Aug 10 - Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...
Title: Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch
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: Tindomiel doesn't want anyone to feel left out on the occasion of Anariel's arrival in Tirion.
Word Count: 1025
Note: Sorry, short one tonight, on account of I ended up taking longer than expected on other needful things.
Tindomiel bounced into the room with more verve than usual in her step.
“Just thought you’d like to know, Anariel’s in Tirion, and boy was she annoyed to find out that someone thought she needed a babysitter,” she announced cheerfully.
She failed to conceal a smirk at the look on Makalaurë and Maitimo’s faces.
“I told you it wouldn’t go well,” Makalaurë sighed.
“And yet Tirion is still standing,” Maitimo responded drily. “Is it not?”
Tindomiel started laughing.
“She’s not going to wreck the city. At least, not on purpose. And I don’t think she’s ever wrecked something on that scale by accident if it didn’t involve an enemy. I mean, yeah, she did a number on the high school, but not the whole town. Maybe if Morgoth showed up Tirion could end up as collateral damage. But I think Pelendur would probably keep Ada safe if she did, so there’s that. Speaking of collateral damage…”
Her grin turned wicked.
“She went straight to your mom’s house, which unfortunately gave Gramma Anairë time to confiscate her clothes for being too daring for the Noldor, even though they were ones Arwen made and she would never have put anything scandalous on either of us.”
There were smothered coughs all around, and an outright laugh from Ambarussa’s direction.
Makalaurë pinched the bridge of his nose.
“How badly did it go?” he asked resignedly.
“Not as bad as you seem to think,” she replied. “I mean, Gramma Nerdanel wasn’t going to let her go wearing nothing.”
“Which was of course her logical fallback,” Makalaurë sighed. “So? What happened?”
Tindomiel looked positively gleeful.
“It turns out Uncle Moryo is a really awesome tailor.”
Maitimo gave the girl a look.
“You do realize that as his brothers we are aware of his talents, pitya?”
“Yeah, but you’re not aware of whose clothes he repurposed for her,” she grinned.
They waited expectantly.
“They’re not going to give you the satisfaction of guessing,” Curvo sniffed.
As usual Tindomiel pretended not to hear. Tyelko was still humoring her on the ‘not speaking to me’ front, but sign language was allowed these days, so he shrugged and give her a ridiculously exaggerated look of curiosity.
“According to Uncle Moryo, Uncle Tyelkormo’s tunic was the closest thing to perfect for her he could work with in so short a time,” she informed them - for once speaking straight to the uncle in question.
“Tindomiel Elerondiel,” Makalaurë began sternly, only to have his younger brother cut him off.
“Did it look all right on her?” Tyelko asked, sounding surprisingly sincere.
Tindomiel blinked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I mean, minor scandal due to it being open all the way down her back and sleeveless, so actually racier by Tirion standards than what Arwen made, but she liked it.”
“Good,” Tyelko said in satisfaction.
“Was that the only scandal?” Makalaurë asked warily.
“The only public one,” Tindomiel replied cheerfully. “There was the whole ‘oh my stars how did she hide so many weapons under that skimpy dress’ thing at dinner, but that was just family. And honestly, Gramma Anairë and Gramma Eärwen took it a lot better than I would have thought. Your mother was the only one who did the disappointed thing.”
“I’m starting to see why Moryo thought of me,” Tyelko beamed. “I like her already.”
Tindomiel stuck out her tongue.
“Ammë didn’t tell her no weapons at court?” Maitimo asked suspiciously. “I recall several conversations on that theme even before Atto drew a sword on Uncle…”
“Yeah, but she made the mistake of being specific,” Tindomiel explained with a snicker. “She told her she couldn’t bring Calaliltië.”
Maitimo looked puzzled, as did the rest of their brothers, so Makalaurë took it upon himself to explain when Tindomiel didn’t.
“Her favorite sword,” he said drily. “Made by Maeglin in Ondolindë, though no one has ever offered a satisfactory theory on how it got from there to the Trollshaws.”
“That’s because no one actually knows,” Tindomiel pointed out. “Wild guesses is the best anyone came up with, even Anariel.”
“So she left the sword at home?” Maitimo prompted.
“She must have, because she didn’t bring it with her. She was kinda pouty about it.”
“What did she bring?” Makalaurë asked, with an air of one bracing for bad news.
“Two daggers of her own, two of his-” she waved in Tyelko’s direction, “which she later complained about the balance of, a hair clip some Lindarin smith who used to be Uncle Eöl’s apprentice gifted her, and she also helpfully pointed out that a dwarf-made necklace is sturdy enough to use as a garotte should the occasion arise.”
Curvo made a strangled noise, but it was Tyelko’s chuckle that drew all eyes.
“Yep, definitely like her,” he said in satisfaction. “She sounds like someone put the best of Artë and Lúthien together. We’re going to have so much fun when I get out of here.”
It was difficult to say who looked more appalled, Curvo or Tindomiel.
Makalaurë decided it was probably best for everyone not to point that out today.
“Yeah, well, before you get too excited, I should probably warn you she took over your room,” Tindomiel said. “Something about it being closest to the workshop.”
She looked slightly surprised by the utter silence that greeted that from all quarters.
“I thought you might want to know. Just in case you’re also the type to go climbing into windows unannounced when you’re sneaking in. Anariel’s really good at hitting things with throwing knives even if you’ve just woken her up…”
“And you know this how?” Tyelko asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The workshop,” Curvo said in an utterly flat tone, cutting off whatever story Tindomiel had been about to tell.
“Atto’s workshop?” Makalaurë spluttered.
“Yep,” Tindomiel grinned. “She’s got plans. Which she’s not sharing. Because if she did Grandpa Nolo would probably insist on helping and she wants to do it herself.”
“This sounds oddly familiar, but possibly in a slightly more wholesome way,” Maitimo murmured to Makalaurë.
Makalaurë sighed.
“Remember when I told people not to give the girls bad ideas because they had enough of their very own?”
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: Tindomiel doesn't want anyone to feel left out on the occasion of Anariel's arrival in Tirion.
Word Count: 1025
Note: Sorry, short one tonight, on account of I ended up taking longer than expected on other needful things.
Tindomiel bounced into the room with more verve than usual in her step.
“Just thought you’d like to know, Anariel’s in Tirion, and boy was she annoyed to find out that someone thought she needed a babysitter,” she announced cheerfully.
She failed to conceal a smirk at the look on Makalaurë and Maitimo’s faces.
“I told you it wouldn’t go well,” Makalaurë sighed.
“And yet Tirion is still standing,” Maitimo responded drily. “Is it not?”
Tindomiel started laughing.
“She’s not going to wreck the city. At least, not on purpose. And I don’t think she’s ever wrecked something on that scale by accident if it didn’t involve an enemy. I mean, yeah, she did a number on the high school, but not the whole town. Maybe if Morgoth showed up Tirion could end up as collateral damage. But I think Pelendur would probably keep Ada safe if she did, so there’s that. Speaking of collateral damage…”
Her grin turned wicked.
“She went straight to your mom’s house, which unfortunately gave Gramma Anairë time to confiscate her clothes for being too daring for the Noldor, even though they were ones Arwen made and she would never have put anything scandalous on either of us.”
There were smothered coughs all around, and an outright laugh from Ambarussa’s direction.
Makalaurë pinched the bridge of his nose.
“How badly did it go?” he asked resignedly.
“Not as bad as you seem to think,” she replied. “I mean, Gramma Nerdanel wasn’t going to let her go wearing nothing.”
“Which was of course her logical fallback,” Makalaurë sighed. “So? What happened?”
Tindomiel looked positively gleeful.
“It turns out Uncle Moryo is a really awesome tailor.”
Maitimo gave the girl a look.
“You do realize that as his brothers we are aware of his talents, pitya?”
“Yeah, but you’re not aware of whose clothes he repurposed for her,” she grinned.
They waited expectantly.
“They’re not going to give you the satisfaction of guessing,” Curvo sniffed.
As usual Tindomiel pretended not to hear. Tyelko was still humoring her on the ‘not speaking to me’ front, but sign language was allowed these days, so he shrugged and give her a ridiculously exaggerated look of curiosity.
“According to Uncle Moryo, Uncle Tyelkormo’s tunic was the closest thing to perfect for her he could work with in so short a time,” she informed them - for once speaking straight to the uncle in question.
“Tindomiel Elerondiel,” Makalaurë began sternly, only to have his younger brother cut him off.
“Did it look all right on her?” Tyelko asked, sounding surprisingly sincere.
Tindomiel blinked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I mean, minor scandal due to it being open all the way down her back and sleeveless, so actually racier by Tirion standards than what Arwen made, but she liked it.”
“Good,” Tyelko said in satisfaction.
“Was that the only scandal?” Makalaurë asked warily.
“The only public one,” Tindomiel replied cheerfully. “There was the whole ‘oh my stars how did she hide so many weapons under that skimpy dress’ thing at dinner, but that was just family. And honestly, Gramma Anairë and Gramma Eärwen took it a lot better than I would have thought. Your mother was the only one who did the disappointed thing.”
“I’m starting to see why Moryo thought of me,” Tyelko beamed. “I like her already.”
Tindomiel stuck out her tongue.
“Ammë didn’t tell her no weapons at court?” Maitimo asked suspiciously. “I recall several conversations on that theme even before Atto drew a sword on Uncle…”
“Yeah, but she made the mistake of being specific,” Tindomiel explained with a snicker. “She told her she couldn’t bring Calaliltië.”
Maitimo looked puzzled, as did the rest of their brothers, so Makalaurë took it upon himself to explain when Tindomiel didn’t.
“Her favorite sword,” he said drily. “Made by Maeglin in Ondolindë, though no one has ever offered a satisfactory theory on how it got from there to the Trollshaws.”
“That’s because no one actually knows,” Tindomiel pointed out. “Wild guesses is the best anyone came up with, even Anariel.”
“So she left the sword at home?” Maitimo prompted.
“She must have, because she didn’t bring it with her. She was kinda pouty about it.”
“What did she bring?” Makalaurë asked, with an air of one bracing for bad news.
“Two daggers of her own, two of his-” she waved in Tyelko’s direction, “which she later complained about the balance of, a hair clip some Lindarin smith who used to be Uncle Eöl’s apprentice gifted her, and she also helpfully pointed out that a dwarf-made necklace is sturdy enough to use as a garotte should the occasion arise.”
Curvo made a strangled noise, but it was Tyelko’s chuckle that drew all eyes.
“Yep, definitely like her,” he said in satisfaction. “She sounds like someone put the best of Artë and Lúthien together. We’re going to have so much fun when I get out of here.”
It was difficult to say who looked more appalled, Curvo or Tindomiel.
Makalaurë decided it was probably best for everyone not to point that out today.
“Yeah, well, before you get too excited, I should probably warn you she took over your room,” Tindomiel said. “Something about it being closest to the workshop.”
She looked slightly surprised by the utter silence that greeted that from all quarters.
“I thought you might want to know. Just in case you’re also the type to go climbing into windows unannounced when you’re sneaking in. Anariel’s really good at hitting things with throwing knives even if you’ve just woken her up…”
“And you know this how?” Tyelko asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The workshop,” Curvo said in an utterly flat tone, cutting off whatever story Tindomiel had been about to tell.
“Atto’s workshop?” Makalaurë spluttered.
“Yep,” Tindomiel grinned. “She’s got plans. Which she’s not sharing. Because if she did Grandpa Nolo would probably insist on helping and she wants to do it herself.”
“This sounds oddly familiar, but possibly in a slightly more wholesome way,” Maitimo murmured to Makalaurë.
Makalaurë sighed.
“Remember when I told people not to give the girls bad ideas because they had enough of their very own?”