Day 1 - To The Sea
Title: To The Sea
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and JRR. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Elrohir, Elladan, and their little sister have a ship to catch - and the sooner, the better.
Word Count: 1135
Note: Sorry about not writing more about Anariel since last Fic A Day. There were plans to do more. Then the plans got pushed back. Then some things took a lot longer than expected... Anyway, that has cured me of any more confident statements about what I will write when.
Elrohir did not breathe a sigh of relief when they crested the hill and could at last see Mithlond before them.
There was no relief in the moment, not when his sister had not opened her eyes, much less given them any sign whatsoever that her fëa had not parted ways with her hröa all the long leagues from Lothlorien.
They’ve ridden as fast and as hard as they dared, trying to reach the ship that waits for them without delay. Every second they stand in the mortal lands is another second there is no aid for Anariel.
They’ve had to stand helplessly by as whatever unseen foe has her in its power has broken bones and raised bruises - the only thing it can’t seem to do is break skin. Elrohir and Elladan have splinted and set, and even anointed the worst bruises with the lotions that usually offer some relief from pain. They have no idea if it helps, though. For all they can tell, it just gives them something to do to feel less useless.
“Do you suppose this could be an enemy from California?” Elrohir had asked his brother the first time they stopped for the night. “Something that sought Buffy yet somehow found Anariel?”
They would have happily ridden through the darkness, as they had the first two nights out of Lothlorien, but there was no moon and the risk that one of the horses might miss their footing on the rocky, uphill track was too great.
Elladan had frowned, and Elrohir could feel him turning over in his mind all that their sister or the Scoobies had ever told them of the strange realm of Sunnydale, and the enemies they had battled there.
“No,” he said at least. “It is too great a coincidence. Whatever assails her struck when she was the most vulnerable she has been in years, perhaps ever. How could they have known?”
Elrohir thought for a moment. It did seem rather remarkable when put like that. But it was just as remarkable even without a California enemy.
“What would be able to do this?” he asked in frustration.
“Sauron?” Elladan offered uncertainly.
“We would have felt his presence,” Elrohir protested. “And not only Grandmother and Ada said he was broken, Mithrandir told us that also. This took power. If Sauron had such power still, he would rise again!”
His brother was no happier than he was. To be unable to do anything but watch…
“Is there anything we can do for her before we reach the Havens?” Elladan asked softly.
Elrohir shook his head.
Much as he hated to admit it, if the assault hadn’t abated yet, he doubted there was anything they, or any of the elves remaining in Middle Earth, could do. Song didn’t reach Anariel any more than osanwë or words. Were it not for her continued breathing, slow but steady, an observer might think her dead.
The days since have blurred together for both twins. No fond farewells to the mortal lands for them, no lingering in places they had once known. Once they had crossed the Dunland pass and were back in flatter terrain, they stopped only when the horses needed to rest. They had remembered to bid the Greyflood farewell as they crossed, but by the time they reached the Brandywine, their minds were no longer on such niceties.
They’d long known that Anariel healed swiftly even for an elf, but aside from the immediate aftermath of that terrifying rockslide, they’ve never truly witnessed what Slayer healing could do until this torturous ride.
Elladan had stopped counting, but Elrohir has meticulously cataloged every harm done to his baby sister, that he may repay her enemy in full should he ever have the opportunity. Legs, arms, ribs, nose, fingers, several toes, and terrifyingly even the bones in her neck have all broken at various points. There have been tears and sprains, which they had not initially noticed - normally a body was in motion for such injuries. It had only been when Elladan was setting a break in her lower leg that he had discovered there was also extensive damage to the ankle below it.
For all their skills in healing - and while they are not their father, not for nothing did they spend so much time learning all Elrond would teach - they have been able to do little more than try to alleviate the worst of the damage.
In his heart, Elrohir has begun to fear that there might be no help for Anariel short of Lorien itself - the Lorien of Aman that has only ever been a story told to them by their grandmother.
So as they rode down toward Mithlond, the last ride of the children of Elrond in Middle Earth, he felt no relief, only urgency. He wanted his sister safe. He could feel that wind and tide were in their favor, if they could just reach the ship quickly…
Grandfather, Elladan called. We are nearly there. We ride directly to the ship - tell Cirdan to be ready to cast off the moment we are on board!
If Celeborn was surprised at his grandsons’ haste to be off, he said nothing. But then, Elrohir reflected, he must know by now that something was badly amiss. Their other grandfather certainly did - Eärendil has illuminated his star in red the entire harrowing ride, and remained in the sky day and night. (Elrohir wasn’t sure if Anariel would be pleased or distressed by that.)
Both twins urged their horses on, encouraging them to the swiftest pace they felt was safe.
As the horses thundered down streets he had never seen so empty, Elrohir reflected grimly that while they had always known the day of their departure would not be a joyful one, they had certainly never pictured it like this.
At long last they reached the docks, and found their grandfather had taken them at their word - there was a mariner waiting by each rope.
“Do not dismount on the docks!” someone called.
“Ride on board!” Celeborn added. “We will settle the horses below as Cirdan gets under way.”
Elrohir had no idea if this was normal, but he was well beyond caring. He simply did as he was told, urging his horse up the gangway, Elladan following after, and Anariel’s horse trailing behind, riderless but trusting that she should go where the others did.
The moment the third horse reached the deck, sailors were already pulling the gangway in, ropes were released, and the dock began to recede.
Hands reached up to help lift Anariel down, and to assist Elrohir and Elladan off their horses also.
He found to his surprise that he was shaking. How many hours had they been riding?
“Shh, young one, it is over,” Thranduil told him softly. “Time to rest now.”
It was only the next evening, when he awoke with a start, that Elrohir remembered that he’d never looked back for a last glimpse of Middle Earth.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and JRR. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Elrohir, Elladan, and their little sister have a ship to catch - and the sooner, the better.
Word Count: 1135
Note: Sorry about not writing more about Anariel since last Fic A Day. There were plans to do more. Then the plans got pushed back. Then some things took a lot longer than expected... Anyway, that has cured me of any more confident statements about what I will write when.
Elrohir did not breathe a sigh of relief when they crested the hill and could at last see Mithlond before them.
There was no relief in the moment, not when his sister had not opened her eyes, much less given them any sign whatsoever that her fëa had not parted ways with her hröa all the long leagues from Lothlorien.
They’ve ridden as fast and as hard as they dared, trying to reach the ship that waits for them without delay. Every second they stand in the mortal lands is another second there is no aid for Anariel.
They’ve had to stand helplessly by as whatever unseen foe has her in its power has broken bones and raised bruises - the only thing it can’t seem to do is break skin. Elrohir and Elladan have splinted and set, and even anointed the worst bruises with the lotions that usually offer some relief from pain. They have no idea if it helps, though. For all they can tell, it just gives them something to do to feel less useless.
“Do you suppose this could be an enemy from California?” Elrohir had asked his brother the first time they stopped for the night. “Something that sought Buffy yet somehow found Anariel?”
They would have happily ridden through the darkness, as they had the first two nights out of Lothlorien, but there was no moon and the risk that one of the horses might miss their footing on the rocky, uphill track was too great.
Elladan had frowned, and Elrohir could feel him turning over in his mind all that their sister or the Scoobies had ever told them of the strange realm of Sunnydale, and the enemies they had battled there.
“No,” he said at least. “It is too great a coincidence. Whatever assails her struck when she was the most vulnerable she has been in years, perhaps ever. How could they have known?”
Elrohir thought for a moment. It did seem rather remarkable when put like that. But it was just as remarkable even without a California enemy.
“What would be able to do this?” he asked in frustration.
“Sauron?” Elladan offered uncertainly.
“We would have felt his presence,” Elrohir protested. “And not only Grandmother and Ada said he was broken, Mithrandir told us that also. This took power. If Sauron had such power still, he would rise again!”
His brother was no happier than he was. To be unable to do anything but watch…
“Is there anything we can do for her before we reach the Havens?” Elladan asked softly.
Elrohir shook his head.
Much as he hated to admit it, if the assault hadn’t abated yet, he doubted there was anything they, or any of the elves remaining in Middle Earth, could do. Song didn’t reach Anariel any more than osanwë or words. Were it not for her continued breathing, slow but steady, an observer might think her dead.
The days since have blurred together for both twins. No fond farewells to the mortal lands for them, no lingering in places they had once known. Once they had crossed the Dunland pass and were back in flatter terrain, they stopped only when the horses needed to rest. They had remembered to bid the Greyflood farewell as they crossed, but by the time they reached the Brandywine, their minds were no longer on such niceties.
They’d long known that Anariel healed swiftly even for an elf, but aside from the immediate aftermath of that terrifying rockslide, they’ve never truly witnessed what Slayer healing could do until this torturous ride.
Elladan had stopped counting, but Elrohir has meticulously cataloged every harm done to his baby sister, that he may repay her enemy in full should he ever have the opportunity. Legs, arms, ribs, nose, fingers, several toes, and terrifyingly even the bones in her neck have all broken at various points. There have been tears and sprains, which they had not initially noticed - normally a body was in motion for such injuries. It had only been when Elladan was setting a break in her lower leg that he had discovered there was also extensive damage to the ankle below it.
For all their skills in healing - and while they are not their father, not for nothing did they spend so much time learning all Elrond would teach - they have been able to do little more than try to alleviate the worst of the damage.
In his heart, Elrohir has begun to fear that there might be no help for Anariel short of Lorien itself - the Lorien of Aman that has only ever been a story told to them by their grandmother.
So as they rode down toward Mithlond, the last ride of the children of Elrond in Middle Earth, he felt no relief, only urgency. He wanted his sister safe. He could feel that wind and tide were in their favor, if they could just reach the ship quickly…
Grandfather, Elladan called. We are nearly there. We ride directly to the ship - tell Cirdan to be ready to cast off the moment we are on board!
If Celeborn was surprised at his grandsons’ haste to be off, he said nothing. But then, Elrohir reflected, he must know by now that something was badly amiss. Their other grandfather certainly did - Eärendil has illuminated his star in red the entire harrowing ride, and remained in the sky day and night. (Elrohir wasn’t sure if Anariel would be pleased or distressed by that.)
Both twins urged their horses on, encouraging them to the swiftest pace they felt was safe.
As the horses thundered down streets he had never seen so empty, Elrohir reflected grimly that while they had always known the day of their departure would not be a joyful one, they had certainly never pictured it like this.
At long last they reached the docks, and found their grandfather had taken them at their word - there was a mariner waiting by each rope.
“Do not dismount on the docks!” someone called.
“Ride on board!” Celeborn added. “We will settle the horses below as Cirdan gets under way.”
Elrohir had no idea if this was normal, but he was well beyond caring. He simply did as he was told, urging his horse up the gangway, Elladan following after, and Anariel’s horse trailing behind, riderless but trusting that she should go where the others did.
The moment the third horse reached the deck, sailors were already pulling the gangway in, ropes were released, and the dock began to recede.
Hands reached up to help lift Anariel down, and to assist Elrohir and Elladan off their horses also.
He found to his surprise that he was shaking. How many hours had they been riding?
“Shh, young one, it is over,” Thranduil told him softly. “Time to rest now.”
It was only the next evening, when he awoke with a start, that Elrohir remembered that he’d never looked back for a last glimpse of Middle Earth.