Aug 28 - Fingon the Valiant
Title: Fingon the Valiant
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: Fingon would like to get to know his grandkids. Problem is one of them is hiding out...
Word Count: 925
Findekáno wandered through the gardens.
So far coming home was everything he could have hoped for, at least given that Maitimo hadn’t been permitted to return yet.
But he would. They had Namo’s word on that now.
Findekáno had a strong suspicion there was a connection between the Doomsman telling him with something frighteningly like a smile that he could finally assure him that his mate would eventually return and his littlest granddaughter - the one who he wasn’t sure had been informed yet that he was Gramps.
She was out here somewhere, and he meant to find her.
The problem, of course, was that his aunt and mother had already found her and had too many questions Anariel didn’t want to answer. Some of them seemed perfectly reasonable, although a few of them he could have answered for her. The one about the balrog’s whip, for example.
But Aunt Eärwen hadn’t thought to ask him, so he saw no need to tell that story. Besides, Káno probably told it better. He’d actually been there.
He halfway considered asking Artë where her littlest was hiding, then decided that wouldn’t help. He had to find her himself.
Yes, you do. You need the practice, she informed him.
You realized it’s beyond odd sharing grandchildren with you, right?
I really don’t see why you’re bothered about it at this late date. You’ve known for at least the last few decades.
You weren’t there!
Yes, I know - I’m the one who lived.
Artanis sounded inordinately smug.
“You make it sound like not dying was some sort of achievement,” he grumbled, knowing perfectly well she’d get even worse.
“Wasn’t it?”
Artanis’ laughter echoed in his head before she withdrew, leaving him facing Anariel, who was sitting on a branch of what Tindomiel called the Fail Tree.
Given that she was wearing one of the styles that had flowing pants beneath a dress, even his mother wouldn’t be able to argue that decency was not being suitably observed.
“What are you doing up there?” he asked cautiously.
The tree had grown somewhat since he last saw it. The branch she was perched on was the same one his younger brother had jumped off of trying to fly. It was further up than he remembered.
“Thinking,” she replied. “And avoiding grandmothers.”
“I think you can come down in safety. Artë’s done bragging, and none of the others are around.”
She dropped obligingly to the ground, Sindarin training evident - if somewhat thwarted by the clothes. Findekáno was willing to hazard it was the first time she’d worn that style. Judging by her expression, the landing wasn’t quite as graceful as she had intended.
“I let my brothers pick the first thing they found in the colors I said,” Anariel shrugged. “Lesson learned - next time approve the style first.”
“I take it you’re not planning on any sparring today,” Findekáno said.
“Nope. It’s always a good plan to let one set of injuries heal fully before starting another,” Anariel informed him. “Also, to let the grandmother brigade settle down in between outrages.”
“Mmm,” Findekáno said noncommittally. “I hear some of them are a little unhappy about last night’s goings-on.”
“Accidents happen,” the girl shrugged.
“They seem to happen to you fairly often.”
“And yet I’m with Grandmother in the ‘survived Ennor’ club,” Anariel pointed out.
“Didn’t you die in California?” Findekáno asked. “I could have sworn that was mentioned at some point.”
“Doesn’t count, it didn’t stick,” she snorted.
“In that case, why do any of them count?” Findekáno replied reasonably. “I mean, I’m alive now. Do I get to claim ‘it didn’t stick’ too?”
“Three Ages is a little longer than three minutes, which is how long me being dead lasted,” Anariel said wryly. “Also, nobody buried me. I can keep going if you want, but you’re not winning this one.”
Findekáno gave a theatrical huff, but both of them knew he wasn’t all that fussed.
“Who else is in this ‘Survived Endorë’ club?” he asked.
“In your generation?” she asked. “On the Noldorin side, pretty much nobody. Glorfindel gets an honorable mention for surviving on the second try, and Haru gets one for not dying for a really long time, but that’s about it.”
“Really, I think he should probably get to be an honorary member, he managed the ‘not dying thing’ for three Ages. That’s got to count for something.”
“Did you miss the part where it’s the Survived Ennor Club?” she sighed. “Kinda does what it says on the box…”
He decided it was better not to push. After all, she’d been present for the part where Káno’s streak came to an end.
“So as long as you’re hiding out here, I thought we could talk.”
“If I’m hiding I didn’t do a very good job of it,” she said. “You found me pretty easily.”
“So you’re not avoiding certain grandmothers?” he asked gently.
It might have taken somewhat longer for his mother to get as worked up as Aunt Eärwen on account of having been left to have a night with Atto and then fussing over him when they left their rooms in the morning, but Ammë was very much there now. (Though unlike Lómion, who had apparently been involved in a previous ‘accident’, no one was holding Lissë at fault.)
“Avoiding isn’t hiding!”
“Sure. And Laurë’s in that club.”
That got a blank look.
“Glorfindel?” he tried again, somewhat tentatively.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” she asked in bemusement. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
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: Fingon would like to get to know his grandkids. Problem is one of them is hiding out...
Word Count: 925
Findekáno wandered through the gardens.
So far coming home was everything he could have hoped for, at least given that Maitimo hadn’t been permitted to return yet.
But he would. They had Namo’s word on that now.
Findekáno had a strong suspicion there was a connection between the Doomsman telling him with something frighteningly like a smile that he could finally assure him that his mate would eventually return and his littlest granddaughter - the one who he wasn’t sure had been informed yet that he was Gramps.
She was out here somewhere, and he meant to find her.
The problem, of course, was that his aunt and mother had already found her and had too many questions Anariel didn’t want to answer. Some of them seemed perfectly reasonable, although a few of them he could have answered for her. The one about the balrog’s whip, for example.
But Aunt Eärwen hadn’t thought to ask him, so he saw no need to tell that story. Besides, Káno probably told it better. He’d actually been there.
He halfway considered asking Artë where her littlest was hiding, then decided that wouldn’t help. He had to find her himself.
Yes, you do. You need the practice, she informed him.
You realized it’s beyond odd sharing grandchildren with you, right?
I really don’t see why you’re bothered about it at this late date. You’ve known for at least the last few decades.
You weren’t there!
Yes, I know - I’m the one who lived.
Artanis sounded inordinately smug.
“You make it sound like not dying was some sort of achievement,” he grumbled, knowing perfectly well she’d get even worse.
“Wasn’t it?”
Artanis’ laughter echoed in his head before she withdrew, leaving him facing Anariel, who was sitting on a branch of what Tindomiel called the Fail Tree.
Given that she was wearing one of the styles that had flowing pants beneath a dress, even his mother wouldn’t be able to argue that decency was not being suitably observed.
“What are you doing up there?” he asked cautiously.
The tree had grown somewhat since he last saw it. The branch she was perched on was the same one his younger brother had jumped off of trying to fly. It was further up than he remembered.
“Thinking,” she replied. “And avoiding grandmothers.”
“I think you can come down in safety. Artë’s done bragging, and none of the others are around.”
She dropped obligingly to the ground, Sindarin training evident - if somewhat thwarted by the clothes. Findekáno was willing to hazard it was the first time she’d worn that style. Judging by her expression, the landing wasn’t quite as graceful as she had intended.
“I let my brothers pick the first thing they found in the colors I said,” Anariel shrugged. “Lesson learned - next time approve the style first.”
“I take it you’re not planning on any sparring today,” Findekáno said.
“Nope. It’s always a good plan to let one set of injuries heal fully before starting another,” Anariel informed him. “Also, to let the grandmother brigade settle down in between outrages.”
“Mmm,” Findekáno said noncommittally. “I hear some of them are a little unhappy about last night’s goings-on.”
“Accidents happen,” the girl shrugged.
“They seem to happen to you fairly often.”
“And yet I’m with Grandmother in the ‘survived Ennor’ club,” Anariel pointed out.
“Didn’t you die in California?” Findekáno asked. “I could have sworn that was mentioned at some point.”
“Doesn’t count, it didn’t stick,” she snorted.
“In that case, why do any of them count?” Findekáno replied reasonably. “I mean, I’m alive now. Do I get to claim ‘it didn’t stick’ too?”
“Three Ages is a little longer than three minutes, which is how long me being dead lasted,” Anariel said wryly. “Also, nobody buried me. I can keep going if you want, but you’re not winning this one.”
Findekáno gave a theatrical huff, but both of them knew he wasn’t all that fussed.
“Who else is in this ‘Survived Endorë’ club?” he asked.
“In your generation?” she asked. “On the Noldorin side, pretty much nobody. Glorfindel gets an honorable mention for surviving on the second try, and Haru gets one for not dying for a really long time, but that’s about it.”
“Really, I think he should probably get to be an honorary member, he managed the ‘not dying thing’ for three Ages. That’s got to count for something.”
“Did you miss the part where it’s the Survived Ennor Club?” she sighed. “Kinda does what it says on the box…”
He decided it was better not to push. After all, she’d been present for the part where Káno’s streak came to an end.
“So as long as you’re hiding out here, I thought we could talk.”
“If I’m hiding I didn’t do a very good job of it,” she said. “You found me pretty easily.”
“So you’re not avoiding certain grandmothers?” he asked gently.
It might have taken somewhat longer for his mother to get as worked up as Aunt Eärwen on account of having been left to have a night with Atto and then fussing over him when they left their rooms in the morning, but Ammë was very much there now. (Though unlike Lómion, who had apparently been involved in a previous ‘accident’, no one was holding Lissë at fault.)
“Avoiding isn’t hiding!”
“Sure. And Laurë’s in that club.”
That got a blank look.
“Glorfindel?” he tried again, somewhat tentatively.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” she asked in bemusement. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”