Aug 14 - Someone's In The Kitchen
Title: Someone's In The Kitchen
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: Anairë's an early riser.
Word Count: 720
Note: Silly injury means typing's a little uncomfortable tonight, so this is shorter and not at all what I originally had in mind for today.
Anairë had almost entered the kitchens to retrieve both breakfast and her youngest as though it were a normal morning. Fortunately, she realized what she was hearing and stopped before the occupants of the kitchen noticed her.
When she moved again, it was with the utmost care.
Peeking cautiously around the corner, she found Anariel and Anairon at work preparing breakfast.
Well, Anairon was at work. He might not have his mastery yet, but he would soon enough - and that was fact, not merely a mother’s pride. He had been putting in a good deal of extra time in the kitchens of late, as determined as anyone else that his best friend’s siblings would not find anything lacking their first time here.
Anariel’s culinary skills were entirely unknown, but the girl appeared to be assisting. And… stars above, the child was using one of the largest general purpose knives to relieve a melon of its rind as most would peel an apple or a pear.
“How thick did you want the slices?” she asked, surveying her handiwork.
Anairon did a slight double take at finding the melon wholly relieved of its rind, and Anariel looking around for something to scoop out the seeds with.
“Breakfast slices,” he said, handing her a large spoon, his voice trying for normal but not quite achieving it. “Like this?”
He indicated with his forefinger and thumb, and Anariel nodded. She dealt with the seeds quickly, then bent to her task with impressive efficiency. Anairë suspected mortal sight probably wouldn’t have been able to follow the knife.
Clearly the girl knew how to wield a blade in more than just battle.
“Can I trust you with the meat?” Anairon asked cautiously, indicating the cured ham usually served with the melon.
“I don’t know, can you?” Anariel asked brightly.
It was the same teasing note Anairë had once thought her daughter would take with the boy, but Irissë against expectation rarely teased her younger brother, generally preferring to spoil him instead.
After a beat, Anariel sighed.
“Yes, you can. I don’t know what stories Ada, Tinu, and Caraeson have told, but I really can cook without leaving the kitchen a shambles.”
“Caraeson?” Anairon asked. “Wasn’t he the head cook at Imladris?”
She nodded.
“I believe he makes his home south of Alqualondë these days, so I haven’t heard any stories from him. But Tinwë has plenty. The pizza story was interesting.”
Anariel huffed slightly as she sliced.
“Make a mess one time in your twenties and no one ever lets you live it down. I didn’t even know how half the things in an elvish kitchen worked at that point, much less what they were called.”
“California kitchens were that different?” Anairon asked, sounding puzzled.
“Well, yeah,” Anariel replied. “For a start, there’s no electricity in Ennor. And while wood fired pizza ovens might be traditional in Italy, our house in Sunnydale didn’t have one. So that was the first time trying to cook in that kind of oven for any of us.”
“I begin to understand the challenge, but I still don’t see what that had to do with there being flour on every horizontal surface.”
“None of us had ever made pizza from scratch before,” Anariel shrugged. “There was a lot of trial and error. And flour.”
Anairon handed her several eggs.
“Whites only, please,” he instructed.
Anariel cracked them with the same precision she’d sliced the ham.
“You don’t have to hang around,” Anairon said. “You could stick to your original plan of ‘finding something breakfast to eat out in the garden’. I already made the muffins your sister says you like. They’re on the warming hearth.”
“I’m not allowed to hang out?” Anariel asked brightly. “I haven’t even objected to being put to work.”
Anairë decided that it might be best to beat a quiet retreat. She was happy to give the children some quiet time to come to terms with each other - and in her son’s case, she knew that would be best achieved without an audience.
Besides, if Anariel was so determined to ‘hang out’, she might well end up taking breakfast with them. She hoped Anairon was clever enough to contrive it. But she’d take her chances. It wasn’t as though this would be the child’s last day in Tirion.
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: Anairë's an early riser.
Word Count: 720
Note: Silly injury means typing's a little uncomfortable tonight, so this is shorter and not at all what I originally had in mind for today.
Anairë had almost entered the kitchens to retrieve both breakfast and her youngest as though it were a normal morning. Fortunately, she realized what she was hearing and stopped before the occupants of the kitchen noticed her.
When she moved again, it was with the utmost care.
Peeking cautiously around the corner, she found Anariel and Anairon at work preparing breakfast.
Well, Anairon was at work. He might not have his mastery yet, but he would soon enough - and that was fact, not merely a mother’s pride. He had been putting in a good deal of extra time in the kitchens of late, as determined as anyone else that his best friend’s siblings would not find anything lacking their first time here.
Anariel’s culinary skills were entirely unknown, but the girl appeared to be assisting. And… stars above, the child was using one of the largest general purpose knives to relieve a melon of its rind as most would peel an apple or a pear.
“How thick did you want the slices?” she asked, surveying her handiwork.
Anairon did a slight double take at finding the melon wholly relieved of its rind, and Anariel looking around for something to scoop out the seeds with.
“Breakfast slices,” he said, handing her a large spoon, his voice trying for normal but not quite achieving it. “Like this?”
He indicated with his forefinger and thumb, and Anariel nodded. She dealt with the seeds quickly, then bent to her task with impressive efficiency. Anairë suspected mortal sight probably wouldn’t have been able to follow the knife.
Clearly the girl knew how to wield a blade in more than just battle.
“Can I trust you with the meat?” Anairon asked cautiously, indicating the cured ham usually served with the melon.
“I don’t know, can you?” Anariel asked brightly.
It was the same teasing note Anairë had once thought her daughter would take with the boy, but Irissë against expectation rarely teased her younger brother, generally preferring to spoil him instead.
After a beat, Anariel sighed.
“Yes, you can. I don’t know what stories Ada, Tinu, and Caraeson have told, but I really can cook without leaving the kitchen a shambles.”
“Caraeson?” Anairon asked. “Wasn’t he the head cook at Imladris?”
She nodded.
“I believe he makes his home south of Alqualondë these days, so I haven’t heard any stories from him. But Tinwë has plenty. The pizza story was interesting.”
Anariel huffed slightly as she sliced.
“Make a mess one time in your twenties and no one ever lets you live it down. I didn’t even know how half the things in an elvish kitchen worked at that point, much less what they were called.”
“California kitchens were that different?” Anairon asked, sounding puzzled.
“Well, yeah,” Anariel replied. “For a start, there’s no electricity in Ennor. And while wood fired pizza ovens might be traditional in Italy, our house in Sunnydale didn’t have one. So that was the first time trying to cook in that kind of oven for any of us.”
“I begin to understand the challenge, but I still don’t see what that had to do with there being flour on every horizontal surface.”
“None of us had ever made pizza from scratch before,” Anariel shrugged. “There was a lot of trial and error. And flour.”
Anairon handed her several eggs.
“Whites only, please,” he instructed.
Anariel cracked them with the same precision she’d sliced the ham.
“You don’t have to hang around,” Anairon said. “You could stick to your original plan of ‘finding something breakfast to eat out in the garden’. I already made the muffins your sister says you like. They’re on the warming hearth.”
“I’m not allowed to hang out?” Anariel asked brightly. “I haven’t even objected to being put to work.”
Anairë decided that it might be best to beat a quiet retreat. She was happy to give the children some quiet time to come to terms with each other - and in her son’s case, she knew that would be best achieved without an audience.
Besides, if Anariel was so determined to ‘hang out’, she might well end up taking breakfast with them. She hoped Anairon was clever enough to contrive it. But she’d take her chances. It wasn’t as though this would be the child’s last day in Tirion.