Day 26 - Bodies At Rest
Title: Bodies At Rest
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien and Whedon. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: In Lorien, Buffy sleeps. Her father and grandmother have a conversation about the Slayer.
Word Count: 1280
Elrond stumbled slightly when the world snapped back into focus.
If this was how Tindomiel traveled, he would not be taking her up on offers to get him places faster anytime soon. He would sooner walk than use the Key if it meant this sort of sickening lurch as if reality had just been suspended and resumed.
“As to what it is like when Tindomiel moves, you would need to ask her,” Melian said distractedly. “It has never seemed to bother Maeglin or Anairon.”
Elrond had already been warned in the past that in tense or stressful moments, his maia foremother did not always remember to distinguish between thought meant to be shared, thought not meant to be shared, and spoken words.
“We have a bed already prepared for her, young Elrond,” came a soothing voice. “Her arrival is not unlooked for.”
Estë.
He has been her student on several occasions, and still had much to learn. But for now…
“For now, rest is the best healer she could have,” Estë assured him. “Do not trouble yourself that it is anything more than deep sleep. She will wake in her own good time.”
It still felt terrible to actually put his daughter down.
“You need not go far,” Estë offered. “In fact, it will probably help if you do not. Singing might help as well.”
Elrond brushed a hand over Anariel’s hair, and did his best.
The song that came to him was one he could only hope she would remember. In her worst moments, she tended to revert to the tongue of California. But she’d heard this before California. It was one of the first songs he’d ever sung to her - one remembered from his own childhood.
He’d never been quite sure if it was the tune, the words, the surety that they were hallowed by time and many little ears having heard them before his and Elros’, or if it had been Makalaurë’s voice that did the trick.
It was only when they’d arrived in Tirion that he’d discovered the song that banished all monsters (well, nearly all - some had only respected Maedhros’ presence) and let elflings sleep safe was one that Nerdanel had sung to all her sons. She’d heard it as a child from her mother.
It did seem to help. Or maybe it was just helping him. It was hard to say.
Melian waited until he had sung himself out before she spoke.
“What do you know of this power Anariel calls the Slayer?” she asked.
It was a little unnerving to have her full attention focused so completely on him.
It was more unnerving to have to admit how little he knew.
“Not much, I am afraid, Grandmother,” he replied. “She has never been overly forthcoming about California, and after her mortal sisters and brothers passed beyond the circles of the world, she rarely spoke of it. I learned more from Celebrían and Tindomiel than I did from Anariel.”
“Show me.”
Melian did not pretend it was anything but a command.
He reluctantly opened his mind to let her see what he knew of the Slayer. First and foremost, that he did not understand whence the power came. Next, his certainty that despite the obvious healing benefits and heightened reflexes it bestowed, any gifts it gave had not been worth the price of his daughter’s stunted growth - much less the risk to her life. And he was not sure what else it might have suppressed or robbed her of altogether.
Melian looked troubled.
“This we must think on,” she murmured. “We knew she was no longer within the circles of the world - that we knew before you did. But this Slayer speaks to us of a world every bit as marred as Arda.”
Elrond was startled. None of his relatives have ever spoken to him of Celebrían’s disappearance with the baby. At least, not to do more than allude to the rejoicing at their return.
“We knew at once that they had not come to the Halls,” Estë explained softly when Melian did not elaborate.
“We had no way to tell you, not that we would have wished to rob you of what hope you still had. Your parents were distraught, for Eärendil saw it happen.”
“And when they returned?” Elrond demanded hoarsely, shaken by the implication that their extended family had known and mourned so profound a loss yet never said a word of it to them.
“We rejoiced with the rest of your kin, of course. Though we were also puzzled by how one daughter had become two. I cannot say that we are less puzzled now that we have seen them both.”
“How so?” Elrond asked, intrigued.
He had heard the California explanation, but he was itching to know what the ainur made of it.
“It is the oddest blend of extremely sophisticated, beyond what even Yavanna, Varda, and I working together might have achieved, and exceedingly crude,” Estë said slowly, as if she were having trouble limiting herself to words.
“Crude?”
It was not often that such a question was answered, but today was full of surprises.
“Yes, to our eyes it appears almost as if parts of your older daughter had been ripped from her wholesale to create the younger,” Melian explained. “Much as though someone had hacked at her with a knife, fëa and hroä. Yet for all that, Anariel is unharmed and Tindomiel is her own person, with talents and appearance that were never Anariel’s. It is all the more puzzling for being so very at odds with the feeling of this Slayer.”
“I am told it was done by a different group. They wished a Slayer to protect the power of the Key.”
“Then why did they not give that power directly to her?” Estë asked in bemusement, speaking as much to Melian as to Elrond. “It would surely make more sense than giving the power to a more vulnerable Incarnate. If it were possible to create an entirely new Incarnate, it should have been much easier to bond to this existing power.”
Elrond had long since come to his own conclusion about that.
“I believe they wished the Key protected only for a short time. After the immediate threat passed, I suspect they intended to retrieve it. They had no wish for it to be merged with the Slayer.”
That answer was plainly not one Estë or Melian cared for.
“Then let us be glad my granddaughters were able to return to their rightful home before that happened,” Melian sniffed. “Though that still does not answer any of our questions about the Slayer itself.”
Elrond decided that as long as they were in a sharing mood, he would chance another question.
“What does the Slayer look like to you?” he asked.
Estë frowned.
“Familiar,” she said slowly. “As though it were of us.”
“And yet not,” Melian added quickly. “More like one of you.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if by ‘you’, they meant ‘half-elven’, ‘elven’, or 'Incarnates'.
Either way, it was an interesting thought - and one to keep in mind for when Anariel was awake.
“You should sleep too, young one,” Melian said, sounding much more like a grandmother than one of the ainur. “We will think on these things, and watch over both of you.”
“I am not tired,” Elrond began reasonably.
“We did not ask!” Estë laughed. “You will rest all the same.”
Coming from a Vala, he had little choice. His eyes were already closing.
It was just possible his daughters were rubbing off on him, as his last thought before sleep claimed him had a distinctly California flavor to it.
That’s cheating.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien and Whedon. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: In Lorien, Buffy sleeps. Her father and grandmother have a conversation about the Slayer.
Word Count: 1280
Elrond stumbled slightly when the world snapped back into focus.
If this was how Tindomiel traveled, he would not be taking her up on offers to get him places faster anytime soon. He would sooner walk than use the Key if it meant this sort of sickening lurch as if reality had just been suspended and resumed.
“As to what it is like when Tindomiel moves, you would need to ask her,” Melian said distractedly. “It has never seemed to bother Maeglin or Anairon.”
Elrond had already been warned in the past that in tense or stressful moments, his maia foremother did not always remember to distinguish between thought meant to be shared, thought not meant to be shared, and spoken words.
“We have a bed already prepared for her, young Elrond,” came a soothing voice. “Her arrival is not unlooked for.”
Estë.
He has been her student on several occasions, and still had much to learn. But for now…
“For now, rest is the best healer she could have,” Estë assured him. “Do not trouble yourself that it is anything more than deep sleep. She will wake in her own good time.”
It still felt terrible to actually put his daughter down.
“You need not go far,” Estë offered. “In fact, it will probably help if you do not. Singing might help as well.”
Elrond brushed a hand over Anariel’s hair, and did his best.
The song that came to him was one he could only hope she would remember. In her worst moments, she tended to revert to the tongue of California. But she’d heard this before California. It was one of the first songs he’d ever sung to her - one remembered from his own childhood.
He’d never been quite sure if it was the tune, the words, the surety that they were hallowed by time and many little ears having heard them before his and Elros’, or if it had been Makalaurë’s voice that did the trick.
It was only when they’d arrived in Tirion that he’d discovered the song that banished all monsters (well, nearly all - some had only respected Maedhros’ presence) and let elflings sleep safe was one that Nerdanel had sung to all her sons. She’d heard it as a child from her mother.
It did seem to help. Or maybe it was just helping him. It was hard to say.
Melian waited until he had sung himself out before she spoke.
“What do you know of this power Anariel calls the Slayer?” she asked.
It was a little unnerving to have her full attention focused so completely on him.
It was more unnerving to have to admit how little he knew.
“Not much, I am afraid, Grandmother,” he replied. “She has never been overly forthcoming about California, and after her mortal sisters and brothers passed beyond the circles of the world, she rarely spoke of it. I learned more from Celebrían and Tindomiel than I did from Anariel.”
“Show me.”
Melian did not pretend it was anything but a command.
He reluctantly opened his mind to let her see what he knew of the Slayer. First and foremost, that he did not understand whence the power came. Next, his certainty that despite the obvious healing benefits and heightened reflexes it bestowed, any gifts it gave had not been worth the price of his daughter’s stunted growth - much less the risk to her life. And he was not sure what else it might have suppressed or robbed her of altogether.
Melian looked troubled.
“This we must think on,” she murmured. “We knew she was no longer within the circles of the world - that we knew before you did. But this Slayer speaks to us of a world every bit as marred as Arda.”
Elrond was startled. None of his relatives have ever spoken to him of Celebrían’s disappearance with the baby. At least, not to do more than allude to the rejoicing at their return.
“We knew at once that they had not come to the Halls,” Estë explained softly when Melian did not elaborate.
“We had no way to tell you, not that we would have wished to rob you of what hope you still had. Your parents were distraught, for Eärendil saw it happen.”
“And when they returned?” Elrond demanded hoarsely, shaken by the implication that their extended family had known and mourned so profound a loss yet never said a word of it to them.
“We rejoiced with the rest of your kin, of course. Though we were also puzzled by how one daughter had become two. I cannot say that we are less puzzled now that we have seen them both.”
“How so?” Elrond asked, intrigued.
He had heard the California explanation, but he was itching to know what the ainur made of it.
“It is the oddest blend of extremely sophisticated, beyond what even Yavanna, Varda, and I working together might have achieved, and exceedingly crude,” Estë said slowly, as if she were having trouble limiting herself to words.
“Crude?”
It was not often that such a question was answered, but today was full of surprises.
“Yes, to our eyes it appears almost as if parts of your older daughter had been ripped from her wholesale to create the younger,” Melian explained. “Much as though someone had hacked at her with a knife, fëa and hroä. Yet for all that, Anariel is unharmed and Tindomiel is her own person, with talents and appearance that were never Anariel’s. It is all the more puzzling for being so very at odds with the feeling of this Slayer.”
“I am told it was done by a different group. They wished a Slayer to protect the power of the Key.”
“Then why did they not give that power directly to her?” Estë asked in bemusement, speaking as much to Melian as to Elrond. “It would surely make more sense than giving the power to a more vulnerable Incarnate. If it were possible to create an entirely new Incarnate, it should have been much easier to bond to this existing power.”
Elrond had long since come to his own conclusion about that.
“I believe they wished the Key protected only for a short time. After the immediate threat passed, I suspect they intended to retrieve it. They had no wish for it to be merged with the Slayer.”
That answer was plainly not one Estë or Melian cared for.
“Then let us be glad my granddaughters were able to return to their rightful home before that happened,” Melian sniffed. “Though that still does not answer any of our questions about the Slayer itself.”
Elrond decided that as long as they were in a sharing mood, he would chance another question.
“What does the Slayer look like to you?” he asked.
Estë frowned.
“Familiar,” she said slowly. “As though it were of us.”
“And yet not,” Melian added quickly. “More like one of you.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if by ‘you’, they meant ‘half-elven’, ‘elven’, or 'Incarnates'.
Either way, it was an interesting thought - and one to keep in mind for when Anariel was awake.
“You should sleep too, young one,” Melian said, sounding much more like a grandmother than one of the ainur. “We will think on these things, and watch over both of you.”
“I am not tired,” Elrond began reasonably.
“We did not ask!” Estë laughed. “You will rest all the same.”
Coming from a Vala, he had little choice. His eyes were already closing.
It was just possible his daughters were rubbing off on him, as his last thought before sleep claimed him had a distinctly California flavor to it.
That’s cheating.