother-in-law.
She needed to make some diagrams to keep this all straight. How the heck had Tinu been doing this all these years?
“What exactly was he being told about?” Súyelírë asked, her eyes sparking wickedly.
“He didn’t exactly explain things to Gramma’s father before making him pick his kindred,” Anariel said reluctantly.
“A bit late to tell him about that now, isn’t it?” Súyelírë asked.
On the one hand, yes, but on the other-
“I have strong feelings about people being backed into choices without understanding what they’re doing or what it means,” Anariel admitted. “Seeing as I kinda did the same in California. I didn’t know getting back up meant ‘mortal’ was off the table. Or that there was a table in the first place.”
Based on the look the royal couple traded, they hadn’t heard about the ‘dying in California’ thing.
“I guess it worked out for me, I mean, we found our way home eventually,” Anariel hurried on, not wanting to dwell on the ‘temporarily dead’ part. “But what if we hadn’t? Or what if I’d accidentally chosen mortal? Nana would have been stranded there without me.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, my little love,” Súyelírë suggested, kissing the side of her head. “You’re here. Your mother is here, my little Alatáriel as well. And by the sound of it, Melyanna is getting to give the Judge a long-overdue piece of her mind.”
With her grandmother’s arm around her shoulders, Anariel couldn’t miss the satisfaction at the idea that Melian was finally venting some of her grief and fury – she’d bottled it up for long-years while mourning Thingol, Lúthien, and Dior.
“But surely…” Elwing trailed off, sounding surprised.
“Your arrival was the best thing that could have happened to her, little one,” Olwë told them. “Before that, she was immovable, waiting for Elu outside Mandos.”
“Because he was the only one who was coming back,” Anariel said slowly.
Something was tickling her brain, but she didn’t quite have it yet. Maybe after tonight’s festivities? But she’d already seen Melian…
“That is how mortal death works, we are told,” Súyelírë said, a faint note of disapproval in her tone.
Oh, yeah. Gran Súyelírë was not any happier than Grandmother Melian that someone had messed with her family. Unfortunately, she couldn’t go yell at Namo about it.
Anariel so needed to master that maia travel thing. There had to be a way to do it even with a body. Melian had done it for her, after all.
“Have some cheese, my little love,” the grandmother in question suggested. “I’m sure sharing your opinion with the Judge was hungry work.”
Anariel blinked.
“You look a little surprised,” Olwë observed, offering her the cheese platter.
“Other grandparents would not be quite as ok with this,” she said slowly.
She took the cheese, though, while it was still on offer.
“Has Alatáriel not told you we Lindar are not the Noldor?” Olwë asked mildly. “Though it does rather puzzle me why they should be upset. Normally they are fond of fire.”
“I think that might have something to do with all the trouble a certain spirit of fire got them into back in the day,” Anariel muttered before belatedly remembering bringing Grandpa Butthead up in front of anyone from Alqualondë probably wasn’t the best idea even now..
“Here in Alqualondë, we live with the sea," Olwë said, ignoring the Fëanor reference. "We are used to the occasional spot of rough weather. And also to the notion that no matter how fearsome the storm, the sun will shine again once the clouds clear.”
“Eat up, darling,” Elwing said brightly. “The fennel souffle will be out in a few minutes. I was counting on you still having an appetite.”
Anariel needed no further urging. Not in trouble? Yummy food? Possibility of fun stories?
Alqualondë might be her new favorite place.
Add ‘travel like a maia’ to the list of skills she needed to practice. Actually, put ‘learn how to do that’ to the list first… Aunt Vairë – once she got over clucking about rudeness, destruction of walls, and some more about rudeness – seemed to class not being able to do this for herself up there with not being able to heal herself at will.
Uncle Namo, devoted to justice as he was, saw no contradiction between her detailing all the ways he’d screwed up with relatives of hers and her essentially asking for a ride home. He’d set her down as smoothly as Grandmother Melian could have. That discussion was still ongoing, and she hadn’t been particularly sorry to leave them to it. (She didn’t think Namo was too sorry to send her on her way, either.)
They’d all learned things this evening.
Huan picked his head up from the floor to huff at her disapprovingly.
“What, you wanted along for the yelling at him part?”
“Woof.”
“Fine, if I have to do that again, you can come with. But I’m hoping he doesn’t have to be told twice.”
Voices floated in from the veranda.
“Guess I’d better go apologize for being late, huh?”
“Woof.”
“Thanks for the moral support.”
“Woof!”
Anariel sighed and shrugged her sweater on, leaving it unbuttoned. The breeze coming in from outside was cooler now that night had fallen. That and there was probably a healing bruise from that bit of door that had hit her. No sense worrying a whole new set of relatives.
Particularly not when at least some of the Noldorin ones had already heard the news. Namo pulling her little sister in was totally uncalled for, above and beyond trying to hide behind the still-dead relatives. That had been a fairly dirty trick, given he knew perfectly well what that could do for her. She’d done her best to ignore them, to keep her focus solely on the target of her anger, but there was still a decent risk she was in for an interesting night. She still didn’t know for sure how much it took to trigger Morgoth’s stupid booby trap.
Then again, if she did wind up seeing whoever else had been there besides Haru and Grandpa Butthead, what were a couple more dreams of dead relatives on top of whatever she was in for with Finwë? (She needed to ask Tinu what she was supposed to call him. She was guessing there was some special title for their double grandfather.) She’d already seen Morgoth’s attention had been on his wives and eldest son long before the darkening; she was sure Finwë had come in for his share.
Anariel picked up the tray with what she really hoped was a form of fried cheese. Her night could do with some of that. Then she pasted on a smile and marched out onto the veranda, a surprisingly subdued Huan trailing in her wake.
Huan’s attitude made a lot more sense once she saw who tonight’s dinner guests were.
Olwë and Súyelírë, the king and queen of the Lindar of Aman. Grandmother’s grandparents. Which made them her grandparents too. (Also the ones who had sent the sweater she was wearing to Tirion for her.)
“And here she is,” Gramma Elwing smiled brightly, as if she’d been somewhere in the house the whole time.
“Sorry,” she said.
She wasn’t sorry about going after Namo, only about the leaving her grandmother to make her excuses. She was under no illusion the king and queen of Alqualondë were here because they were keen to have dinner with Elwing. She was faintly surprised that Arador hadn’t managed to tag along for this. He must have known they were coming.
“Sit down, my sweet,” Súyelírë suggested, patting the cushion next to her on the settee.
Anariel was experienced enough with grandmothers by now to know that was more than just a suggestion. Also, that there was little point in arguing. She sat down.
“The sweater looks good on you,” Olwë said genially. “Though I think the color is more Tinu, my love.”
“Huh? What’s wrong with it?” Anariel demanded indignantly.
She liked her super-soft sweater, and was resisting the urge to pet it. It was very soothing!
“I usually try to bring out the eyes with the color,” Súyelírë laughed. “This one would work for your sister, but I think I’ll need to try again with you. A sea-green, I think.”
“I think that’s the look of she won’t say no to more clothes if you’re inclined to make them, but she’s not giving that one up,” Olwë chuckled. “What are these?”
He picked up one of the maybe-fried-cheese things.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Gramma made those. I just carried them outside. I was hoping…”
“They’re the mozzarella Tinu says you’re so fond of,” Elwing said calmly. “I thought you’d appreciate them. And maybe share what you were up to while I was making them?”
Ok, didn’t see that coming.
Olwë chuckled again.
“This is feeling very like that visit to Numenor, my love.”
“Mmm,” Súyelírë said noncommittally. “It is rather similar to speaking to her uncle after he’d been in mischief with Ingo.”
Anariel looked from one to the other..
“Wait, I haven’t heard this story. Uncle Ingo? And Uncle Elros? Mischief? Hijinks? Stories?”
“You first, I think, my little love,” Súyelírë suggested.
Balls. Guess she was going to find out if they were as excitable as the Noldorin grannies.
“Went to share my thoughts on his conduct with Uncle Namo,” she sighed. “I’d say he’s been told, except when I left Grandmother Melian was still in the process of telling.”
“Oh?”
It was surprising how much Olwë managed to put into that one syllable. She belatedly remembered he wasn’t just Grandmother’s grandfather, he was also Grampa Thingol’s brother – Grandmother Melian’s brother-in-law.
She needed to make some diagrams to keep this all straight. How the heck had Tinu been doing this all these years?
“What exactly was he being told about?” Súyelírë asked, her eyes sparking wickedly.
“He didn’t exactly explain things to Gramma’s father before making him pick his kindred,” Anariel said reluctantly.
“A bit late to tell him about that now, isn’t it?” Súyelírë asked.
On the one hand, yes, but on the other-
“I have strong feelings about people being backed into choices without understanding what they’re doing or what it means,” Anariel admitted. “Seeing as I kinda did the same in California. I didn’t know getting back up meant ‘mortal’ was off the table. Or that there was a table in the first place.”
Based on the look the royal couple traded, they hadn’t heard about the ‘dying in California’ thing.
“I guess it worked out for me, I mean, we found our way home eventually,” Anariel hurried on, not wanting to dwell on the ‘temporarily dead’ part. “But what if we hadn’t? Or what if I’d accidentally chosen mortal? Nana would have been stranded there without me.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, my little love,” Súyelírë suggested, kissing the side of her head. “You’re here. Your mother is here, my little Alatáriel as well. And by the sound of it, Melyanna is getting to give the Judge a long-overdue piece of her mind.”
With her grandmother’s arm around her shoulders, Anariel couldn’t miss the satisfaction at the idea that Melian was finally venting some of her grief and fury – she’d bottled it up for long-years while mourning Thingol, Lúthien, and Dior.
“But surely…” Elwing trailed off, sounding surprised.
“Your arrival was the best thing that could have happened to her, little one,” Olwë told them. “Before that, she was immovable, waiting for Elu outside Mandos.”
“Because he was the only one who was coming back,” Anariel said slowly.
Something was tickling her brain, but she didn’t quite have it yet. Maybe after tonight’s festivities? But she’d already seen Melian…
“That is how mortal death works, we are told,” Súyelírë said, a faint note of disapproval in her tone.
Oh, yeah. Gran Súyelírë was not any happier than Grandmother Melian that someone had messed with her family. Unfortunately, she couldn’t go yell at Namo about it.
Anariel so needed to master that maia travel thing. There had to be a way to do it even with a body. Melian had done it for her, after all.
“Have some cheese, my little love,” the grandmother in question suggested. “I’m sure sharing your opinion with the Judge was hungry work.”
Anariel blinked.
“You look a little surprised,” Olwë observed, offering her the cheese platter.
“Other grandparents would not be quite as ok with this,” she said slowly.
She took the cheese, though, while it was still on offer.
“Has Alatáriel not told you we Lindar are not the Noldor?” Olwë asked mildly. “Though it does rather puzzle me why they should be upset. Normally they are fond of fire.”
“I think that might have something to do with all the trouble a certain spirit of fire got them into back in the day,” Anariel muttered before belatedly remembering bringing Grandpa Butthead up in front of anyone from Alqualondë probably wasn’t the best idea even now..
“Here in Alqualondë, we live with the sea," Olwë said, ignoring the Fëanor reference. "We are used to the occasional spot of rough weather. And also to the notion that no matter how fearsome the storm, the sun will shine again once the clouds clear.”
“Eat up, darling,” Elwing said brightly. “The fennel souffle will be out in a few minutes. I was counting on you still having an appetite.”
Anariel needed no further urging. Not in trouble? Yummy food? Possibility of fun stories?
Alqualondë might be her new favorite place.
no subject
With any luck, Anariel and Tinu will get Namo onto the right track where dealing with his charges is concerned. I feel safe in my belief that Namo wasn’t doing things out of any sort of ill will, he just seems to be butt ignorant when it comes to how to deal with people not of the Ainur. Or even others of his own kindred, really.
Thank you for the new chapter. I did especially love the mention of Súyelírë making a sweater for Anariel and wanting to make another to better bring out the color of her eyes. Speaking of such things, if you’re looking for a soft sweater that’s less expensive than cashmere, the combination of baby alpaca and silk can’t be beat, it’s like petting a kitten.