Day 25 - The Ties That Bind
Title: The Ties That Bind
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: After centuries alone, Maglor gets a reminder that he is part of a family, and they aren't going to abandon him. Especially when he's not the only one who's made mistakes.
Word Count: 1530
He snorted softly to himself when he heard them.
The quiet ‘shh, I don’t want him to hear us coming’ was entirely too late.
Anariel Nairallë could move quietly enough that she had on occasion surprised him, despite his millennia of experience avoiding other elves. She was not the first in her family who had sought him out - but she was the most persistent.
He had never objected to her after that first encounter - how could he, when the child has already pledged herself as his advocate to the Máhanaxar. If she is fearless enough to stand in the Ring of Doom and speak his name, he will not hide from her.
She has asked often if she might bring her brothers and sisters to meet him.
He has always said no.
Her doggedness on subjects she has already made up her mind on rivals his father’s - not that she would appreciate the comparison. She has refrained from speaking her mind on the rare occasions Fëanor’s name has been mentioned, but the twist of her mouth has betrayed that her thoughts are not complimentary.
“You need not be quiet on my account,” he announced. “I know if Nairallë is determined to find me, I will be found - besides, you sound more like a herd of oliphaunts than a troop of elves.”
There is a thump followed by a muffled yelp from someone male, as well as a high pitched sound of excitement that sounds young enough that he can make no judgment as to boy or girl.
He was mildly surprised to see that ‘troop’ is the accurate word - besides herself, Elrond’s golden daughter has brought all her siblings.
The twins he would know as Elrond’s sons on sight, though oddly enough if he looks closer, he sees Turgon more than Elrond in their faces. The dark-haired elleth who can only be Arwen is indeed Luthien come again, but the youngest girl is an interesting blend of Noldor and Sindar that puts him more in mind of his aunt Anairë than any other.
For a moment, his heart is torn between deep ache at the kin across the sea he has not seen in two life ages of the earth and wild joy that these children would wish to know him.
The mortals were no less interesting. The only male of the group could easily pass for one of the Noldor if he looked slightly less mannish. The woman with him is a puzzle - they clearly belong together, he could sense the bond, yet she seems older than he would expect for a mortal of her appearance. Perhaps this was one of those ‘old souls’ he sometimes hears the Edain speak of.
The other two women seem so opposite, yet complement each other nicely. There is a bond there, too, which surprised him more than it ought, as he did not realize mortals sanctioned such unions. And of course, the more outgoing one has hair a shade that brings back many memories.
Anariel looked well pleased with herself.
“Mae govannen,” she greeted him happily. “It turned out everyone wanted to meet you, so I brought them all except Estel, because he’s off somewhere with the Dunedain.”
Her youngest sister looks to be fairly bursting with excitement - and probably questions, too, unless the young have changed greatly since he last associated with children - but her eldest sister is keeping her firmly in hand until introductions are done.
“My brothers Elladan and Elrohir,” Anariel says, pointing out each one in turn. “My older sister Arwen Undomiel, my little sister Tindomiel, my brother Xander, his wife Anya, my sister Willow, her wife Tara.”
He had paid close attention when she indicated which twin was which, as he expected at some point there will be an attempt to confuse him - every set of twins he has ever known has tried it, beginning with his baby brothers, so he doubts this pair will be any different.
“And this is Kanafinwë Makalaurë, or Maglor in the Sindarin,” she added belatedly, realizing that her manners had been somewhat less than correct, although clearly the children all knew who they had come to meet.
“Were you really born in Valinor?” Tindomiel burst out.
He nearly laughed, because she was equal parts awe and skeptical. He does not let his mind dwell on who she sounds like or who she looks like.
“I was, young one,” he answered gravely.
Sea blue eyes widened as if she does not have a cousin living in Imladris who has been not only born in Valinor, but reborn there as well.
“What was it like?” she asked breathlessly.
He should answer in words, but words are so inadequate, so he sang softly, just a few lines, evoking the beauty of the Trees and the sweetness of the air.
The blissful look on her face was reward enough.
“You have time to ask him all your questions,” her eldest sister laughed. “You need not pose them all in the next hour.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Anariel smiled, slightly guiltily, because he has in no way been consulted on this.
“We kind of brought tents and food and stuff to stay for a while,” she explained hopefully. “And since we are in Forlindon and all together, Ada and Nana will not worry if we are several months away.”
He sighed.
“And if I objected?” he asked wryly, aware even as he says it that he won’t.
Her face falls - though not as obviously as Tindomiel and Willow’s - but she doesn’t argue.
“Then we camp out on our own for a while before visiting Mithlond on the way home,” she shrugged. “But it would be nicer to camp with you.”
---
Several hours later, he could scarce believe his change in circumstances. The tents the children have brought are not just for orc patrols, but proper tents meant for comfort. Though they all carried some, the bulk of the food was in Anariel’s pack - she could carry more than any other without complaint, although she does admit that they have not had to carry everything on their own backs for very long.
They took advantage of a supply wagon being sent from Imladris to the Havens, and much of the gear rode in the wagon - as did Tindomiel, who is experiencing her first outing without a parent. She is still in her thirties, so it is not terribly surprising that she has only been allowed to join her siblings after much pleading and promises of good behavior on her part and vigilance by her older sisters and brothers.
Maglor can’t help but suspect the answer might have been different if Elrond had known what his middle daughter had in mind. Surely the surviving son of Eärendil has learned enough of the sins of his foster fathers to want to protect his children from such monsters.
He looks past the campfire, where the twins were minding the grouse Arwen had bagged on the late afternoon hunt. They’d dressed it and set it to roast with the ease of long practice, and Anariel had produced a packet of herbs from within her pack to season the meat. The mortal women had wrapped several root vegetables in leaves to be roasted with the birds, and Tindomiel had promised that after dinner there would be something he would not have eaten before, which she and Anariel were preparing.
“I do not deserve this,” he murmured to himself.
“Maybe it’s not about what you deserve,” Xander said from behind him. “Maybe it’s about what they deserve.”
Maglor turned to face Anariel’s sworn brother.
“They scarcely deserve a Kinslayer like me,” he sighed.
“You won’t hear me argue,” the man replied.
“You were not in favor of this trip,” Maglor realized.
“Not really,” Xander said, his tone even. “But when Buffy gets an idea in her head, and you can’t come up with a good reason she shouldn’t - or a reason she thinks is a good reason...”
Maglor nodded. He did understand. Much like his father, Anariel found it easy enough to ignore opposition - though she was wiser in choosing when to heed it.
“Are we having this discussion again?” a voice asked sharply.
Xander’s wife Anya has arrived, and she had a look of aggravation on her face that would put even Caranthir to shame. Xander’s shoulders sagged, as if he understood ‘discussion’ to mean ‘argument’.
“It is fair for him to doubt that I should be around any of you,” Maglor said soothingly. “I have committed many crimes, some of which there may be no forgiveness for.”
“He’s got a point, Ahn,” Xander. “The histories we’ve been reading are pretty clear on the deeds of the Fëanorians. He’s been out here by himself all this time for a reason.”
“Really, Xander? You think he’s that hopeless? So totally evil there can be no redemption for him?” she asked sharply.
At first, Maglor was startled by how personally she took his statement. Then, watching the expressions passing between the pair, he realized that it was not entirely about him.
“Because if there’s no hope for him,” Anya finished quietly, “there’s even less for me.”
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: After centuries alone, Maglor gets a reminder that he is part of a family, and they aren't going to abandon him. Especially when he's not the only one who's made mistakes.
Word Count: 1530
He snorted softly to himself when he heard them.
The quiet ‘shh, I don’t want him to hear us coming’ was entirely too late.
Anariel Nairallë could move quietly enough that she had on occasion surprised him, despite his millennia of experience avoiding other elves. She was not the first in her family who had sought him out - but she was the most persistent.
He had never objected to her after that first encounter - how could he, when the child has already pledged herself as his advocate to the Máhanaxar. If she is fearless enough to stand in the Ring of Doom and speak his name, he will not hide from her.
She has asked often if she might bring her brothers and sisters to meet him.
He has always said no.
Her doggedness on subjects she has already made up her mind on rivals his father’s - not that she would appreciate the comparison. She has refrained from speaking her mind on the rare occasions Fëanor’s name has been mentioned, but the twist of her mouth has betrayed that her thoughts are not complimentary.
“You need not be quiet on my account,” he announced. “I know if Nairallë is determined to find me, I will be found - besides, you sound more like a herd of oliphaunts than a troop of elves.”
There is a thump followed by a muffled yelp from someone male, as well as a high pitched sound of excitement that sounds young enough that he can make no judgment as to boy or girl.
He was mildly surprised to see that ‘troop’ is the accurate word - besides herself, Elrond’s golden daughter has brought all her siblings.
The twins he would know as Elrond’s sons on sight, though oddly enough if he looks closer, he sees Turgon more than Elrond in their faces. The dark-haired elleth who can only be Arwen is indeed Luthien come again, but the youngest girl is an interesting blend of Noldor and Sindar that puts him more in mind of his aunt Anairë than any other.
For a moment, his heart is torn between deep ache at the kin across the sea he has not seen in two life ages of the earth and wild joy that these children would wish to know him.
The mortals were no less interesting. The only male of the group could easily pass for one of the Noldor if he looked slightly less mannish. The woman with him is a puzzle - they clearly belong together, he could sense the bond, yet she seems older than he would expect for a mortal of her appearance. Perhaps this was one of those ‘old souls’ he sometimes hears the Edain speak of.
The other two women seem so opposite, yet complement each other nicely. There is a bond there, too, which surprised him more than it ought, as he did not realize mortals sanctioned such unions. And of course, the more outgoing one has hair a shade that brings back many memories.
Anariel looked well pleased with herself.
“Mae govannen,” she greeted him happily. “It turned out everyone wanted to meet you, so I brought them all except Estel, because he’s off somewhere with the Dunedain.”
Her youngest sister looks to be fairly bursting with excitement - and probably questions, too, unless the young have changed greatly since he last associated with children - but her eldest sister is keeping her firmly in hand until introductions are done.
“My brothers Elladan and Elrohir,” Anariel says, pointing out each one in turn. “My older sister Arwen Undomiel, my little sister Tindomiel, my brother Xander, his wife Anya, my sister Willow, her wife Tara.”
He had paid close attention when she indicated which twin was which, as he expected at some point there will be an attempt to confuse him - every set of twins he has ever known has tried it, beginning with his baby brothers, so he doubts this pair will be any different.
“And this is Kanafinwë Makalaurë, or Maglor in the Sindarin,” she added belatedly, realizing that her manners had been somewhat less than correct, although clearly the children all knew who they had come to meet.
“Were you really born in Valinor?” Tindomiel burst out.
He nearly laughed, because she was equal parts awe and skeptical. He does not let his mind dwell on who she sounds like or who she looks like.
“I was, young one,” he answered gravely.
Sea blue eyes widened as if she does not have a cousin living in Imladris who has been not only born in Valinor, but reborn there as well.
“What was it like?” she asked breathlessly.
He should answer in words, but words are so inadequate, so he sang softly, just a few lines, evoking the beauty of the Trees and the sweetness of the air.
The blissful look on her face was reward enough.
“You have time to ask him all your questions,” her eldest sister laughed. “You need not pose them all in the next hour.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Anariel smiled, slightly guiltily, because he has in no way been consulted on this.
“We kind of brought tents and food and stuff to stay for a while,” she explained hopefully. “And since we are in Forlindon and all together, Ada and Nana will not worry if we are several months away.”
He sighed.
“And if I objected?” he asked wryly, aware even as he says it that he won’t.
Her face falls - though not as obviously as Tindomiel and Willow’s - but she doesn’t argue.
“Then we camp out on our own for a while before visiting Mithlond on the way home,” she shrugged. “But it would be nicer to camp with you.”
---
Several hours later, he could scarce believe his change in circumstances. The tents the children have brought are not just for orc patrols, but proper tents meant for comfort. Though they all carried some, the bulk of the food was in Anariel’s pack - she could carry more than any other without complaint, although she does admit that they have not had to carry everything on their own backs for very long.
They took advantage of a supply wagon being sent from Imladris to the Havens, and much of the gear rode in the wagon - as did Tindomiel, who is experiencing her first outing without a parent. She is still in her thirties, so it is not terribly surprising that she has only been allowed to join her siblings after much pleading and promises of good behavior on her part and vigilance by her older sisters and brothers.
Maglor can’t help but suspect the answer might have been different if Elrond had known what his middle daughter had in mind. Surely the surviving son of Eärendil has learned enough of the sins of his foster fathers to want to protect his children from such monsters.
He looks past the campfire, where the twins were minding the grouse Arwen had bagged on the late afternoon hunt. They’d dressed it and set it to roast with the ease of long practice, and Anariel had produced a packet of herbs from within her pack to season the meat. The mortal women had wrapped several root vegetables in leaves to be roasted with the birds, and Tindomiel had promised that after dinner there would be something he would not have eaten before, which she and Anariel were preparing.
“I do not deserve this,” he murmured to himself.
“Maybe it’s not about what you deserve,” Xander said from behind him. “Maybe it’s about what they deserve.”
Maglor turned to face Anariel’s sworn brother.
“They scarcely deserve a Kinslayer like me,” he sighed.
“You won’t hear me argue,” the man replied.
“You were not in favor of this trip,” Maglor realized.
“Not really,” Xander said, his tone even. “But when Buffy gets an idea in her head, and you can’t come up with a good reason she shouldn’t - or a reason she thinks is a good reason...”
Maglor nodded. He did understand. Much like his father, Anariel found it easy enough to ignore opposition - though she was wiser in choosing when to heed it.
“Are we having this discussion again?” a voice asked sharply.
Xander’s wife Anya has arrived, and she had a look of aggravation on her face that would put even Caranthir to shame. Xander’s shoulders sagged, as if he understood ‘discussion’ to mean ‘argument’.
“It is fair for him to doubt that I should be around any of you,” Maglor said soothingly. “I have committed many crimes, some of which there may be no forgiveness for.”
“He’s got a point, Ahn,” Xander. “The histories we’ve been reading are pretty clear on the deeds of the Fëanorians. He’s been out here by himself all this time for a reason.”
“Really, Xander? You think he’s that hopeless? So totally evil there can be no redemption for him?” she asked sharply.
At first, Maglor was startled by how personally she took his statement. Then, watching the expressions passing between the pair, he realized that it was not entirely about him.
“Because if there’s no hope for him,” Anya finished quietly, “there’s even less for me.”