Aug 23 - This Is My Happy Place
Title: This Is My Happy Place
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 indulges in a little nostalgia and discovers something new.
Word Count: 1310
Note: Out of time. Trying for longer (and earlier) tomorrow.
Anariel leaned back against the tree, watching Lissë and Gildor dancing. Gildor was trying to teach her one of the Sindarin dances, and Lissë’s other brothers were calling out wholly advice.
“I don’t see how you two think you’re helping,” she laughed as poor Lissë almost tried to move both feet in the same direction at once and realized just in time. “You don’t know what this one is supposed to look like any more than she does!”
“A fair point,” Aunt Amarië said before anyone could protest. “Anarya, maybe if you and Gildor were to demonstrate?”
Lissë nodded gratefully, and settled in next to her mother. (She was apparently too grown up to make faces at Gilrod. Anariel didn’t see why - she would have.)
It was one of the springtime dances, with lots of skipping steps, and normally done with a crowd and everyone switching partners periodically, so it was a bit odd to try it not only without the music, but with only one partner.
Just go with it. And for the love of Vana, don’t tell her how much I’d hear about it if Thranduil ever caught me at this one.
Anariel snickered. She and her sibilings had never thought of Gildor as particularly Noldorin, but Thranduil did.
They did two complete rounds of the dance before they stopped, with Anariel explaining as they went where they would normally have changed partners.
“If you learn this one properly by the festival, you can try it with a group, like it’s meant to be,” Gildor told his sister. “You can probably practice with that one and her brothers.”
Anariel was by now not surprised that Tindomiel wasn’t offered. It hadn’t taken long to find out that Lissë had tried a little too hard to be a big sister figure when Tinu had just arrived and was smarting at the loss of one sister permanently and the prospect of a long separation from the other. She wasn’t sure yet if it would be a forgivable offense with time and patience, or if Lissë was going to be the odd girl out permanently.
“What about California dances?” Lissë asked curiously.
“Um, formal dances like this weren’t really a thing in our part of California,” Anariel answered. “It was more… freeform.”
Elven dancing had been a bit of a surprise to teens and twenty-somethings who had grown up with the anything goes style they were used to. Oddly, it had been Xander who had taken to it the easiest. He’d even gotten a few elves to try the Snoopy dance. (Glorfindel had steadfastly refused. Xander’s repeated and ongoing attempts to convince him to try it had become a standing joke. Even in a world without video cameras, the balrog slayer of Gondolin had maintained that ‘poor excuse for a dance’ was below his dignity. They’d never told him Celeborn had no such reservations.)
“Maybe you’ll get to see some of that at the festival too,” Gildor snickered.
Anariel stuck out her tongue.
“Another traditional California gesture,” Gildor explained, doing an impression of Miryo in lecture mode. “Usually used as a sign of great respect for one’s elders.”
“So I’ll see you doing that to Grandfather later?” Anariel asked brightly.
Arador snickered.
His father sighed.
“Very definitely Artë’s granddaughter,” he said.
“Was there any doubt?” Anariel asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A few others have been trying to lay claim,” Aunt Amarië told her. “But some may change their minds when they find out your sister was if anything understating the case.”
“And on that cheerful note,” Anariel grinned. “I will say good night.”
“It’s only just gone midnight!” Gilrod said in surprise.
“I sleep most nights,” Anariel shrugged. “Not as much as Tinu, but I still do.”
As long as she’d lived among elves, she was used to new folks being a bit taken aback how much sleep she and her sister needed. She could skip nights, several if she needed to, and still function all right, but it still felt wrong. She wasn’t sure if it was her or the Slayer that needed that daily downtime, but one of them did.
She had also reluctantly concluded it was better to emphasize now that she slept nightly. Skipping sleep wasn’t going to happen much these next few months, or possibly even next few years. Not unless she wanted it to be a horror show every time she slept.
A look from Uncle Finrod quelled any further protests.
“In that case we wish you a restful night,” he said. “Are you sure you know the way back to your rooms from here?”
“I think so,” Anariel said. “That way, right? And it’s not like I can get too lost- I like to think I’d notice if I wandered outside the palace or the grounds.”
“You’d definitely know,” Arador assured her.
“Yell if you get lost,” was Gildor’s helpful parting advice.
Anariel wasn’t trying to take the long way back - she actually felt like she was on a path that was a shorter route than the way out had been - but somehow she still wound up in a section of the gardens she hadn’t seen yet.
And a building she hadn’t seen yet either. She hesitated only a second before peeking inside on the logic that it definitely wasn’t anyone’s rooms - those were all in the main house - and no one had told her she couldn’t. (She might have been more cautious if there had been anything other than personal rooms that were out of bounds, but so far it appeared to be ok to go pretty much everywhere.)
“Oh,” she murmured.
Elrohir wouldn’t need to show her after all.
The armory of the Noldorin royal family was as fancy as any of the public rooms. The weapons racks were functional but also designed for display. Some of the swords looked more decorative than functional, but most of what she could see would work just fine in the field.
The lights came up as she entered - more of those nifty lamps - and illuminated a pretty impressive range of weaponry and armor. Including, she was surprised to note, her own from the Ring War. She laid a careful hand on it, almost as though it were an old friend. She had taken it off after the Morannon and never put it on again.
Wish you were here, she thought, even though she knew that no matter what the outcome of their mission, Wills, Anya, and Xander would never have sailed. They probably would have gone from old age by now.
She really ought to tell Arador the story about how she and Xander had charged into that battle yelling “Peace!”
It wasn’t just her old ghosts that were here, though.
She recognized some of the other weapons. The spear that had pride of place was definitely Aeglos, and the sword opposite was either Ringil or an excellent recreation of it. (Had the Eagles saved the sword and the mended shield behind it? Surely not. Why would they bother with those?)
There were other swords she didn’t recognize, and shields that she did. Racks upon racks of spears and daggers, banners draped from the ceilings…
It was comforting, albeit probably only to her.
This was all a reminder that for everything Morgoth had thrown at them, her family were still here. Maybe not all of them, not yet, but they would be. She would make sure of it.
And now that she thought about it, no one was going to look for her here. At least, not any time before morning. So one of the low chairs probably meant to sit on while putting on armor should it ever actually be needful here was as good a place to get a good night’s sleep as any.
She really didn’t want to be interrupted for this one.
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 indulges in a little nostalgia and discovers something new.
Word Count: 1310
Note: Out of time. Trying for longer (and earlier) tomorrow.
Anariel leaned back against the tree, watching Lissë and Gildor dancing. Gildor was trying to teach her one of the Sindarin dances, and Lissë’s other brothers were calling out wholly advice.
“I don’t see how you two think you’re helping,” she laughed as poor Lissë almost tried to move both feet in the same direction at once and realized just in time. “You don’t know what this one is supposed to look like any more than she does!”
“A fair point,” Aunt Amarië said before anyone could protest. “Anarya, maybe if you and Gildor were to demonstrate?”
Lissë nodded gratefully, and settled in next to her mother. (She was apparently too grown up to make faces at Gilrod. Anariel didn’t see why - she would have.)
It was one of the springtime dances, with lots of skipping steps, and normally done with a crowd and everyone switching partners periodically, so it was a bit odd to try it not only without the music, but with only one partner.
Just go with it. And for the love of Vana, don’t tell her how much I’d hear about it if Thranduil ever caught me at this one.
Anariel snickered. She and her sibilings had never thought of Gildor as particularly Noldorin, but Thranduil did.
They did two complete rounds of the dance before they stopped, with Anariel explaining as they went where they would normally have changed partners.
“If you learn this one properly by the festival, you can try it with a group, like it’s meant to be,” Gildor told his sister. “You can probably practice with that one and her brothers.”
Anariel was by now not surprised that Tindomiel wasn’t offered. It hadn’t taken long to find out that Lissë had tried a little too hard to be a big sister figure when Tinu had just arrived and was smarting at the loss of one sister permanently and the prospect of a long separation from the other. She wasn’t sure yet if it would be a forgivable offense with time and patience, or if Lissë was going to be the odd girl out permanently.
“What about California dances?” Lissë asked curiously.
“Um, formal dances like this weren’t really a thing in our part of California,” Anariel answered. “It was more… freeform.”
Elven dancing had been a bit of a surprise to teens and twenty-somethings who had grown up with the anything goes style they were used to. Oddly, it had been Xander who had taken to it the easiest. He’d even gotten a few elves to try the Snoopy dance. (Glorfindel had steadfastly refused. Xander’s repeated and ongoing attempts to convince him to try it had become a standing joke. Even in a world without video cameras, the balrog slayer of Gondolin had maintained that ‘poor excuse for a dance’ was below his dignity. They’d never told him Celeborn had no such reservations.)
“Maybe you’ll get to see some of that at the festival too,” Gildor snickered.
Anariel stuck out her tongue.
“Another traditional California gesture,” Gildor explained, doing an impression of Miryo in lecture mode. “Usually used as a sign of great respect for one’s elders.”
“So I’ll see you doing that to Grandfather later?” Anariel asked brightly.
Arador snickered.
His father sighed.
“Very definitely Artë’s granddaughter,” he said.
“Was there any doubt?” Anariel asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A few others have been trying to lay claim,” Aunt Amarië told her. “But some may change their minds when they find out your sister was if anything understating the case.”
“And on that cheerful note,” Anariel grinned. “I will say good night.”
“It’s only just gone midnight!” Gilrod said in surprise.
“I sleep most nights,” Anariel shrugged. “Not as much as Tinu, but I still do.”
As long as she’d lived among elves, she was used to new folks being a bit taken aback how much sleep she and her sister needed. She could skip nights, several if she needed to, and still function all right, but it still felt wrong. She wasn’t sure if it was her or the Slayer that needed that daily downtime, but one of them did.
She had also reluctantly concluded it was better to emphasize now that she slept nightly. Skipping sleep wasn’t going to happen much these next few months, or possibly even next few years. Not unless she wanted it to be a horror show every time she slept.
A look from Uncle Finrod quelled any further protests.
“In that case we wish you a restful night,” he said. “Are you sure you know the way back to your rooms from here?”
“I think so,” Anariel said. “That way, right? And it’s not like I can get too lost- I like to think I’d notice if I wandered outside the palace or the grounds.”
“You’d definitely know,” Arador assured her.
“Yell if you get lost,” was Gildor’s helpful parting advice.
Anariel wasn’t trying to take the long way back - she actually felt like she was on a path that was a shorter route than the way out had been - but somehow she still wound up in a section of the gardens she hadn’t seen yet.
And a building she hadn’t seen yet either. She hesitated only a second before peeking inside on the logic that it definitely wasn’t anyone’s rooms - those were all in the main house - and no one had told her she couldn’t. (She might have been more cautious if there had been anything other than personal rooms that were out of bounds, but so far it appeared to be ok to go pretty much everywhere.)
“Oh,” she murmured.
Elrohir wouldn’t need to show her after all.
The armory of the Noldorin royal family was as fancy as any of the public rooms. The weapons racks were functional but also designed for display. Some of the swords looked more decorative than functional, but most of what she could see would work just fine in the field.
The lights came up as she entered - more of those nifty lamps - and illuminated a pretty impressive range of weaponry and armor. Including, she was surprised to note, her own from the Ring War. She laid a careful hand on it, almost as though it were an old friend. She had taken it off after the Morannon and never put it on again.
Wish you were here, she thought, even though she knew that no matter what the outcome of their mission, Wills, Anya, and Xander would never have sailed. They probably would have gone from old age by now.
She really ought to tell Arador the story about how she and Xander had charged into that battle yelling “Peace!”
It wasn’t just her old ghosts that were here, though.
She recognized some of the other weapons. The spear that had pride of place was definitely Aeglos, and the sword opposite was either Ringil or an excellent recreation of it. (Had the Eagles saved the sword and the mended shield behind it? Surely not. Why would they bother with those?)
There were other swords she didn’t recognize, and shields that she did. Racks upon racks of spears and daggers, banners draped from the ceilings…
It was comforting, albeit probably only to her.
This was all a reminder that for everything Morgoth had thrown at them, her family were still here. Maybe not all of them, not yet, but they would be. She would make sure of it.
And now that she thought about it, no one was going to look for her here. At least, not any time before morning. So one of the low chairs probably meant to sit on while putting on armor should it ever actually be needful here was as good a place to get a good night’s sleep as any.
She really didn’t want to be interrupted for this one.