grundyscribbling

Title: The Joy of Grandchildren
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: Maedhros is getting up to speed in Fourth Age Tirion. And giving certain granddaughters a talking-to - or trying, at least.
Word Count: 1755
Note: And that's a wrap!

Maitimo was somewhat surprised when they emerged from Finno’s rooms after several hours of time with each other – no looming battles, no war, no Enemy, and best of all no interruptions, just each other – to find that Elrond was waiting. Not that he was the only one. Maitimo did notice in a vague way that Uncle Ara was there, and that might have been Uncle Nolo hovering in the background. But Elrond was the one Maitimo was most concerned with.

His surviving son could probably fool most people with that faux-relaxed pose, but not the man who’d raised him.

He hadn’t truly expected that the boy would be there. Or that he would look so happy when he set eyes on him.

Elrond was not small, but as he melted into Maitimo’s embrace, he was a little boy again.

“Atar,” he murmured. “I have missed you.”

“I am so sorry, my son,” Maitimo replied, keeping his voice low. There were enough relatives listening in to what was really between them. “And so proud of you. You are everything we could have hoped and more.”

There was a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. Maitimo was pleased to discover that while Elrond was not short, he had not grown so tall that Maitimo couldn’t kiss the top of his head anymore.

He could not fix Elros’ mistake, but he could look after Elrond. And assure him that Kano would return in due time. Though before they spoke of that…

Elrond straightened, standing slightly taller, and waved a hand at their audience. Anariel was sprawled on the ground, not bothering with furniture, though she had tossed a few cushions onto the flagstones. Her brothers had opted to sit on the bench like grown-ups. Tindomiel was nearby, sitting as close to her mate as she could contrive. Maitimo could tell at a glance the pair were well-matched.

“I believe you’ve met my daughters,” Elrond told him with a smile. “Though I probably need to introduce my sons, and my son-in-law.”

“Who’s also your nephew by marriage,” Anariel added brightly, to a filthy glare from her sister.

“I have indeed met your girls,” Maitimo nodded. “I rejoice to finally meet your boys. And I am pleased to see Irissë’s son again, and looking so much happier.”

Maeglin gave him a slightly abashed smile.

“But as for you, I think we are due to have a little talk, Anariel Elerondiel,” Maitimo said sternly. “Is your father aware of the bargain you made?”

“Bargain?”

Rather than the would-be innocence he had expected, her face had taken on that practiced blankness he’d seen in the Halls, an absolute neutrality that neither confirmed nor denied anything. If he hadn’t been sure of his information, he might have wavered.

“With the Doomsman.”

There was the merest flicker of annoyance in her eyes – she wouldn’t bother denying it when Maitimo clearly knew of it, but she was not pleased to find he did.

“What have you done now, my sunshine?” Elrond asked wearily.

Maitimo could hardly fault him for the tone. This was the child who’d gone dancing into Mordor and hunted valaraukar, after all.

“Nothing, Ada. I haven’t done a blessed thing. Odds are I won’t have to, either.”

Maitimo snorted at that. He didn’t have that much confidence in himself, never mind his more impetuous brothers. Doriath hadn’t been his idea, after all.

“And I don’t know why you’re telling him about it and worrying him for no good reason!”

The glare she turned on Maitimo would have intimidated a dragon. Unfortunately for her, it had no effect on him. Not after Angband.

“She agreed to stand as security for us,” Maitimo said flatly. “That is the reason we have been allowed to return.”

“Security?” Uncle Arafinwë asked in bemusement. “To protect you? Or to protect us?”

“Meaning what?” Elrond pressed, looking from father to daughter, though by his tone he must have guessed.

“Meaning if they do something boneheaded that Uncle Crankypants decides to count as ‘breaking the peace of Aman’, we all get punished together,” Anariel sighed.

Turning to Maitimo, she added, “why did you have to make such a big deal about this? You’re worrying him for no reason.”

“Breaking the peace of Aman?” Arafinwë demanded. “And define punished, if you would, Anarya?”

Maitimo could see Elrond already understood what it meant. How could he not? He better than anyone else alive knew what the Oath could and had driven them to.

“Did you stop to think, my sun,” Elrond asked softly, “what would happen if they fell prey to temptation? If the Oath snapped tight and they tried to claim a Silmaril by force again?”

The Everlasting Dark.

Elrond didn’t need to say it out loud – everyone present with the possible exception of his daughter was already thinking it. His brother had so firmly believed they had already faced the consequences they had invoked that he chose mortality in a desperate bid to save them.

Anariel had no such choice to make. If she were cast out of Arda with them, it would be the end of her.

It was a risk the girl ought not to have taken.

Not a single one of them was worth it. He was certain his brothers would agree with him. (They would if they knew what was good for them.)

Tough luck, Anariel snorted. Anyway, if you’re feeling you want to yell at someone about it, Tindomiel made the call first. All I did was back her up. Not that I think everyone else needs that reminder. You’ve got them all worked up enough as it is.

Anariel gave her father one of those impish smiles she and her uncle specialized in.

“I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night,” she replied in answer to his question.

There was no trace of fear or repentance in her tone. She’d never sounded more like Elros than she did in that moment. Maitimo was unsurprised that Elrond found himself unable to answer.
Elrond’s youngest daughter, as unaware of the likeness as her older sister, had no such stumbling block.

“Could you be serious for two seconds put together?” Tindomiel sighed before her father could recover his composure.

“I was!” Anariel protested indignantly.

At the quizzical looks on everyone else, Tindomiel sighed.

“She’s quoting California poetry,” she explained.

“I thought that was a pretty good translation on the fly,” Anariel said, sounding nettled.

“Mm,” Tindomiel replied non-committally, doing further damage to her sister’s pride. “Not bad, I guess, but I bet you’d have had trouble with the full couplet.”

Anariel’s cocky smirk – so like Elros it was painful – doubted it.

“Anyway, the point, little miss ‘I want to smack Sauron so hard Morgoth’s gonna feel it’, is that you aren’t going to do very well fighting any maiar out there.”

“I’d back me,” Anariel said, just a hint of steel in her voice. “Besides, it’s not just Sauron I want to smack. Have I not been clear on that point? I really thought I had been.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to hit Morgoth too,” Tindomiel said, rolling her eyes. “Would it kill you to remember you’re not the only one who wants to?”

“Why, you want to take a swing?” Anariel asked curiously.

That tone from Elros had nearly always led to trouble in one form or another.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? But it’s not like you’re going to let me,” Tindomiel snorted before Maitimo could intervene.

“I just might, actually,” Anariel said, cocking her head thoughtfully. “If you promise to make it count. You only get one.”

Tindomiel folded her arms and gave her sister a younger sibling look of ultimate skepticism.

“Sure you will. Fine, I promise if you do.”

“Cross my heart,” Anariel shot back with a grin, making an odd sign across the middle of her chest.

Finno helpfully informed Maitimo it had been the California tengwa ‘X’, which often marked the spot. (He wasn’t sure why, but he did know that much. It also, confusingly, was the notation for a kiss. Finno did not know if that was relevant to why one crossed one’s heart or not.)

Maitimo nearly laughed at the look of suspicion Tindomiel gave her sister. She had been startled her sister would allow her even a single change to hit their great Enemy – and realized almost immediately the offer had been made in the secure knowledge that the entire rest of the family would prevent it. As she had said, Anariel was far from the only one who wanted to hit him.

“You are the living end,” Tindomiel said in disgust. “Morgoth’s going to come back and you’re going to standing there bantering and worried about your shoes as he tries to smash you with Grond.”

“Probably,” Anariel shrugged, looking amused. “Anyway, back to the original point: we’re all fine here. Situation under control. Nobody’s chasing Silmarils, and even if they try to, I can just knock them down and sit on them until they’re ready to make better life choices.”

“Ah yes, the family motto, ‘we’re all fine here, situation under control’,” Lómion muttered.

One of Elrond’s twins, Maitimo wasn’t sure which – he needed another introduction under less fraught circumstances to make sure of who was who – didn’t quite manage to stifle his snicker.

And to think you didn’t like him at first, Anariel chided her brothers.

Uncle Ara, though he still looked troubled, was also finding it difficult not to laugh. Maitimo knew that look fairly well, though he was more used to seeing it on his other uncle. Uncle Nolo, on the other hand, did not look as though he found anything at all amusing about this. Possibly being the only one who had actually come face to face with Morgoth had something to do with that.

“Festival? Party?” Anariel suggested hopefully, in a tone that suggested that against all he knew of her, she had not been well and truly in trouble with her elders very often. “Grandpa Maitimo’s back, yay?”

“Grounded,” a new voice suggested.

Elrond’s beloved looked very much like her mother, and when Artanis said anything in that tone, she meant it. Celebrían might not have heard the introductions, but she’d definitely caught the part with her daughter’s interesting decision-making.

Anariel sighed deeply.

“Fine, as long as Tinu’s going to bring Gramma Nerdanel here.”

“Duh,” Tindomiel assured her. “I was just waiting to make sure she wouldn’t have been interrupting anything.”