Aug 18 - Mixed Up, Muddled Up
Title: Mixed Up, Muddled Up
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: The aftermath of the sparring session leads to some surprises.
Word Count: 1500
Note: Woohoo, look at me not waiting until almost midnight to post.
Arafinwë laid a restraining hand on his brother’s shoulder.
I am as alarmed as you are, Nolo, but you will not help matters if you startled them!
“I rather doubt you are,” Nolo ground out.
You weren’t the one who was stomped to death.
Arafinwë sighed. Anariel’s rather cavalier attitude toward her own safety had worried his brother ever since the War of the Ring, and now that he’d seen her actually injured here in Aman, his worries had only increased.
Anairë’s had tapered off, though she had been rather upset with poor Lomion.
“She hasn’t yet figured out that the girl thinks that was a minor injury,” Nolo explained tersely.
They rounded the curve of the path to find what looked to be a multi-way fight going on. Anariel was rather gleefully stabbing Celeborn in the back while her older brother tried to get at Lómion.
“Stay this now,” Nolo ordered in a voice that would have made even Morgoth take notice.
Celeborn had apparently already considered himself out, for he simply moved to join Eöl, Elladan, and Tindomiel in what must serve as the non-combatants’ area.
Anariel dropped into a crouch.
Elrohir, however, flicked a knife at his little sister - which she caught one handed, with a glare that was more disdainful than fierce.
“What is the meaning of this?” Arafinwë asked sternly, before Nolo could start berating anyone.
Anariel cocked her head, a look of pure confusion on her face.
“The meaning of what?” she asked. “Don’t people spar here?”
“It usually looks a little less like Kinslaying when they do,” Nolo growled, glaring at Celeborn and Eöl.
“Pretty sure Kinslaying involved considerably more bloodshed,” Anariel said, after evaluating her opponents carefully. “I don’t think anyone is so much as marked.
“Your tunic has a rip in the back,” Elrohir offered helpfully.
“Pfft, clothes can be fixed. And whose fault was that anyway?”
Elrohir was silent, but made it clear he was sure it wasn’t his.
“You could always try sparring with her, Grandfather,” Elladan suggested to Nolo, his tone just shy of cheeky enough to warrant a reprimand.
“Not today.”
Unexpectedly, that came from Anariel herself, and with unlooked for firmness.
Arafinwë caught only the tail end of the rapid-fire conversation that passed between the three children, but the conclusion was that Nolo was deemed not up to the task and she had no desire for him to be further upset.
He’d share the latter thought with his brother when Nolo was calmer, but definitely not the former.
Arafinwë sighed.
Nolo was itching to tell off his law-son, and Arafinwë had a similar desire to speak to Celeborn. But it was clear that doing so in front of the young ones was not the best idea.
“Tinwë, I do believe we upset your grandmothers with our precipitous departure. Perhaps you could go soothe Anairë?”
She didn’t need to be told twice, and Lómion went with her.
“Celeborn, be good enough to see the boys to their parents,” he continued.
The twins gave him a long look before leaving with a measured step that was neither protest nor defiance but considering both. Celeborn’s expression left it clear that he was unimpressed.
Arafinwë supposed they could be thankful that Daeron had departed quietly the previous evening, otherwise he didn’t doubt Noldor-Sindar relations would get even more interesting than they already were.
“Anariel, walk with me,” he sighed.
“You stay here, Eöl,” Nolo snapped.
Arafinwë decided that the state of Nolo’s temper meant they should move briskly. The girl’s hearing might be sharp enough to catch the coming explosion no matter what, but he’d just as soon not have her present for it.
They made it nearly to the water garden before Anariel glanced back with a slightly concerned look. Yes, Nolo was in fine form.
“Is that usual for you?” he asked, looking both to distract her as well as gain a better understanding.
“What, teams?” she replied. “Yeah. I mean, we haven’t really had enough people with the skills left to do that at Imladris for several years, so it was kinda nice even if Ro cheated a bit at the end.”
Ah. In which case, they had interrupted a welcome treat.
“It seems the sort of game likely to result in injury. Not to mention, easily taken amiss by those not familiar with it.”
“Pretty much everyone was,” she shrugged. “The whole valley knew what I could do.”
“Including those orcs you relocated.”
“Yeah, we didn’t spar with them. That really could have been taken the wrong way and ended in bloodshed,” she told him seriously. “I mean, by around fifty years after Ada and Nana sailed, it was even numbers, and both of us increasingly outnumbered by Men.”
“And it was only Men who would have taken it amiss?” Arafinwë asked, leading her into the water garden proper. It was a favorite of both his mother and his children, particularly when the children had been young.
“Yeah,” she said, sounding a bit irritated by it. “Even though they hadn’t dealt with orcs nearly as long as elves had, they’re the ones who were more with the holding of grudges. So we had to make sure Burzúk’s whole band looked very peaceable at all times. Otherwise, sparring would have been more interesting, at least until the last of them sailed.”
Arafinwë couldn’t help but wonder what the older elves of Imladris had thought of their lady’s unprecedented idea to bring allegedly peaceable orcs into the hidden valley. As he understood it, not allowing anyone even suspected of having been subject to the tortures that were the first step on the path to the making of orcs into elven strongholds had a long history across the Sea.
Even here, in the Blessed Land, the first adult orcs coming off of ships had caused quite the sensation in Alqualondë and beyond.
He sat on the edge of one of the fountains, and permitted himself a small smile as Anariel tried to take the water garden in without obviously staring at anything.
“You’ll find the Lindar of Alqualondë are very fond of fountains and tilework,” he told her. “This garden was designed with my wife in mind.”
“Your work?” she asked curiously, looking for the first time that morning more like a granddaughter than a self-possessed adolescent dropped into a world turned upside down.
“I contributed some suggestions,” he laughed, “but the layout was Mother’s doing, and the tilework was done by masters from Alqualondë. We’ve yet to have any in the family.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “It’s pretty. I like the swans.”
He grinned. Master Duimiel would doubtless be pleased to hear her work was appreciated by those who had no idea of her reputation.
“Would it be terrible to ask you to skip sparring for a few days?” he asked.
“No,” Anariel shrugged. “But you could have just gone with that in the first place. And Uncle Eöl already saw the error of his ways before the chewing out.”
Arafinwë was torn between sighing, laughing, and asking why she hadn’t invited them out for that part. He for one wouldn’t have minded seeing it.
“Next time, maybe,” she said. “I kinda doubt he’s going to want Grandfather Nolofinwë there for it, though. Uncle Eöl’s old school.”
“This is a California idiom?” Arafinwë asked cautiously.
He’d heard some from Tinwë, of course, but he’d been warned they were much more common from Anariel.
“Yeah, it’s another way of saying old-fashioned without it sounding like it’s a bad thing,” she clarified.
“And being…old school means he will not want his law-father watching?”
“No, he’s old school in that he pushes us, especially if he thinks other people are going too easy,” she explained. “So if Grandfather Nolofinwë was that bothered by a sparring match that wasn’t going all that hard, I doubt he wants to see what pushing it looks like.”
Arafinwë needed a moment to parse that. He understood that the child didn’t intend to be unintelligible, but the effect was there all the same.
“Also, he might be a little annoyed at the telling-off,” Anariel concluded.
Yes, there was that.
Are you coming back to rescue Eöl?
Anariel snickered.
Ingo sounded rather worried.
At some point his patience is going to wear thin, particularly given that his people wouldn’t see a blessed thing wrong with his conduct.
“Oh, they would, just not what you all did,” Anariel said cheerfully.
“I don’t see how we’re going to distract Nolo,” Arafinwë said.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Anariel said thoughtfully. “Watch, I bet this does the trick.”
Ro, you still haven’t shown me where the armory is!
She’d been loud enough that it was likely even Moryo had heard her.
There was utter silence from the direction of the blue garden.
“Yes, I think that did it, pitya,” Arafinwë sighed.
How had Moryo put it? An unholy combination of Artanis and Tyelkormo?
And Lúthien, Anariel added brightly. Don’t forget her.
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: The aftermath of the sparring session leads to some surprises.
Word Count: 1500
Note: Woohoo, look at me not waiting until almost midnight to post.
Arafinwë laid a restraining hand on his brother’s shoulder.
I am as alarmed as you are, Nolo, but you will not help matters if you startled them!
“I rather doubt you are,” Nolo ground out.
You weren’t the one who was stomped to death.
Arafinwë sighed. Anariel’s rather cavalier attitude toward her own safety had worried his brother ever since the War of the Ring, and now that he’d seen her actually injured here in Aman, his worries had only increased.
Anairë’s had tapered off, though she had been rather upset with poor Lomion.
“She hasn’t yet figured out that the girl thinks that was a minor injury,” Nolo explained tersely.
They rounded the curve of the path to find what looked to be a multi-way fight going on. Anariel was rather gleefully stabbing Celeborn in the back while her older brother tried to get at Lómion.
“Stay this now,” Nolo ordered in a voice that would have made even Morgoth take notice.
Celeborn had apparently already considered himself out, for he simply moved to join Eöl, Elladan, and Tindomiel in what must serve as the non-combatants’ area.
Anariel dropped into a crouch.
Elrohir, however, flicked a knife at his little sister - which she caught one handed, with a glare that was more disdainful than fierce.
“What is the meaning of this?” Arafinwë asked sternly, before Nolo could start berating anyone.
Anariel cocked her head, a look of pure confusion on her face.
“The meaning of what?” she asked. “Don’t people spar here?”
“It usually looks a little less like Kinslaying when they do,” Nolo growled, glaring at Celeborn and Eöl.
“Pretty sure Kinslaying involved considerably more bloodshed,” Anariel said, after evaluating her opponents carefully. “I don’t think anyone is so much as marked.
“Your tunic has a rip in the back,” Elrohir offered helpfully.
“Pfft, clothes can be fixed. And whose fault was that anyway?”
Elrohir was silent, but made it clear he was sure it wasn’t his.
“You could always try sparring with her, Grandfather,” Elladan suggested to Nolo, his tone just shy of cheeky enough to warrant a reprimand.
“Not today.”
Unexpectedly, that came from Anariel herself, and with unlooked for firmness.
Arafinwë caught only the tail end of the rapid-fire conversation that passed between the three children, but the conclusion was that Nolo was deemed not up to the task and she had no desire for him to be further upset.
He’d share the latter thought with his brother when Nolo was calmer, but definitely not the former.
Arafinwë sighed.
Nolo was itching to tell off his law-son, and Arafinwë had a similar desire to speak to Celeborn. But it was clear that doing so in front of the young ones was not the best idea.
“Tinwë, I do believe we upset your grandmothers with our precipitous departure. Perhaps you could go soothe Anairë?”
She didn’t need to be told twice, and Lómion went with her.
“Celeborn, be good enough to see the boys to their parents,” he continued.
The twins gave him a long look before leaving with a measured step that was neither protest nor defiance but considering both. Celeborn’s expression left it clear that he was unimpressed.
Arafinwë supposed they could be thankful that Daeron had departed quietly the previous evening, otherwise he didn’t doubt Noldor-Sindar relations would get even more interesting than they already were.
“Anariel, walk with me,” he sighed.
“You stay here, Eöl,” Nolo snapped.
Arafinwë decided that the state of Nolo’s temper meant they should move briskly. The girl’s hearing might be sharp enough to catch the coming explosion no matter what, but he’d just as soon not have her present for it.
They made it nearly to the water garden before Anariel glanced back with a slightly concerned look. Yes, Nolo was in fine form.
“Is that usual for you?” he asked, looking both to distract her as well as gain a better understanding.
“What, teams?” she replied. “Yeah. I mean, we haven’t really had enough people with the skills left to do that at Imladris for several years, so it was kinda nice even if Ro cheated a bit at the end.”
Ah. In which case, they had interrupted a welcome treat.
“It seems the sort of game likely to result in injury. Not to mention, easily taken amiss by those not familiar with it.”
“Pretty much everyone was,” she shrugged. “The whole valley knew what I could do.”
“Including those orcs you relocated.”
“Yeah, we didn’t spar with them. That really could have been taken the wrong way and ended in bloodshed,” she told him seriously. “I mean, by around fifty years after Ada and Nana sailed, it was even numbers, and both of us increasingly outnumbered by Men.”
“And it was only Men who would have taken it amiss?” Arafinwë asked, leading her into the water garden proper. It was a favorite of both his mother and his children, particularly when the children had been young.
“Yeah,” she said, sounding a bit irritated by it. “Even though they hadn’t dealt with orcs nearly as long as elves had, they’re the ones who were more with the holding of grudges. So we had to make sure Burzúk’s whole band looked very peaceable at all times. Otherwise, sparring would have been more interesting, at least until the last of them sailed.”
Arafinwë couldn’t help but wonder what the older elves of Imladris had thought of their lady’s unprecedented idea to bring allegedly peaceable orcs into the hidden valley. As he understood it, not allowing anyone even suspected of having been subject to the tortures that were the first step on the path to the making of orcs into elven strongholds had a long history across the Sea.
Even here, in the Blessed Land, the first adult orcs coming off of ships had caused quite the sensation in Alqualondë and beyond.
He sat on the edge of one of the fountains, and permitted himself a small smile as Anariel tried to take the water garden in without obviously staring at anything.
“You’ll find the Lindar of Alqualondë are very fond of fountains and tilework,” he told her. “This garden was designed with my wife in mind.”
“Your work?” she asked curiously, looking for the first time that morning more like a granddaughter than a self-possessed adolescent dropped into a world turned upside down.
“I contributed some suggestions,” he laughed, “but the layout was Mother’s doing, and the tilework was done by masters from Alqualondë. We’ve yet to have any in the family.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “It’s pretty. I like the swans.”
He grinned. Master Duimiel would doubtless be pleased to hear her work was appreciated by those who had no idea of her reputation.
“Would it be terrible to ask you to skip sparring for a few days?” he asked.
“No,” Anariel shrugged. “But you could have just gone with that in the first place. And Uncle Eöl already saw the error of his ways before the chewing out.”
Arafinwë was torn between sighing, laughing, and asking why she hadn’t invited them out for that part. He for one wouldn’t have minded seeing it.
“Next time, maybe,” she said. “I kinda doubt he’s going to want Grandfather Nolofinwë there for it, though. Uncle Eöl’s old school.”
“This is a California idiom?” Arafinwë asked cautiously.
He’d heard some from Tinwë, of course, but he’d been warned they were much more common from Anariel.
“Yeah, it’s another way of saying old-fashioned without it sounding like it’s a bad thing,” she clarified.
“And being…old school means he will not want his law-father watching?”
“No, he’s old school in that he pushes us, especially if he thinks other people are going too easy,” she explained. “So if Grandfather Nolofinwë was that bothered by a sparring match that wasn’t going all that hard, I doubt he wants to see what pushing it looks like.”
Arafinwë needed a moment to parse that. He understood that the child didn’t intend to be unintelligible, but the effect was there all the same.
“Also, he might be a little annoyed at the telling-off,” Anariel concluded.
Yes, there was that.
Are you coming back to rescue Eöl?
Anariel snickered.
Ingo sounded rather worried.
At some point his patience is going to wear thin, particularly given that his people wouldn’t see a blessed thing wrong with his conduct.
“Oh, they would, just not what you all did,” Anariel said cheerfully.
“I don’t see how we’re going to distract Nolo,” Arafinwë said.
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Anariel said thoughtfully. “Watch, I bet this does the trick.”
Ro, you still haven’t shown me where the armory is!
She’d been loud enough that it was likely even Moryo had heard her.
There was utter silence from the direction of the blue garden.
“Yes, I think that did it, pitya,” Arafinwë sighed.
How had Moryo put it? An unholy combination of Artanis and Tyelkormo?
And Lúthien, Anariel added brightly. Don’t forget her.