Aug 16. - Southern Exposure
Title: Southern Exposure
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary:
Word Count: 425
Note: Ran out of writing time - more of this at some point this month!
Anariel tried her best not to frown as she listened, keeping her face neutral as if her only care in the world was the food in front of her, not absorbing the vocabulary and cadence of the language spoken in this part of Near Harad, a dialect that seemed to have influences from both Adunaic and Variag.
She firmly ignored the little voice buried deep inside her that still tried to insist she was no good at languages. She spoke half a dozen fluently by now, and could get by with basics in several more besides- take that, high school French!
Languages were one more tool, and occasionally a weapon, and learning them had gotten somewhat easier once she starting looking at them that way. The Slayer was naturally good with weapons, right? So she should be naturally good with languages.
It was a trick, but it was a trick that was working, so she would go with it.
Even if, deep down, she still felt like she was bad at languages.
“You’re really not,” someone murmured behind her.
Startled, she reached out with her mind, only to find…
“El, what the heck are you doing here?” she hissed.
“We might ask you the same,” her brother replied, as the twins settled on either side of her.
Their hair might look like it was sloppy and mannish, but she knew that it was actually very carefully contrived to hide their elvish ears.
That was not a problem she had. Her little sister’s ears might have gotten pointier over the years in Middle Earth, but her ears remained stubbornly mannish. Happily, in this part of Harad, it was the fashion for women to wear scarves or other head coverings that left only their face visible. It seemed largely practical, given how fierce the afternoon sun could get. But it had the happy side effect of making it fairly easy for her, Will, Tara, and Anya to blend in.
“Imagine our surprise,” Elladan remarked conversationally, helping himself to some of her olun, “when we arrived in Minas Tirith to discover that Master Axantur had departed the city in the spring with all his household.”
“We heard concern from many who knew them,” Elrohir continued, flagging the server to bring another plate, “but the feelings of both Lord Ecthelion and the folk of the fourth circle were so acute we felt bound to promise them we would investigate.”
“They would be most upset if they knew where you were,” Elladan said.
As, I think, would our father, Elrohir added silently.
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary:
Word Count: 425
Note: Ran out of writing time - more of this at some point this month!
Anariel tried her best not to frown as she listened, keeping her face neutral as if her only care in the world was the food in front of her, not absorbing the vocabulary and cadence of the language spoken in this part of Near Harad, a dialect that seemed to have influences from both Adunaic and Variag.
She firmly ignored the little voice buried deep inside her that still tried to insist she was no good at languages. She spoke half a dozen fluently by now, and could get by with basics in several more besides- take that, high school French!
Languages were one more tool, and occasionally a weapon, and learning them had gotten somewhat easier once she starting looking at them that way. The Slayer was naturally good with weapons, right? So she should be naturally good with languages.
It was a trick, but it was a trick that was working, so she would go with it.
Even if, deep down, she still felt like she was bad at languages.
“You’re really not,” someone murmured behind her.
Startled, she reached out with her mind, only to find…
“El, what the heck are you doing here?” she hissed.
“We might ask you the same,” her brother replied, as the twins settled on either side of her.
Their hair might look like it was sloppy and mannish, but she knew that it was actually very carefully contrived to hide their elvish ears.
That was not a problem she had. Her little sister’s ears might have gotten pointier over the years in Middle Earth, but her ears remained stubbornly mannish. Happily, in this part of Harad, it was the fashion for women to wear scarves or other head coverings that left only their face visible. It seemed largely practical, given how fierce the afternoon sun could get. But it had the happy side effect of making it fairly easy for her, Will, Tara, and Anya to blend in.
“Imagine our surprise,” Elladan remarked conversationally, helping himself to some of her olun, “when we arrived in Minas Tirith to discover that Master Axantur had departed the city in the spring with all his household.”
“We heard concern from many who knew them,” Elrohir continued, flagging the server to bring another plate, “but the feelings of both Lord Ecthelion and the folk of the fourth circle were so acute we felt bound to promise them we would investigate.”
“They would be most upset if they knew where you were,” Elladan said.
As, I think, would our father, Elrohir added silently.