Aug 20 - No Place Like Home (Wherever That Is)
Title: No Place Like Home (Wherever That Is)
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: Anariel's feeling a bit discombobulated.
Word Count: 540
Note: Sorry, on a roll with a long fic and need to make hay while the sun shines. Tomorrow may be short also. Will make up for it Monday!
Anariel watched the fountain bubbling merrily.
She hadn’t expected there would be such extensive gardens in Tirion. She hadn’t even seen half of them yet.
“You don’t have to keep to the paths, you know.”
She looked up to find Arador offering a chilled glass of a clear drink.
“You’ve been out here a while,” he said, no doubt catching her unasked question.
She sipped cautiously. There had been enough new foods and drinks this morning. She wasn’t neophobic or anything, but there was only so much a girl could take in at once. Happily, it was just blessedly cold, refreshing water.
“Your brothers are hiding out in Aunt Nerdanel’s rooms,” Arador continued. “So I thought I’d come see what you were up to.”
“Just hanging out,” she shrugged.
“Tindomiel said you might like to know dinner tonight will be low-key, and Grandmother says you can take it wherever you wish.”
Anariel wasn’t entirely sure she’d understood that.
“I think most of us are going to picnic in the gardens,” Arador explained. “Not necessarily all in the same section.”
“Ah.”
“Also, I can show you the armory if you really want to see it that badly.”
“I don’t think that’s really your priority, is it?” she sighed. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Are you?” he asked bluntly.
“That obvious?” she said ruefully.
“Aunt Galadriel told Grandfather you’re not used to so much family around and we need to give you more time. It occurred to me that someone used to coming and going as she pleased might just go if we were being too much.”
Anariel laughed.
“If I’m not here, I suspect that will give other sets of relatives a chance to be too much,” she admitted. “Might as well stick around here and let at least one set calm down before I try my luck anywhere else.”
Arador nodded.
“You can tell me to… bug her off? if you want to.”
He looked relieved to see that got her to smile.
“Bugger,” she corrected. “It’s bugger off, though that’s not exactly our kind of California.”
She’d long ago given up trying to explain non-Middle Earth’s geopolitical divisions to most elves; all English was California regardless of whether it was a Scooby-ism, standard American English, the Queen’s English, or whatever it was Spike used. (Considerably less tweedy than Giles’ English was all she knew.)
“You’re awfully fascinated by the fountain,” Arador observed.
“Yeah, the water looks nice and cool,” she said wistfully.
She might remember southern California fondly, but it turned out her notions of comfortable temperature had reset somewhat in her years in Ennor. Tirion was tropical, and it was warm enough that she’d have taken a dip in one of the swimming holes back home. (No longer home, she reminded herself. Imlanthiriath was home now, even if she’d barely gotten to see it.)
“You can wade in it,” Arador suggested. “We all did when we were kids. And once in a while even once we weren’t…”
She grinned. She was already barefoot, so it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Come on, then,”
Arador didn’t even hesitate, shucking his shoes off swiftly.
They were still splashing around when Aunt Amarië came to find her son for dinner several hours later.
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: Anariel's feeling a bit discombobulated.
Word Count: 540
Note: Sorry, on a roll with a long fic and need to make hay while the sun shines. Tomorrow may be short also. Will make up for it Monday!
Anariel watched the fountain bubbling merrily.
She hadn’t expected there would be such extensive gardens in Tirion. She hadn’t even seen half of them yet.
“You don’t have to keep to the paths, you know.”
She looked up to find Arador offering a chilled glass of a clear drink.
“You’ve been out here a while,” he said, no doubt catching her unasked question.
She sipped cautiously. There had been enough new foods and drinks this morning. She wasn’t neophobic or anything, but there was only so much a girl could take in at once. Happily, it was just blessedly cold, refreshing water.
“Your brothers are hiding out in Aunt Nerdanel’s rooms,” Arador continued. “So I thought I’d come see what you were up to.”
“Just hanging out,” she shrugged.
“Tindomiel said you might like to know dinner tonight will be low-key, and Grandmother says you can take it wherever you wish.”
Anariel wasn’t entirely sure she’d understood that.
“I think most of us are going to picnic in the gardens,” Arador explained. “Not necessarily all in the same section.”
“Ah.”
“Also, I can show you the armory if you really want to see it that badly.”
“I don’t think that’s really your priority, is it?” she sighed. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Are you?” he asked bluntly.
“That obvious?” she said ruefully.
“Aunt Galadriel told Grandfather you’re not used to so much family around and we need to give you more time. It occurred to me that someone used to coming and going as she pleased might just go if we were being too much.”
Anariel laughed.
“If I’m not here, I suspect that will give other sets of relatives a chance to be too much,” she admitted. “Might as well stick around here and let at least one set calm down before I try my luck anywhere else.”
Arador nodded.
“You can tell me to… bug her off? if you want to.”
He looked relieved to see that got her to smile.
“Bugger,” she corrected. “It’s bugger off, though that’s not exactly our kind of California.”
She’d long ago given up trying to explain non-Middle Earth’s geopolitical divisions to most elves; all English was California regardless of whether it was a Scooby-ism, standard American English, the Queen’s English, or whatever it was Spike used. (Considerably less tweedy than Giles’ English was all she knew.)
“You’re awfully fascinated by the fountain,” Arador observed.
“Yeah, the water looks nice and cool,” she said wistfully.
She might remember southern California fondly, but it turned out her notions of comfortable temperature had reset somewhat in her years in Ennor. Tirion was tropical, and it was warm enough that she’d have taken a dip in one of the swimming holes back home. (No longer home, she reminded herself. Imlanthiriath was home now, even if she’d barely gotten to see it.)
“You can wade in it,” Arador suggested. “We all did when we were kids. And once in a while even once we weren’t…”
She grinned. She was already barefoot, so it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Come on, then,”
Arador didn’t even hesitate, shucking his shoes off swiftly.
They were still splashing around when Aunt Amarië came to find her son for dinner several hours later.