Aug. 31 - Hello Darkness My Old Friend
Title: Hello Darkness My Old Friend
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 is not having a good day. At least she's got a big target to hit...
Word Count: 2050
Note: And on that note... I promise I will not make everyone wait until next Fic a Day to find out what happens next.
Anariel looked around in confusion.
She should by rights have fallen flat on her face next to her sister.
Instead, as far as she could tell, she was upright.
Of course, she couldn’t be entirely sure about that, given that there was nothing around her but the most absolute and complete darkness she’s ever experienced. She can’t even see her own hand in front of her face. (If she hadn’t brought it up cautiously, she’d probably have smacked herself trying.)
There was no light. No sound. No warmth.
There was nothing.
The falling part had gone on for some time that could have been anywhere from a heartbeat to forever, and while she’s pretty sure she’s not falling anymore, she’s not entirely sure she’s standing, either.
Were it not for the fact that she still seemed to be breathing just fine, she’d wonder if this was outer space and the scientists back in California had just been wrong about it being fatally cold. (Unfortunately, she couldn’t be sure that ruled out the Everlasting Dark. That concept was a lot hazier than the final frontier.)
“Well this is new,” she remarked. “El? El? Anybody?”
She wasn’t terribly surprised by the lack of answer. Not only was there nothing to see, hear, or feel, there were no fëar around either. That ruled out her brothers being nearby.
It was a little disconcerting to find herself in a position that made ‘face down in a grave’ sound good by comparison.
She didn’t even have a weapon. Burying her sister hadn’t seemed like it required one. She’d feel a lot better if she at least had her sword.
Still no sound, but she could suddenly feel the hilt of the sword in her hand. And not just any sword, her favorite sword. Calaliltië, dancing light.
“Let there be light,” she whispered sardonically.
And abruptly there was. The sword was giving off light.
“Who knew?” she asked, staring at it.
She was pretty sure that wasn’t standard with elven swords. Even swords made by Maeglin. More to the point, she’s pretty sure she’s made similar jokes in the past but her sword hadn’t obligingly turned itself into a flashlight. (It would have been seriously useful when she’d gone to check Moria out for Kili.)
As long as the day was being thoroughly weird - she hasn’t thought of the word wiggins for an age, but it seemed entirely appropriate - why can’t she light up like that? She’s named for the sun…
Holy crap, it worked.
“Curioser and curioser,” she sighed.
Where the heck was she?
She was leaning against ‘the Void’, mostly because she’s never heard or read anything to make her believe things work that way there.
She frowned. Who else was here? Because she found herself absolutely certain she wasn’t alone anymore. Someone or something was far too amused by her presence.
“Come out, come out, whatever you are,” she suggested, shifting her grip on the sword from ‘what the hell’ to ‘something’s gonna die’.
She hadn’t brought herself here, wherever 'here' was, which meant someone else had. She seriously doubted they’d done it just to leave her to eternal boredom, or to see if half-elves reacted to sensory deprivation the same way humans did.
Unfortunately, she had an idea who might want to do such a thing. And that it happened now, today, the worst day she’s had in a while and right before she left Middle-earth… well, it kind of confirmed her idea about how she’d gotten to Sunnydale in the first place.
The only way for Morgoth to know what’s going on in Arda these days is for him to have someone on the inside. And there’s only one person who would do that. Well, being. Person was probably too strong a word these days.
Now that he’d given her enough time to realize what she was facing, Morgoth made his appearance.
She wasn’t quite sure how she could see him, because aside from him, her, and her sword, there was still a thoroughly disconcerting lack of light. Wherever they were, physics didn’t seem to apply.
But he was there - and in something like what she guessed must have been his form in Arda, back in the First Age. Big. (Really big, to the point that the difference between her height and a normal elf really made no difference whatsoever, and now she really doesn’t get why everyone brought it up regularly.)
He was dressed in black, but that she’d pretty much expected. The First had been fond of black, too. There were scars on his face, though she couldn’t tell if they were mementoes from Thorondor or whether something else had got him. His hands were burned worse then Makalaurë’s had been.
Unfortunately, he was standing still, so she couldn’t tell if he still had the limp. She really hoped he did, and not just cause it would put him in a disadvantage in a fight.
He gazed down at her.
She suspected she was supposed to feel intimidated. It might have worked if he’d been the one all lit up and she was the one standing in the dark. But as it is, she’s making Morgoth squint.
It’s the little things, really.
She smiled.
“Oh, hey, haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?” she said, deliberately making herself as cheerful and chippy as if they were back in that weird little cave. “The First Evil, right? Still hanging out in Sunnydale? Love what you’ve done with your…lack of hair.”
“Still as foolish as ever,” Morgoth growled.
“Ow, that hurt,” she snorted. “I mean, of the two of us, you’re the one that couldn’t manage to kill a single solitary vampire. Meanwhile, there was teenage me killing vampires pretty much every night. Not bad for an underage half-elf. Gotta ask though - when did you figure out you’d missed your moment?”
She grinned smugly, because she’s pretty sure it must have chapped his hide no end to realize that she had died and he hadn’t even noticed.
Something really massive whooshed well over her head. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be the hammer equivalent of a warning shot, or if Morgoth was just a little rusty on the mechanics of fighting someone five foot four while standing twenty feet tall. Either way, note to self: do not get hit with that.
“Aw, you got your hammer back. That’s sweet.”
He hadn’t been holding it a second ago, any more than she’d be holding a sword when she got here. More importantly, he’d had to take a step to swing it. Guess who still had a bad foot?
“You can make irreverent quips all day long, little girl, but it won’t change your basic position: you can’t win.”
She really hated that he was right, at least as far as the current situation went. She’s got a pretty good idea now of where she was, and more importantly, where she wasn’t - she wasn’t outside of Arda, which means Morgoth wasn’t really here.
But he still has a point: she can’t beat him here. On the other hand, if he kills her, it just might be permanently fatal. Even if it wasn’t, if she died and took a quick trip to Mandos - assuming that actually applied - she couldn’t be sure if she’d keep the power of the Slayer. And giving that up was non-negotiable. She needed it to win whenever he actually showed up in Arda for real.
Either way, advantage, Morgoth.
Long term, though…she’s got a few things up her sleeve, at least, she does as long as she can avoid showing her hand. And someone who never lied to her told her once that all she had to do was hold out long enough for her family to reach her. She’s prepared to take Makalaurë at his word.
“I don’t have to win today,” she shrugged. “All I have to do is hold.”
She caught the flicker of doubt only because she was looking for it. He’d been looking for defiance, or irreverence, or possibly fear. He hadn’t expected this.
“Of course,” she continued. “That doesn’t mean I can’t get a few hits in while I wait. Just for shiggles. You’ve still got a limp from tangling with my great-granddad. I’m kind of curious to see what I can do. Why don’t we find out?”
She grinned brightly.
It was really just a form of buying time, but hey, she might as well find what fun she could. It wouldn’t last.
Besides, it was seriously satisfying to see a twenty foot Vala who had been present at the creation of the universe flinch.
It’s the little things.
---
Elrohir handed his bow to Elladan and cautiously slid down to reach his littlest sister, firmly quashing the thought that he might have to bury two sisters today.
It was rather crowded with three of them in a space not meant for it, but he managed.
He was relieved to find Anariel still breathing, albeit much slower and shallower than normal.
“She’s unconscious, but seems otherwise fine,” he told Elladan.
It wasn’t strictly necessary to talk- he could feel his brother looking through his eyes.
Working together, they hoisted Anariel up and laid her on the grass.
Elrohir looked anxiously from one sister to the other. Normally he would have said the dead could wait, and yet somehow he felt an urgency to be away from here as quickly as possible.
Elladan was checking Anariel for himself.
“I can see no obvious reason,” he said worriedly. “What’s more, I can’t feel her.”
Elrohir frowned. How could he have overlooked that? This close, his little sister’s fëa should have been blazing like the sun, a presence impossible to miss.
“You overlooked it because you retreated too much into yourself to hide from the absence of Arwen,” Elladan shrugged. “I don’t like this. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
And neither Ada nor Grandmother is here to ask.
The words hung unspoken.
That made it clear. They could not wait until Anariel woke to see to Arwen. If the flowers they scattered over her were placed with more haste and less care than they had intended earlier, Arwen would surely understand, wherever she was. They filled in the grave as quickly as they could manage.
It was not right - there should have been a song, even if it was a song of mourning, but neither of them had the heart for it.
It was as they were blowing seeds across the fresh earth, and telling them that this was a good place to grow that they heard it.
The unmistakable crack of a breaking bone echoed in the silence of Caras Galadhon, so loud Elrohir thought it must have been audible halfway to the Havens. He was moving toward Anariel before the sound died.
Elladan’s head whipped around in shock.
His little sister was as motionless as when they’d found her, but a quick examination proved that her left arm was broken below the elbow.
Elrohir met his brother’s horrified eyes.
They moved as one. Elladan splinted the arm while Elrohir gathered what little of their things remained and shoved them into bags without regard for where, or even much care for whether he missed anything - all that was important had been packed already. Even his sister’s sword was already strapped to her pack. He got their bags onto the horses, checking that he fastened them securely enough for the ride ahead.
Then Elladan swung up onto his horse and Elrohir handed their still unconscious baby sister up to him, careful to jar her arm as little as possible.
“The Dunland pass?” Elladan called, urging his horse into motion even as Elrohir mounted, whistling to Anariel’s horse to follow.
It was not a route they would normally use, but it was the fastest way - no diplomatic niceties as would be inevitable with Moria, even if they went over Caradhras rather than passing through the reestablished dwarven realm; no riding days out of the way to the Gap of Rohan.
Whatever was happening to their sister, the best thing they could do was get her to the ship waiting in the Havens as quickly as possible.
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 is not having a good day. At least she's got a big target to hit...
Word Count: 2050
Note: And on that note... I promise I will not make everyone wait until next Fic a Day to find out what happens next.
Anariel looked around in confusion.
She should by rights have fallen flat on her face next to her sister.
Instead, as far as she could tell, she was upright.
Of course, she couldn’t be entirely sure about that, given that there was nothing around her but the most absolute and complete darkness she’s ever experienced. She can’t even see her own hand in front of her face. (If she hadn’t brought it up cautiously, she’d probably have smacked herself trying.)
There was no light. No sound. No warmth.
There was nothing.
The falling part had gone on for some time that could have been anywhere from a heartbeat to forever, and while she’s pretty sure she’s not falling anymore, she’s not entirely sure she’s standing, either.
Were it not for the fact that she still seemed to be breathing just fine, she’d wonder if this was outer space and the scientists back in California had just been wrong about it being fatally cold. (Unfortunately, she couldn’t be sure that ruled out the Everlasting Dark. That concept was a lot hazier than the final frontier.)
“Well this is new,” she remarked. “El? El? Anybody?”
She wasn’t terribly surprised by the lack of answer. Not only was there nothing to see, hear, or feel, there were no fëar around either. That ruled out her brothers being nearby.
It was a little disconcerting to find herself in a position that made ‘face down in a grave’ sound good by comparison.
She didn’t even have a weapon. Burying her sister hadn’t seemed like it required one. She’d feel a lot better if she at least had her sword.
Still no sound, but she could suddenly feel the hilt of the sword in her hand. And not just any sword, her favorite sword. Calaliltië, dancing light.
“Let there be light,” she whispered sardonically.
And abruptly there was. The sword was giving off light.
“Who knew?” she asked, staring at it.
She was pretty sure that wasn’t standard with elven swords. Even swords made by Maeglin. More to the point, she’s pretty sure she’s made similar jokes in the past but her sword hadn’t obligingly turned itself into a flashlight. (It would have been seriously useful when she’d gone to check Moria out for Kili.)
As long as the day was being thoroughly weird - she hasn’t thought of the word wiggins for an age, but it seemed entirely appropriate - why can’t she light up like that? She’s named for the sun…
Holy crap, it worked.
“Curioser and curioser,” she sighed.
Where the heck was she?
She was leaning against ‘the Void’, mostly because she’s never heard or read anything to make her believe things work that way there.
She frowned. Who else was here? Because she found herself absolutely certain she wasn’t alone anymore. Someone or something was far too amused by her presence.
“Come out, come out, whatever you are,” she suggested, shifting her grip on the sword from ‘what the hell’ to ‘something’s gonna die’.
She hadn’t brought herself here, wherever 'here' was, which meant someone else had. She seriously doubted they’d done it just to leave her to eternal boredom, or to see if half-elves reacted to sensory deprivation the same way humans did.
Unfortunately, she had an idea who might want to do such a thing. And that it happened now, today, the worst day she’s had in a while and right before she left Middle-earth… well, it kind of confirmed her idea about how she’d gotten to Sunnydale in the first place.
The only way for Morgoth to know what’s going on in Arda these days is for him to have someone on the inside. And there’s only one person who would do that. Well, being. Person was probably too strong a word these days.
Now that he’d given her enough time to realize what she was facing, Morgoth made his appearance.
She wasn’t quite sure how she could see him, because aside from him, her, and her sword, there was still a thoroughly disconcerting lack of light. Wherever they were, physics didn’t seem to apply.
But he was there - and in something like what she guessed must have been his form in Arda, back in the First Age. Big. (Really big, to the point that the difference between her height and a normal elf really made no difference whatsoever, and now she really doesn’t get why everyone brought it up regularly.)
He was dressed in black, but that she’d pretty much expected. The First had been fond of black, too. There were scars on his face, though she couldn’t tell if they were mementoes from Thorondor or whether something else had got him. His hands were burned worse then Makalaurë’s had been.
Unfortunately, he was standing still, so she couldn’t tell if he still had the limp. She really hoped he did, and not just cause it would put him in a disadvantage in a fight.
He gazed down at her.
She suspected she was supposed to feel intimidated. It might have worked if he’d been the one all lit up and she was the one standing in the dark. But as it is, she’s making Morgoth squint.
It’s the little things, really.
She smiled.
“Oh, hey, haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?” she said, deliberately making herself as cheerful and chippy as if they were back in that weird little cave. “The First Evil, right? Still hanging out in Sunnydale? Love what you’ve done with your…lack of hair.”
“Still as foolish as ever,” Morgoth growled.
“Ow, that hurt,” she snorted. “I mean, of the two of us, you’re the one that couldn’t manage to kill a single solitary vampire. Meanwhile, there was teenage me killing vampires pretty much every night. Not bad for an underage half-elf. Gotta ask though - when did you figure out you’d missed your moment?”
She grinned smugly, because she’s pretty sure it must have chapped his hide no end to realize that she had died and he hadn’t even noticed.
Something really massive whooshed well over her head. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to be the hammer equivalent of a warning shot, or if Morgoth was just a little rusty on the mechanics of fighting someone five foot four while standing twenty feet tall. Either way, note to self: do not get hit with that.
“Aw, you got your hammer back. That’s sweet.”
He hadn’t been holding it a second ago, any more than she’d be holding a sword when she got here. More importantly, he’d had to take a step to swing it. Guess who still had a bad foot?
“You can make irreverent quips all day long, little girl, but it won’t change your basic position: you can’t win.”
She really hated that he was right, at least as far as the current situation went. She’s got a pretty good idea now of where she was, and more importantly, where she wasn’t - she wasn’t outside of Arda, which means Morgoth wasn’t really here.
But he still has a point: she can’t beat him here. On the other hand, if he kills her, it just might be permanently fatal. Even if it wasn’t, if she died and took a quick trip to Mandos - assuming that actually applied - she couldn’t be sure if she’d keep the power of the Slayer. And giving that up was non-negotiable. She needed it to win whenever he actually showed up in Arda for real.
Either way, advantage, Morgoth.
Long term, though…she’s got a few things up her sleeve, at least, she does as long as she can avoid showing her hand. And someone who never lied to her told her once that all she had to do was hold out long enough for her family to reach her. She’s prepared to take Makalaurë at his word.
“I don’t have to win today,” she shrugged. “All I have to do is hold.”
She caught the flicker of doubt only because she was looking for it. He’d been looking for defiance, or irreverence, or possibly fear. He hadn’t expected this.
“Of course,” she continued. “That doesn’t mean I can’t get a few hits in while I wait. Just for shiggles. You’ve still got a limp from tangling with my great-granddad. I’m kind of curious to see what I can do. Why don’t we find out?”
She grinned brightly.
It was really just a form of buying time, but hey, she might as well find what fun she could. It wouldn’t last.
Besides, it was seriously satisfying to see a twenty foot Vala who had been present at the creation of the universe flinch.
It’s the little things.
---
Elrohir handed his bow to Elladan and cautiously slid down to reach his littlest sister, firmly quashing the thought that he might have to bury two sisters today.
It was rather crowded with three of them in a space not meant for it, but he managed.
He was relieved to find Anariel still breathing, albeit much slower and shallower than normal.
“She’s unconscious, but seems otherwise fine,” he told Elladan.
It wasn’t strictly necessary to talk- he could feel his brother looking through his eyes.
Working together, they hoisted Anariel up and laid her on the grass.
Elrohir looked anxiously from one sister to the other. Normally he would have said the dead could wait, and yet somehow he felt an urgency to be away from here as quickly as possible.
Elladan was checking Anariel for himself.
“I can see no obvious reason,” he said worriedly. “What’s more, I can’t feel her.”
Elrohir frowned. How could he have overlooked that? This close, his little sister’s fëa should have been blazing like the sun, a presence impossible to miss.
“You overlooked it because you retreated too much into yourself to hide from the absence of Arwen,” Elladan shrugged. “I don’t like this. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
And neither Ada nor Grandmother is here to ask.
The words hung unspoken.
That made it clear. They could not wait until Anariel woke to see to Arwen. If the flowers they scattered over her were placed with more haste and less care than they had intended earlier, Arwen would surely understand, wherever she was. They filled in the grave as quickly as they could manage.
It was not right - there should have been a song, even if it was a song of mourning, but neither of them had the heart for it.
It was as they were blowing seeds across the fresh earth, and telling them that this was a good place to grow that they heard it.
The unmistakable crack of a breaking bone echoed in the silence of Caras Galadhon, so loud Elrohir thought it must have been audible halfway to the Havens. He was moving toward Anariel before the sound died.
Elladan’s head whipped around in shock.
His little sister was as motionless as when they’d found her, but a quick examination proved that her left arm was broken below the elbow.
Elrohir met his brother’s horrified eyes.
They moved as one. Elladan splinted the arm while Elrohir gathered what little of their things remained and shoved them into bags without regard for where, or even much care for whether he missed anything - all that was important had been packed already. Even his sister’s sword was already strapped to her pack. He got their bags onto the horses, checking that he fastened them securely enough for the ride ahead.
Then Elladan swung up onto his horse and Elrohir handed their still unconscious baby sister up to him, careful to jar her arm as little as possible.
“The Dunland pass?” Elladan called, urging his horse into motion even as Elrohir mounted, whistling to Anariel’s horse to follow.
It was not a route they would normally use, but it was the fastest way - no diplomatic niceties as would be inevitable with Moria, even if they went over Caradhras rather than passing through the reestablished dwarven realm; no riding days out of the way to the Gap of Rohan.
Whatever was happening to their sister, the best thing they could do was get her to the ship waiting in the Havens as quickly as possible.