Day 11 - Into The West
Title: Into The West
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: Buffy promised Arwen she'd stay before she realized her parents and younger sister would sail.
Word Count: 2375
It was a somewhat forlorn little group watching the grey ship shrink against the horizon, a small dark spot against the stars, soon to vanish even from elven sight. Celeborn stood at the very edge of the dock, as close to following his beloved as he could while their now mortal granddaughter lived.
Anariel found herself the filling of a twin sandwich, and not at all inclined to move. Her brothers were comforted by holding her as much as they were comforting her.
The three of them had done their best to put on a brave face for their parents and younger sister all the way from Imladris to the Havens, even managing to smile as Cirdan supervised the loading and boarding of the ship. It wasn’t until the gangplank was pulled up and the ship cast off that her resolve crumbled.
At that point, she’d been distressed to realize that she could hold the tears back no longer.
She had promised Arwen before the War of the Ring that if they were victorious, she would stay - she and the twins would remain as long as Arwen herself did, taking ship only after mortality claimed their sister. But that had been before she had understood that Celebrían and Elrond would have to depart Middle Earth once the power of the Three failed; and that Tindomiel, underage as she was, would be given no option to remain. Glorfindel too was on the ship, his daughters - Willow and Tara’s children - with him.
She hadn’t expected to watch half her family sail away, or to experience how much farther away her parents felt just standing on the ship. It had taken all her willpower and her brothers’ support to keep from leaping on board after them.
And it would get worse. At some point soon, the ship would find the Straight Road, and their bonds would be broken, restored only when they themselves passed the veil of the West - she and the twins cut off from their parents and Tindomiel, Celeborn from Galadriel and Celebrían.
It was no comfort to recall that she has survived such a sundering once before, as a toddler. She hadn’t remembered Middle Earth, or her missing father and siblings. In California, she had believed all to be as it should be, and if on occasion, she felt a nebulous sense that something was lacking, she had always chalked it up to the being the Slayer.
This time, she won’t be able to avoid the knowledge that her grandmother, parents, and little sister are gone, and that it will be years before she will see or hear them again.
Thus the huddle, as the remaining children of Elrond tried to pool their strength against the shock they knew was coming.
The Falathrim had seen this process often enough, as families parted at the Havens, some not yet ready to leave, others unable to stay, to warn them what to expect. They also had grown skilled, as the elves of Middle Earth have dwindled over the centuries, at easing the pain of those who remained.
None of them disturbed those who watched the ship pass over the horizon, or even suggested that it was time that they return from the now empty quay. They allowed them to stay until midnight, long after the ship was beyond sight, when Eärendil was high overhead, before making any attempt to persuade them that they should come inside, that they needed to eat and rest.
Anariel would just as soon have remained outside, where she could see her grandfather’s star. It seemed to burn brighter tonight, as if Earendil was watching over them more closely than usual now that their father was gone.
It was perhaps a silly notion, considering her grandfather had left his toddler sons on the shores of Middle Earth, never to return. But stargazing was a very elvish pursuit, so she has gotten good at recognizing the stars and keeping an eye out for them, and that Earendil did still take an interest was backed up in her mind by how the star had behaved over the years. Her favorite was when it had blazed a brilliant red the night after the Battle of the Waste, when she had become the elf with the highest Balrog kill count. It was as if he was yelling ‘that’s MY grandkid!’ for all Arda to hear.
Arwen agreed with her, though the twins have long been dubious. Tonight they are unlikely to humor her, as any mention of Earendil will only remind them of their now absent family. Tindomiel will soon enough find the truth of it, as she will be the first to actually meet their skyfaring grandparent. Anariel did her best to focus on being happy for her little sister, who as the youngest rarely got to experience something ‘first’.
She allowed the Falathrim to coax her inside along with her brothers, where they sat her before a plate piled far too high with hearty food for her current lack of appetite. At least they showed no signs of expecting her to actually eat it all - or indeed, any of it. On the contrary, they appeared pleased at any bite she managed to worry down. Judging by the listless way the twins picked at their plates, they had no appetite either.
She supposed for most elves, there would be some consolation in the notion that it could not be all that long before they were reunited - a mortal lifetime, even a mortal of Numenorian descent - was not so very long to an elf. But since their sailing would happen only after another parting, one for which there would be no reunion, the idea that they will join their parents in perhaps a yen, two at most, brought no comfort.
She still thought of herself as Buffy on occasion, but those occasions were fewer and farther between without the Scoobies, and she was already finding it strange to recall now the time when thirty had seemed an unattainable age. But it was not that lack of awareness of mortal time she missed so much as the certainty she’d had then that even after her death, she would not be hopelessly parted from those she loved best.
For that was what she had come to understand as the curse of the peredhil - unlike their fully mortal or fully immortal kin, they had been granted a choice. To be parted forever from kin was hard enough, but to know that you had inflicted that sundering on yourself… Though in truth, that pain was primarily Arwen’s, for she was the only one of them who had chosen mortality.
Anariel’s own choice had been made in ignorance, born of nothing more than the wholly understandable rebellion of a mortal teenager who had barely lived, for whom “I don’t want to die!” was a normal reflex, almost instinct. The difference, of course, had been that unlike most teenagers in Sunnydale, California, she truly had the option to refuse death, to stand right back up as if nothing had happened.
She hadn’t understood when she did that it would mean parting from her best friends forever, even if that parting could be delayed for the span of a mortal lifetime. She hadn’t known at that point that it meant being assured she would not be parted from her parents, the little sister who hadn’t existed yet, or the bothers she hadn’t remembered she had.
The grandparents that await her on the far side of the Sea had been little more than names from history books, a hazy theory for more than a decade after her return to Arda. Even now, the only ones that seemed really real to her were her grandmother’s father, Arafinwë, and her father’s father Eärendil.
Arafinwë she’s heard - he had actually gone through what she understood to be an immense effort to speak to her across the Sundering Sea twice, once after Arwen had worried everyone with that stupid letter, and once just after the Ring had been destroyed. He had known she hadn’t gotten herself killed, but knew her well enough to worry anyway.
Eärendil she can see - he was the only light in the sky those horrible nights between the orc ambush and reaching the Army of the West, when death was riding with Xander every step of the way. Her grandfather had been not just her guiding star but her sanity those few days.
She’s not entirely sure what it says about her that Eärendil is more real to her than the other grandparents that she’s read about, particularly since she’s pretty sure most people would find him the hardest bit to believe. Sometimes she thought it was a commentary on how weird Sunnydale had been that she could just accept that her grandfather was a star. Other times she wondered if it Arda that was weird.
Weird or not, she would reach out to her skyfaring grandfather if she could, but if there was a way to speak mind to mind with someone you’ve never met, Galadriel had never explained the trick, so she did not know how. Arafinwë, on the other hand…
Grandfather, she called, unsure if he would hear. Both times they have spoken before this, he was the one who reached out to her. But she knew the shape of his fëa, and she believed she could reach him…
---
Arafinwë was listening to one of the members of his Council droning on. So many meetings - with the defeat of Sauron, the last of the quendi on the Hither Shores would finally be departing, and their amanyar kin needed to be ready to receive them. While it was true that few Noldor remained in Endorë, there were enough born there of Noldor descent who had a claim to a place among their parents’ kin if they wished it that his Council were all aflutter.
He privately thought they were more worked up than necessary. After three thousand years, it was no mystery how to help newcomers settle into Tirion or the surrounding countryside, or to direct those who so desired to Turukano’s city, a larger, more refined version of the one he had once built in secret.
Any distraction would have been welcome, but he certainly had not expected this one.
Grandfather?
He would have known her voice anywhere, but by the Valar, he could scarcely believe how loud she was- he had reached her on the Hither Shores only with the help of his mother and sisters, yet without any such assistance, her voice was strong enough that his entire Council had stopped to stare in wonder.
He waved a hand to indicate their dismissal, and noted distantly that several were dallying unnecessarily, curious no doubt who it was that interrupted their business with the Noldaran. They were all clever enough to realize that it was not Findarato’s daughter Artalissë they had heard.
Anariel? What is it, sweet one? he asked, trying not to worry. Sauron was no more, which should surely mean that the dangers in the mortal lands have diminished.
Grandmother has sailed, and my parents and Tindomiel with her. I thought you would want to know.
He could feel the sorrow of parting weighing on her like a rain-sodden cloak, and did his best to soothe it. He also heard the unspoken thought - she was bound by a promise given to her older sister, and would remain on the far shore of the Sea until Arwen Undomiel followed her husband and her foremother Luthien beyond the circles of the world.
He said no word of when she might sail, choosing instead to focus his attention on the butterflies just outside the window of the council chamber, the sunshine in the gardens, and the song of birds. She did not want to be reminded of her sister’s mortality, only to know that the ones she loved who had gone where she could not yet follow would be well.
I look to their coming with joy, pitya, he told her. As I will look for your and your brothers whenever you sail.
He did not fully understand the half-heard words these are my happy thoughts that flitted through her mind, nor did she explain them, but the subtle lightening of her spirit told him that he had chosen correctly.
I do not know how long it takes a ship to arrive, but they sailed this evening.
Ah, that explained the sorrow - the parting was fresh and immediate.
I have never asked any of the newly arrived, pitya, but I am given to understand it takes some weeks. Whenever they arrive, they will find Eärwen already waiting. She was certain your grandmother would sail now that Sauron is no more and began packing for Alqualondë as soon as your grandfather brought us the news.
There was a pause, which seemed more curious than anything else.
Eärendil brings you news? she asked. Then Elwing will know also?
He could feel her relief that she need not devise some way to communicate with the grandmother she has never met. He supposed there was some sense in her confusion. The elves of Endorë can see that the Ardamir sails the sky, but they cannot know whether he is permitted to land in Aman or not.
It would be strange indeed if he did not share his observations with his wife, Arafinwë said with some amusement. And he has ever kept a sharp eye on your family, pitya. You especially.
He did not say valaraukar, nor did he mention just how incensed quite a few of her grandparents had been to find out what form her brand of helping the war effort had taken. (Turukano in particular had been outraged to think that the only one of Elrond’s children with any resemblance to Itarillë should go looking for the fell creatures.) But she no doubt heard it anyway.
He had the distinct impression of an unrepentant shrug.
I am still here. They are not. And it was very satisfying to wave that in Sauron’s face.
Not even the slightest bit sorry. For all that most compared her to Finderato, he thought Anariel was very much Artanis’ grandchild.
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: Buffy promised Arwen she'd stay before she realized her parents and younger sister would sail.
Word Count: 2375
It was a somewhat forlorn little group watching the grey ship shrink against the horizon, a small dark spot against the stars, soon to vanish even from elven sight. Celeborn stood at the very edge of the dock, as close to following his beloved as he could while their now mortal granddaughter lived.
Anariel found herself the filling of a twin sandwich, and not at all inclined to move. Her brothers were comforted by holding her as much as they were comforting her.
The three of them had done their best to put on a brave face for their parents and younger sister all the way from Imladris to the Havens, even managing to smile as Cirdan supervised the loading and boarding of the ship. It wasn’t until the gangplank was pulled up and the ship cast off that her resolve crumbled.
At that point, she’d been distressed to realize that she could hold the tears back no longer.
She had promised Arwen before the War of the Ring that if they were victorious, she would stay - she and the twins would remain as long as Arwen herself did, taking ship only after mortality claimed their sister. But that had been before she had understood that Celebrían and Elrond would have to depart Middle Earth once the power of the Three failed; and that Tindomiel, underage as she was, would be given no option to remain. Glorfindel too was on the ship, his daughters - Willow and Tara’s children - with him.
She hadn’t expected to watch half her family sail away, or to experience how much farther away her parents felt just standing on the ship. It had taken all her willpower and her brothers’ support to keep from leaping on board after them.
And it would get worse. At some point soon, the ship would find the Straight Road, and their bonds would be broken, restored only when they themselves passed the veil of the West - she and the twins cut off from their parents and Tindomiel, Celeborn from Galadriel and Celebrían.
It was no comfort to recall that she has survived such a sundering once before, as a toddler. She hadn’t remembered Middle Earth, or her missing father and siblings. In California, she had believed all to be as it should be, and if on occasion, she felt a nebulous sense that something was lacking, she had always chalked it up to the being the Slayer.
This time, she won’t be able to avoid the knowledge that her grandmother, parents, and little sister are gone, and that it will be years before she will see or hear them again.
Thus the huddle, as the remaining children of Elrond tried to pool their strength against the shock they knew was coming.
The Falathrim had seen this process often enough, as families parted at the Havens, some not yet ready to leave, others unable to stay, to warn them what to expect. They also had grown skilled, as the elves of Middle Earth have dwindled over the centuries, at easing the pain of those who remained.
None of them disturbed those who watched the ship pass over the horizon, or even suggested that it was time that they return from the now empty quay. They allowed them to stay until midnight, long after the ship was beyond sight, when Eärendil was high overhead, before making any attempt to persuade them that they should come inside, that they needed to eat and rest.
Anariel would just as soon have remained outside, where she could see her grandfather’s star. It seemed to burn brighter tonight, as if Earendil was watching over them more closely than usual now that their father was gone.
It was perhaps a silly notion, considering her grandfather had left his toddler sons on the shores of Middle Earth, never to return. But stargazing was a very elvish pursuit, so she has gotten good at recognizing the stars and keeping an eye out for them, and that Earendil did still take an interest was backed up in her mind by how the star had behaved over the years. Her favorite was when it had blazed a brilliant red the night after the Battle of the Waste, when she had become the elf with the highest Balrog kill count. It was as if he was yelling ‘that’s MY grandkid!’ for all Arda to hear.
Arwen agreed with her, though the twins have long been dubious. Tonight they are unlikely to humor her, as any mention of Earendil will only remind them of their now absent family. Tindomiel will soon enough find the truth of it, as she will be the first to actually meet their skyfaring grandparent. Anariel did her best to focus on being happy for her little sister, who as the youngest rarely got to experience something ‘first’.
She allowed the Falathrim to coax her inside along with her brothers, where they sat her before a plate piled far too high with hearty food for her current lack of appetite. At least they showed no signs of expecting her to actually eat it all - or indeed, any of it. On the contrary, they appeared pleased at any bite she managed to worry down. Judging by the listless way the twins picked at their plates, they had no appetite either.
She supposed for most elves, there would be some consolation in the notion that it could not be all that long before they were reunited - a mortal lifetime, even a mortal of Numenorian descent - was not so very long to an elf. But since their sailing would happen only after another parting, one for which there would be no reunion, the idea that they will join their parents in perhaps a yen, two at most, brought no comfort.
She still thought of herself as Buffy on occasion, but those occasions were fewer and farther between without the Scoobies, and she was already finding it strange to recall now the time when thirty had seemed an unattainable age. But it was not that lack of awareness of mortal time she missed so much as the certainty she’d had then that even after her death, she would not be hopelessly parted from those she loved best.
For that was what she had come to understand as the curse of the peredhil - unlike their fully mortal or fully immortal kin, they had been granted a choice. To be parted forever from kin was hard enough, but to know that you had inflicted that sundering on yourself… Though in truth, that pain was primarily Arwen’s, for she was the only one of them who had chosen mortality.
Anariel’s own choice had been made in ignorance, born of nothing more than the wholly understandable rebellion of a mortal teenager who had barely lived, for whom “I don’t want to die!” was a normal reflex, almost instinct. The difference, of course, had been that unlike most teenagers in Sunnydale, California, she truly had the option to refuse death, to stand right back up as if nothing had happened.
She hadn’t understood when she did that it would mean parting from her best friends forever, even if that parting could be delayed for the span of a mortal lifetime. She hadn’t known at that point that it meant being assured she would not be parted from her parents, the little sister who hadn’t existed yet, or the bothers she hadn’t remembered she had.
The grandparents that await her on the far side of the Sea had been little more than names from history books, a hazy theory for more than a decade after her return to Arda. Even now, the only ones that seemed really real to her were her grandmother’s father, Arafinwë, and her father’s father Eärendil.
Arafinwë she’s heard - he had actually gone through what she understood to be an immense effort to speak to her across the Sundering Sea twice, once after Arwen had worried everyone with that stupid letter, and once just after the Ring had been destroyed. He had known she hadn’t gotten herself killed, but knew her well enough to worry anyway.
Eärendil she can see - he was the only light in the sky those horrible nights between the orc ambush and reaching the Army of the West, when death was riding with Xander every step of the way. Her grandfather had been not just her guiding star but her sanity those few days.
She’s not entirely sure what it says about her that Eärendil is more real to her than the other grandparents that she’s read about, particularly since she’s pretty sure most people would find him the hardest bit to believe. Sometimes she thought it was a commentary on how weird Sunnydale had been that she could just accept that her grandfather was a star. Other times she wondered if it Arda that was weird.
Weird or not, she would reach out to her skyfaring grandfather if she could, but if there was a way to speak mind to mind with someone you’ve never met, Galadriel had never explained the trick, so she did not know how. Arafinwë, on the other hand…
Grandfather, she called, unsure if he would hear. Both times they have spoken before this, he was the one who reached out to her. But she knew the shape of his fëa, and she believed she could reach him…
---
Arafinwë was listening to one of the members of his Council droning on. So many meetings - with the defeat of Sauron, the last of the quendi on the Hither Shores would finally be departing, and their amanyar kin needed to be ready to receive them. While it was true that few Noldor remained in Endorë, there were enough born there of Noldor descent who had a claim to a place among their parents’ kin if they wished it that his Council were all aflutter.
He privately thought they were more worked up than necessary. After three thousand years, it was no mystery how to help newcomers settle into Tirion or the surrounding countryside, or to direct those who so desired to Turukano’s city, a larger, more refined version of the one he had once built in secret.
Any distraction would have been welcome, but he certainly had not expected this one.
Grandfather?
He would have known her voice anywhere, but by the Valar, he could scarcely believe how loud she was- he had reached her on the Hither Shores only with the help of his mother and sisters, yet without any such assistance, her voice was strong enough that his entire Council had stopped to stare in wonder.
He waved a hand to indicate their dismissal, and noted distantly that several were dallying unnecessarily, curious no doubt who it was that interrupted their business with the Noldaran. They were all clever enough to realize that it was not Findarato’s daughter Artalissë they had heard.
Anariel? What is it, sweet one? he asked, trying not to worry. Sauron was no more, which should surely mean that the dangers in the mortal lands have diminished.
Grandmother has sailed, and my parents and Tindomiel with her. I thought you would want to know.
He could feel the sorrow of parting weighing on her like a rain-sodden cloak, and did his best to soothe it. He also heard the unspoken thought - she was bound by a promise given to her older sister, and would remain on the far shore of the Sea until Arwen Undomiel followed her husband and her foremother Luthien beyond the circles of the world.
He said no word of when she might sail, choosing instead to focus his attention on the butterflies just outside the window of the council chamber, the sunshine in the gardens, and the song of birds. She did not want to be reminded of her sister’s mortality, only to know that the ones she loved who had gone where she could not yet follow would be well.
I look to their coming with joy, pitya, he told her. As I will look for your and your brothers whenever you sail.
He did not fully understand the half-heard words these are my happy thoughts that flitted through her mind, nor did she explain them, but the subtle lightening of her spirit told him that he had chosen correctly.
I do not know how long it takes a ship to arrive, but they sailed this evening.
Ah, that explained the sorrow - the parting was fresh and immediate.
I have never asked any of the newly arrived, pitya, but I am given to understand it takes some weeks. Whenever they arrive, they will find Eärwen already waiting. She was certain your grandmother would sail now that Sauron is no more and began packing for Alqualondë as soon as your grandfather brought us the news.
There was a pause, which seemed more curious than anything else.
Eärendil brings you news? she asked. Then Elwing will know also?
He could feel her relief that she need not devise some way to communicate with the grandmother she has never met. He supposed there was some sense in her confusion. The elves of Endorë can see that the Ardamir sails the sky, but they cannot know whether he is permitted to land in Aman or not.
It would be strange indeed if he did not share his observations with his wife, Arafinwë said with some amusement. And he has ever kept a sharp eye on your family, pitya. You especially.
He did not say valaraukar, nor did he mention just how incensed quite a few of her grandparents had been to find out what form her brand of helping the war effort had taken. (Turukano in particular had been outraged to think that the only one of Elrond’s children with any resemblance to Itarillë should go looking for the fell creatures.) But she no doubt heard it anyway.
He had the distinct impression of an unrepentant shrug.
I am still here. They are not. And it was very satisfying to wave that in Sauron’s face.
Not even the slightest bit sorry. For all that most compared her to Finderato, he thought Anariel was very much Artanis’ grandchild.