Day 12 - Oh Brother
Aug. 12th, 2024 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grundyscribblingTitle: Oh Brother
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: Fingon goes visiting.
Word Count: 1725
Note: Entries the next few days are liable to be short due to time constraints. (I will be happy to be wrong, but giving fair warning.)
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: Fingon goes visiting.
Word Count: 1725
Note: Entries the next few days are liable to be short due to time constraints. (I will be happy to be wrong, but giving fair warning.)
Findekáno glanced at his traveling companions from the corner of his eye.
Rillë and Tuor simply looked pleased to be going home. He was rather curious about his nephew by marriage, and getting to see more of him was one benefit of his decision to visit his brother’s city.
Elenwë had elected to remain longer in Tirion, getting to know Elrond’s sons. Unlike their sister, they were content to continue being fussed over by their grandmothers. Laurë and his intended had decided to stay for similar reasons – ostensibly for the girls, but Findekáno suspected his younger cousin was enjoying being clucked over by grandmothers also.
Laurë had been mildly annoyed at Anariel running off, but not unduly surprised. He had also expressed the conviction that Elrond’s older children would be in no particular hurry to take themselves to Turvo’s city, so he and Ecthelion would miss nothing by extending their visit to Tirion.
Tinwë and Lómion were returning to Ondolindë. They had been away for a full year, from the time of her older sister’s death. Their decision that it was time to be getting home had only been made before Findekáno had announced his intention to visit. He’d thought he’d better. Just to prevent an outbreak of granddaughterly mischief.
Tinwë was currently doing her best to look as though she had nothing more on her mind than her great-grandmother. Lómion, who clearly knew better, glanced at her and then at Findekáno himself from time to time when he thought neither of them were looking. Between times, he looked slightly less carefree than Tinwë was making a good show of being.
Given he’d heard plenty from his younger brother by now about how Tindomiel handled those who displeased her, he couldn’t say Lómion was wrong to worry. So far as he’d discovered, Tinwë had thus far (reluctantly) held to Maitimo’s word about leaving Turvo to him.
It took no foresight to guess that she’d be tempted to bend that just a little in light of recent events. That had been one reason he’d attached himself to their party.
Somewhat to his surprise, Airo had declined to do the same. Aryo had laughed and informed him their youngest brother had already been caught in the fallout of Turvo’s messes on several occasions. Thus he was unlikely to volunteer for a repeat. Besides, Aryo was of the opinion that some time with Elrond’s boys might do their little brother good.
If nothing else, it should disabuse him of the notion that Anariel was the paragon songs from Middle-earth made her out to be. (Though how he’d come to that conclusion as Tinwë’s best friend was puzzling. The girl was just as happy to break out the stories her siblings would prefer not to have told.)
Findekáno needed to habituate his baby brother to something similar when it came to him as well. It had been rather disconcerting to find that while the boy idolized him, it wasn’t the sort of hero worship normal for much younger brothers so much as a solid conviction that his eldest brother had never in his life done anything wrong. (Again, how he’d reached that conclusion was puzzling. Findekáno was sure his involvement in the kinslaying at Alqualondë was well known.)
He'd reluctantly confessed to at least one childhood misdeed Ammë still didn’t know about in the hopes of making himself more human in his baby brother’s eyes, but there was still room for improvement on that front. He was sure he could trust Elladan and Elrohir’s good sense to begin a similar process for their middle sister.
Then again, Anariel’s rather abrupt departure from Tirion might already have made an impression. Findekano was surprised his mother had taken it so well – to general amusement, it was Aunt Eärwen who was most put out about it. (Though from the sound of it, she had only to go visit her parents and be slightly patient. If Anariel thought a jaunt to Alqualondë was going to mean fewer grandparents fussing over her, she would realize her mistake soon enough.)
“You’re more than welcome to stay with us, Uncle.”
Lómion’s offer was entirely genuine.
“Oh, Lómion, don’t be silly,” Rillë laughed. “You know Atto will want to host him! All the more so considering what a surprise Uncle will be to him!”
“It might be awkward, with Elenwë still away – perhaps it would be best for me to stay with Lómion and Tinwë,” Findekáno said thoughtfully. “I’m sure Turvo does well enough if someone reminds him guests expect to eat at set times…”
“I won’t let him forget, Uncle,” Rillë said, slightly reproachfully.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, pitya,” he soothed her. “But you’ve a house of your own to look after. And I haven’t had much time with Lómion – I saw even less of him than I did of you when you were small! I think on the whole, I would prefer to see the House of the Mole. Don’t fret, Turvo can still put on a dinner or two in my honor. Just perhaps not tonight.”
Rillë tried not to be too obvious about pouting. Her husband and her granddaughter had remarkably similar grins on their faces.
“Don’t worry, I’ll visit with you, too,” Findekáno added generously.
At some point, he needed to meet his grand-nephew – it was a bit odd to think he’d met everyone in the family but Eärendil.
You haven’t met Gramma yet, either.
Tinwë had an excellent innocent face, doubtless an inheritance from Artanis.
He gave her a look, but said nothing, instead engaging Tuor in conversation. The man was remarkably even-tempered, and let the wilder currents of the House of Finwë flow around him like a rock in a stream. Aryo had a theory that Tuor was the source of his descendants’ ability to take just about anything in stride.
“We’re just coming to the city now, Uncle,” Tuor informed him. “This is one of the better views.”
As they came around the curve, Findekáno couldn’t help but agree that was so. The city looked rather marvelous lit by the late afternoon sun. It sprawled elegantly across a river valley, carelessly taking up space in a way they could never have done in Beleriand.
Rillë might say they’d built in memory of Turvo’s original, but this city was very much Amanyar.
“They had a bit more time and space to work with here,” Tuor said conversationally. “Not that the original wasn’t beautiful. But this one’s a bit more comfortable.”
“He means a bit less claustrophobic,” Lómion murmured, for Findekáno’s ears only.
Findekáno grinned.
“Well, what say you show me to your house, and we’ll have a nice quiet dinner? Tomorrow will be time enough to surprise Turvo with the good news.”
Dinner at the Mole was a lively affair. Tindomiel, lighthearted as she might be, proved to be a considerate hostess. She left it to his discretion if he preferred to eat in the hall, or make it a private dinner.
Findekáno had opted for a small dinner – if he ate in the hall, he knew it would be the talk of the city before nightfall. But a small dinner with Tinwë, Lómion, and the principal officers of the Mole should neatly balance letting himself be seen with having a chance of catching his brother unawares. It also had the happy effect of netting him several stories of Elrond’s youth from Elemmakil, plus several about both Lómion and Tinwë from Enerdhil.
By the sound of it, Anariel came by her troublesome streak naturally enough – she just carried it to greater extremes than her father, uncle, or siblings. Though by the sound of it, Elrond had also been fighting dragons at that age…
Tindomiel waited until dinner was over and it was just the three of them before she looked expectantly at him.
“You didn’t actually plan to wait until tomorrow, did you, Gramps?” she asked.
There was a gleam in her eye that betrayed she had guessed he might have a few words for his brother’s ears only, and she didn’t want Turvo to have a chance at evading him.
“Now you mention it,” Findekáno said thoughtfully, as though it had just occurred to him.
“Grandpa Maitimo said leave Grandpop Turukano to him,” she pointed out.
Her tone of suppressed glee was very much at odds with her words.
“That was meant for you and your siblings,” Findekáno said cheerfully. “But he’s not here yet and I am. Maitimo will get his chance. Besides, Turvo is my brat brother.”
“Did you want to surprise him?” she asked eagerly. “I could help you with that, you know.”
“You could,” Findekáno agreed reluctantly.
He’d seen enough of her darting in and out of the Halls to know normal walls were no challenge for what she called the Key.
All the same, he doubted involving her was a good idea, for several reasons. First and foremost was ‘don’t fight in front of kids’. Too much had already spilled over onto Elrond and his children as it was.
“But I was thinking the conversation might go better if it was just between brothers – I want your word you won’t be crashing it.”
That got a scowl, but Findekáno held firm until she sighed.
“Fine, but you will give us highlights after, right?”
“I reserve the right to edit,” he informed her.
“Deal,” she said reluctantly. “But only because if I don’t agree, you would try to get there on your own and completely blow any element of surprise. And your brother could do with a bit of shaking up.”
“He was fairly well shaken last time,” Lómion murmured soothingly.
“That was about your sister,” Tindomiel said sharply. “He’s overdue a chat about mine. And better he hears a refresher on that subject before he tries swooping down to playing doting grandfather with her. Because that will definitely not go well.”
Ah, there it was. The reason Tinwë hadn’t said anything sooner. She knew better than to bring that up in front of Rillë or Elenwë.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll put you in his study,” she announced. “He’ll go in there after dinner. He always does.”
She matched action to word swiftly enough that Findekáno found himself in said study – without Tinwë – a second later, contemplating how long he’d need to wait.
Rillë and Tuor simply looked pleased to be going home. He was rather curious about his nephew by marriage, and getting to see more of him was one benefit of his decision to visit his brother’s city.
Elenwë had elected to remain longer in Tirion, getting to know Elrond’s sons. Unlike their sister, they were content to continue being fussed over by their grandmothers. Laurë and his intended had decided to stay for similar reasons – ostensibly for the girls, but Findekáno suspected his younger cousin was enjoying being clucked over by grandmothers also.
Laurë had been mildly annoyed at Anariel running off, but not unduly surprised. He had also expressed the conviction that Elrond’s older children would be in no particular hurry to take themselves to Turvo’s city, so he and Ecthelion would miss nothing by extending their visit to Tirion.
Tinwë and Lómion were returning to Ondolindë. They had been away for a full year, from the time of her older sister’s death. Their decision that it was time to be getting home had only been made before Findekáno had announced his intention to visit. He’d thought he’d better. Just to prevent an outbreak of granddaughterly mischief.
Tinwë was currently doing her best to look as though she had nothing more on her mind than her great-grandmother. Lómion, who clearly knew better, glanced at her and then at Findekáno himself from time to time when he thought neither of them were looking. Between times, he looked slightly less carefree than Tinwë was making a good show of being.
Given he’d heard plenty from his younger brother by now about how Tindomiel handled those who displeased her, he couldn’t say Lómion was wrong to worry. So far as he’d discovered, Tinwë had thus far (reluctantly) held to Maitimo’s word about leaving Turvo to him.
It took no foresight to guess that she’d be tempted to bend that just a little in light of recent events. That had been one reason he’d attached himself to their party.
Somewhat to his surprise, Airo had declined to do the same. Aryo had laughed and informed him their youngest brother had already been caught in the fallout of Turvo’s messes on several occasions. Thus he was unlikely to volunteer for a repeat. Besides, Aryo was of the opinion that some time with Elrond’s boys might do their little brother good.
If nothing else, it should disabuse him of the notion that Anariel was the paragon songs from Middle-earth made her out to be. (Though how he’d come to that conclusion as Tinwë’s best friend was puzzling. The girl was just as happy to break out the stories her siblings would prefer not to have told.)
Findekáno needed to habituate his baby brother to something similar when it came to him as well. It had been rather disconcerting to find that while the boy idolized him, it wasn’t the sort of hero worship normal for much younger brothers so much as a solid conviction that his eldest brother had never in his life done anything wrong. (Again, how he’d reached that conclusion was puzzling. Findekáno was sure his involvement in the kinslaying at Alqualondë was well known.)
He'd reluctantly confessed to at least one childhood misdeed Ammë still didn’t know about in the hopes of making himself more human in his baby brother’s eyes, but there was still room for improvement on that front. He was sure he could trust Elladan and Elrohir’s good sense to begin a similar process for their middle sister.
Then again, Anariel’s rather abrupt departure from Tirion might already have made an impression. Findekano was surprised his mother had taken it so well – to general amusement, it was Aunt Eärwen who was most put out about it. (Though from the sound of it, she had only to go visit her parents and be slightly patient. If Anariel thought a jaunt to Alqualondë was going to mean fewer grandparents fussing over her, she would realize her mistake soon enough.)
“You’re more than welcome to stay with us, Uncle.”
Lómion’s offer was entirely genuine.
“Oh, Lómion, don’t be silly,” Rillë laughed. “You know Atto will want to host him! All the more so considering what a surprise Uncle will be to him!”
“It might be awkward, with Elenwë still away – perhaps it would be best for me to stay with Lómion and Tinwë,” Findekáno said thoughtfully. “I’m sure Turvo does well enough if someone reminds him guests expect to eat at set times…”
“I won’t let him forget, Uncle,” Rillë said, slightly reproachfully.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, pitya,” he soothed her. “But you’ve a house of your own to look after. And I haven’t had much time with Lómion – I saw even less of him than I did of you when you were small! I think on the whole, I would prefer to see the House of the Mole. Don’t fret, Turvo can still put on a dinner or two in my honor. Just perhaps not tonight.”
Rillë tried not to be too obvious about pouting. Her husband and her granddaughter had remarkably similar grins on their faces.
“Don’t worry, I’ll visit with you, too,” Findekáno added generously.
At some point, he needed to meet his grand-nephew – it was a bit odd to think he’d met everyone in the family but Eärendil.
You haven’t met Gramma yet, either.
Tinwë had an excellent innocent face, doubtless an inheritance from Artanis.
He gave her a look, but said nothing, instead engaging Tuor in conversation. The man was remarkably even-tempered, and let the wilder currents of the House of Finwë flow around him like a rock in a stream. Aryo had a theory that Tuor was the source of his descendants’ ability to take just about anything in stride.
“We’re just coming to the city now, Uncle,” Tuor informed him. “This is one of the better views.”
As they came around the curve, Findekáno couldn’t help but agree that was so. The city looked rather marvelous lit by the late afternoon sun. It sprawled elegantly across a river valley, carelessly taking up space in a way they could never have done in Beleriand.
Rillë might say they’d built in memory of Turvo’s original, but this city was very much Amanyar.
“They had a bit more time and space to work with here,” Tuor said conversationally. “Not that the original wasn’t beautiful. But this one’s a bit more comfortable.”
“He means a bit less claustrophobic,” Lómion murmured, for Findekáno’s ears only.
Findekáno grinned.
“Well, what say you show me to your house, and we’ll have a nice quiet dinner? Tomorrow will be time enough to surprise Turvo with the good news.”
---
Dinner at the Mole was a lively affair. Tindomiel, lighthearted as she might be, proved to be a considerate hostess. She left it to his discretion if he preferred to eat in the hall, or make it a private dinner.
Findekáno had opted for a small dinner – if he ate in the hall, he knew it would be the talk of the city before nightfall. But a small dinner with Tinwë, Lómion, and the principal officers of the Mole should neatly balance letting himself be seen with having a chance of catching his brother unawares. It also had the happy effect of netting him several stories of Elrond’s youth from Elemmakil, plus several about both Lómion and Tinwë from Enerdhil.
By the sound of it, Anariel came by her troublesome streak naturally enough – she just carried it to greater extremes than her father, uncle, or siblings. Though by the sound of it, Elrond had also been fighting dragons at that age…
Tindomiel waited until dinner was over and it was just the three of them before she looked expectantly at him.
“You didn’t actually plan to wait until tomorrow, did you, Gramps?” she asked.
There was a gleam in her eye that betrayed she had guessed he might have a few words for his brother’s ears only, and she didn’t want Turvo to have a chance at evading him.
“Now you mention it,” Findekáno said thoughtfully, as though it had just occurred to him.
“Grandpa Maitimo said leave Grandpop Turukano to him,” she pointed out.
Her tone of suppressed glee was very much at odds with her words.
“That was meant for you and your siblings,” Findekáno said cheerfully. “But he’s not here yet and I am. Maitimo will get his chance. Besides, Turvo is my brat brother.”
“Did you want to surprise him?” she asked eagerly. “I could help you with that, you know.”
“You could,” Findekáno agreed reluctantly.
He’d seen enough of her darting in and out of the Halls to know normal walls were no challenge for what she called the Key.
All the same, he doubted involving her was a good idea, for several reasons. First and foremost was ‘don’t fight in front of kids’. Too much had already spilled over onto Elrond and his children as it was.
“But I was thinking the conversation might go better if it was just between brothers – I want your word you won’t be crashing it.”
That got a scowl, but Findekáno held firm until she sighed.
“Fine, but you will give us highlights after, right?”
“I reserve the right to edit,” he informed her.
“Deal,” she said reluctantly. “But only because if I don’t agree, you would try to get there on your own and completely blow any element of surprise. And your brother could do with a bit of shaking up.”
“He was fairly well shaken last time,” Lómion murmured soothingly.
“That was about your sister,” Tindomiel said sharply. “He’s overdue a chat about mine. And better he hears a refresher on that subject before he tries swooping down to playing doting grandfather with her. Because that will definitely not go well.”
Ah, there it was. The reason Tinwë hadn’t said anything sooner. She knew better than to bring that up in front of Rillë or Elenwë.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll put you in his study,” she announced. “He’ll go in there after dinner. He always does.”
She matched action to word swiftly enough that Findekáno found himself in said study – without Tinwë – a second later, contemplating how long he’d need to wait.
