grundyscribbling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-26 09:07 am
grundyscribbling) wrote2024-08-26 09:07 am
Entry tags:
Day 26 - Party on the Beach
Title: Party On The Beach
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 is getting to know more of her Lindarin kin - and Lindarin food.
Word Count: 1600
Note: Eep, home stretch! Trying to keep it all Anariel these last few days... I had ideas before the month started and haven't gotten to all of them. *sigh*
Anariel leaned against Arador with a grin.
This was an excellent party – and excellent relatives.
Oropher and Belthil were tickled to meet her, but not as wound up about it as the Tirion crowd.
They’re not grandparents, Arador pointed out in amusement.
Belthil might not be. Oropher is. Just not my grandparent, she shot back.
She could watch Oropher and his wife Lothuial fuss over Legolas all day. She had been watching it for the last half hour. Belthil occasionally made sure her plate and cup got refilled, but it was novel seeing someone else at the center of enthusiastic grandparental attention.
They were still more laid back than any of the Noldorin granny brigade.
They’re Lindarin, Solo laughed. Which means they were probably more laid back to begin with. Now you’re all here, what’s there to worry about?
Anyone think we’ll be able to convince Gramma Anairë of that?
Not a chance, Arador snorted.
“Dear me, and I had always heard the Noldor considered it rude to speak silently,” Lothuial laughed. “Or are you children seizing the opportunity since no one will scold you for it?”
“Both,” Anariel grinned. “Also, speaking silently means we can eat and talk. The food is good.”
That was no slight to Anairon. The style here was beach cookout.
There was a roast pig, several types of grilled or baked fish, and what looked like a clambake further on. There were also sufficient forms of potato to satisfy even a hungry hobbit, grilled fruit and veg, an array of salads, and Anariel’s favorite so far, something similar to fruit popsicles.
She couldn’t figure out how they were keeping cold. In California there would have been coolers around to explain it, but here, all she could see was elves having a good time. She wasn’t inclined to question too much when the cold treat was so delicious. There was one variety she could swear was watermelon, and another that might involve that starfruit she’d been introduced to in Tirion.
She and Legolas had made a pact to try them all over the course of the night.
They’d been catching up since the elder generation’s ‘getting to know Anariel’ impulse had eased.
“You’re going to love Neldoreth,” Legolas told her confidently. “It’s amazing. It’s what they tell me the Greenwood was before the Shadow.”
He sounded slightly regretful – he wasn’t old enough to remember it clearly himself.
“And we both have so many kin there,” he added. “Lucky for you they do not sound as fussy as the Noldor. You’ll be able to come and go as you please.”
“I’ll come and go as I please in Tirion, too,” Anariel sniffed. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”
Arador and Solo silently let her know their estimation of how likely that was in the near future.
Neldoreth had another virtue – she’d already met a good chunk of those kin. Thingol, Melian, Daeron, Merilin, Orodreth, Eöl, and now Oropher, Lothuial, and Belthil were already known to her. (And of course, Grandmother and Grandfather. And Aunt Trouble. And Maeglin, too.)
“You’re not heading back there anytime soon, are you?” Legolas asked, spearing a chunk of pineapple.
Many of the fruits were as new to him as they were to her, and they’d been comparing notes.
“I imagine I have to go back and apologize at some point,” she sighed. “But I was kinda thinking hang out here for a while, then maybe meander Neldoreth-wards. And then it might be nice to go home for a while.”
She tried not to sound too down, but she really did want to have some quiet time at Imlanthiriath, getting to spend time with her parents, get to know the house and the new valley, and in general just decompress. Yeah, there’d been some chilling out in Tirion, but she still felt like things had been nonstop since she left Imladris for the last time.
Solo passed her a fresh popsicle by way of cheering her up.
You don’t have to go back there right away. Take a few seasons, he advised.
That won’t stop some of them from coming to visit you at home, Arador pointed out.
Both of them glared at him.
“I’m sure your golodhrin kin understand, sweetling,” Lothuial assured her. “By now, even those who stayed and never passed through Mandos know that it takes time to get used to all this.”
“They probably need some time to get used to her,” Legolas snickered, dodging the empty wooden stick from a previous popsicle she tossed at him. “Did you tell them about the Mordor trip yet?”
“Parts of it,” she sighed. “More or less on accident. Horrified grandfathers. Hopefully not shared with grandmothers.”
“Was this the one with the scandalous haircut?” Oropher asked smoothly.
“Oh. my. stars,” Anariel exclaimed. “How did anyone survive the First Age? The way you all carry on about a haircut that had grown out cute by the time anyone else saw it…”
“They survived by not getting caught by those who would cut their hair short as yours was,” Brethil said pointedly.
“I cut my hair myself,” she sighed. “Because it stank. I don’t know what we fell in, it wasn’t a latrine, but it smelled horrible and it wasn’t washing out. Neither Anya or I wanted to smell that all the way home. Or to the Greenwood. Actually, we weren’t sure the Greenwood would let us in with that stench.”
Not that she’d expected to make it that far without going crazy if she had to keep smelling eau de something died and decomposed in stagnant marsh water that may or may not have had a side of sewage. She’d gone to the Dead Marshes some years later, and they had smelled downright laundry fresh by comparison.
“You’ll have to excuse us ancient elders being horrified at the idea that you were bare-headed, however short a time,” Oropher sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well no one saw it.”
“My brothers acted like they wanted to hold a funeral for my hair,” Anariel informed him. “And they saw it when the hair was back to chin length.”
Which, in retrospect, might have had a little bit of an assist from whatever power still resided in the line of Lúthien at that point. Her hair had grown in faster than Anya’s. If they’d been paying closer attention, it probably would have struck them as hinky – and been a nice bit of evidence that they were on the right track about the Choice.
“They might have, had you kept the hair with you,” Belthil said drolly.
“Sorry, Uncle Hijinx, keeping it with us would have defeated the whole ‘get away from that awful reek’ plan. We burned it as soon as it wasn’t attached to our heads.”
Which had introduced other fun smells to the mix, but had made absolutely certain the hair wasn’t available for dark magic. Also, not polluting the general area. That it had been cathartic had been beside the point.
Oropher shook his head.
“I believe Celeborn may have understated his descriptions.”
“Yeah, but I bet Tinu made up for it,” she snickered.
“She tried,” Lothuial laughed. “Though she does have an interesting theory about you two children. ‘The balrog test’, she called it?”
Anariel sighed, regretting throwing the stick at Legolas earlier. He was fueling the matchmaking fire by blushing.
“Yep. Legolas runs from balrogs, I run at them,” she confirmed. “Which, to be clear, is good sense on his part. He should totally keep that up should the occasion arise again.”
Solo fell over laughing.
“Perhaps you might learn from his fine example,” Oropher suggested.
“Moot point,” she shrugged. “No more balrogs. Besides, running at them mostly worked.”
It would have worked better if it had only been the one or two she was expecting, but in the end, zero balrogs had walked away. A crappy win was still a win – and that was logic the Lindar had already been painfully familiar with before Doriath fell.
“Just as well there are no more,” Lothuial said soothingly. “I think you need a few quiet years, sweetling. I’m surprised your father isn’t insisting on rest and relaxation.”
“I’d settle for a few quiet months,” she confessed, pretending not to hear Oropher’s rather sarcastic commentary on the odds of that. He’d intended it only for his mate.
She wondered if this was what Grandmother Indis felt like when everyone was trying to get away with silent comments in her presence.
“Neldoreth will be quiet once midsummer is over,” Belthil said.
“Apropos of nothing at all?” Arador snickered.
“Oh, definitely apropos,” Oropher told them. “The festival will last another few days, but you might easily return to Neldoreth with us, Anariel. Your companions are welcome to accompany you, of course.”
“Um… I should probably check in with Gramma Elwing and Grandpa Eärendil first,” she said slowly.
“And see Alqualondë at least once before you go running off anywhere else,” Solo added. “Doesn’t have to be a public occasion.”
We’re less formal than Tirion. You can wander in and out without drawing a crowd. And it’s not like we don’t know you’ll come back!
“Can I defer all this decision making until tomorrow and just enjoy the party?” Anariel asked plaintively.
“Of course,” Oropher said firmly, pinning all three boys with a look that said the subject was closed. “I believe there are still desserts for you to sample. And there hasn’t been much dancing yet.”
She wasn’t going to tell him, but Oropher was a strong contender for favorite grand-uncle right now.
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 is getting to know more of her Lindarin kin - and Lindarin food.
Word Count: 1600
Note: Eep, home stretch! Trying to keep it all Anariel these last few days... I had ideas before the month started and haven't gotten to all of them. *sigh*
Anariel leaned against Arador with a grin.
This was an excellent party – and excellent relatives.
Oropher and Belthil were tickled to meet her, but not as wound up about it as the Tirion crowd.
They’re not grandparents, Arador pointed out in amusement.
Belthil might not be. Oropher is. Just not my grandparent, she shot back.
She could watch Oropher and his wife Lothuial fuss over Legolas all day. She had been watching it for the last half hour. Belthil occasionally made sure her plate and cup got refilled, but it was novel seeing someone else at the center of enthusiastic grandparental attention.
They were still more laid back than any of the Noldorin granny brigade.
They’re Lindarin, Solo laughed. Which means they were probably more laid back to begin with. Now you’re all here, what’s there to worry about?
Anyone think we’ll be able to convince Gramma Anairë of that?
Not a chance, Arador snorted.
“Dear me, and I had always heard the Noldor considered it rude to speak silently,” Lothuial laughed. “Or are you children seizing the opportunity since no one will scold you for it?”
“Both,” Anariel grinned. “Also, speaking silently means we can eat and talk. The food is good.”
That was no slight to Anairon. The style here was beach cookout.
There was a roast pig, several types of grilled or baked fish, and what looked like a clambake further on. There were also sufficient forms of potato to satisfy even a hungry hobbit, grilled fruit and veg, an array of salads, and Anariel’s favorite so far, something similar to fruit popsicles.
She couldn’t figure out how they were keeping cold. In California there would have been coolers around to explain it, but here, all she could see was elves having a good time. She wasn’t inclined to question too much when the cold treat was so delicious. There was one variety she could swear was watermelon, and another that might involve that starfruit she’d been introduced to in Tirion.
She and Legolas had made a pact to try them all over the course of the night.
They’d been catching up since the elder generation’s ‘getting to know Anariel’ impulse had eased.
“You’re going to love Neldoreth,” Legolas told her confidently. “It’s amazing. It’s what they tell me the Greenwood was before the Shadow.”
He sounded slightly regretful – he wasn’t old enough to remember it clearly himself.
“And we both have so many kin there,” he added. “Lucky for you they do not sound as fussy as the Noldor. You’ll be able to come and go as you please.”
“I’ll come and go as I please in Tirion, too,” Anariel sniffed. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”
Arador and Solo silently let her know their estimation of how likely that was in the near future.
Neldoreth had another virtue – she’d already met a good chunk of those kin. Thingol, Melian, Daeron, Merilin, Orodreth, Eöl, and now Oropher, Lothuial, and Belthil were already known to her. (And of course, Grandmother and Grandfather. And Aunt Trouble. And Maeglin, too.)
“You’re not heading back there anytime soon, are you?” Legolas asked, spearing a chunk of pineapple.
Many of the fruits were as new to him as they were to her, and they’d been comparing notes.
“I imagine I have to go back and apologize at some point,” she sighed. “But I was kinda thinking hang out here for a while, then maybe meander Neldoreth-wards. And then it might be nice to go home for a while.”
She tried not to sound too down, but she really did want to have some quiet time at Imlanthiriath, getting to spend time with her parents, get to know the house and the new valley, and in general just decompress. Yeah, there’d been some chilling out in Tirion, but she still felt like things had been nonstop since she left Imladris for the last time.
Solo passed her a fresh popsicle by way of cheering her up.
You don’t have to go back there right away. Take a few seasons, he advised.
That won’t stop some of them from coming to visit you at home, Arador pointed out.
Both of them glared at him.
“I’m sure your golodhrin kin understand, sweetling,” Lothuial assured her. “By now, even those who stayed and never passed through Mandos know that it takes time to get used to all this.”
“They probably need some time to get used to her,” Legolas snickered, dodging the empty wooden stick from a previous popsicle she tossed at him. “Did you tell them about the Mordor trip yet?”
“Parts of it,” she sighed. “More or less on accident. Horrified grandfathers. Hopefully not shared with grandmothers.”
“Was this the one with the scandalous haircut?” Oropher asked smoothly.
“Oh. my. stars,” Anariel exclaimed. “How did anyone survive the First Age? The way you all carry on about a haircut that had grown out cute by the time anyone else saw it…”
“They survived by not getting caught by those who would cut their hair short as yours was,” Brethil said pointedly.
“I cut my hair myself,” she sighed. “Because it stank. I don’t know what we fell in, it wasn’t a latrine, but it smelled horrible and it wasn’t washing out. Neither Anya or I wanted to smell that all the way home. Or to the Greenwood. Actually, we weren’t sure the Greenwood would let us in with that stench.”
Not that she’d expected to make it that far without going crazy if she had to keep smelling eau de something died and decomposed in stagnant marsh water that may or may not have had a side of sewage. She’d gone to the Dead Marshes some years later, and they had smelled downright laundry fresh by comparison.
“You’ll have to excuse us ancient elders being horrified at the idea that you were bare-headed, however short a time,” Oropher sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well no one saw it.”
“My brothers acted like they wanted to hold a funeral for my hair,” Anariel informed him. “And they saw it when the hair was back to chin length.”
Which, in retrospect, might have had a little bit of an assist from whatever power still resided in the line of Lúthien at that point. Her hair had grown in faster than Anya’s. If they’d been paying closer attention, it probably would have struck them as hinky – and been a nice bit of evidence that they were on the right track about the Choice.
“They might have, had you kept the hair with you,” Belthil said drolly.
“Sorry, Uncle Hijinx, keeping it with us would have defeated the whole ‘get away from that awful reek’ plan. We burned it as soon as it wasn’t attached to our heads.”
Which had introduced other fun smells to the mix, but had made absolutely certain the hair wasn’t available for dark magic. Also, not polluting the general area. That it had been cathartic had been beside the point.
Oropher shook his head.
“I believe Celeborn may have understated his descriptions.”
“Yeah, but I bet Tinu made up for it,” she snickered.
“She tried,” Lothuial laughed. “Though she does have an interesting theory about you two children. ‘The balrog test’, she called it?”
Anariel sighed, regretting throwing the stick at Legolas earlier. He was fueling the matchmaking fire by blushing.
“Yep. Legolas runs from balrogs, I run at them,” she confirmed. “Which, to be clear, is good sense on his part. He should totally keep that up should the occasion arise again.”
Solo fell over laughing.
“Perhaps you might learn from his fine example,” Oropher suggested.
“Moot point,” she shrugged. “No more balrogs. Besides, running at them mostly worked.”
It would have worked better if it had only been the one or two she was expecting, but in the end, zero balrogs had walked away. A crappy win was still a win – and that was logic the Lindar had already been painfully familiar with before Doriath fell.
“Just as well there are no more,” Lothuial said soothingly. “I think you need a few quiet years, sweetling. I’m surprised your father isn’t insisting on rest and relaxation.”
“I’d settle for a few quiet months,” she confessed, pretending not to hear Oropher’s rather sarcastic commentary on the odds of that. He’d intended it only for his mate.
She wondered if this was what Grandmother Indis felt like when everyone was trying to get away with silent comments in her presence.
“Neldoreth will be quiet once midsummer is over,” Belthil said.
“Apropos of nothing at all?” Arador snickered.
“Oh, definitely apropos,” Oropher told them. “The festival will last another few days, but you might easily return to Neldoreth with us, Anariel. Your companions are welcome to accompany you, of course.”
“Um… I should probably check in with Gramma Elwing and Grandpa Eärendil first,” she said slowly.
“And see Alqualondë at least once before you go running off anywhere else,” Solo added. “Doesn’t have to be a public occasion.”
We’re less formal than Tirion. You can wander in and out without drawing a crowd. And it’s not like we don’t know you’ll come back!
“Can I defer all this decision making until tomorrow and just enjoy the party?” Anariel asked plaintively.
“Of course,” Oropher said firmly, pinning all three boys with a look that said the subject was closed. “I believe there are still desserts for you to sample. And there hasn’t been much dancing yet.”
She wasn’t going to tell him, but Oropher was a strong contender for favorite grand-uncle right now.
no subject
Thank you for the story.
no subject
Yeah, Oropher and Thranduil have rather different temperaments. (Thranduil also had the Second Kinslaying as the formative experience of his young adult years...) Thranduil will probably lighten up a bit now that everyone's safely in Aman. Maybe.