Day 19 - Not Her Sister
Title: Not Her Sister
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Even in the Undying Lands, accidents happen. Especially to Dawn.
Word Count: 1385
Note: Sorry so short - on the verge of falling asleep. Hoping to do something longer tomorrow. (And possibly more cheerful - apparently I've been bringing on the tears the past few days.)
The landing was abrupt and came with a sound Tindomiel had never heard before, and would not forget. (There were times when elven memory was not a blessing.) It was a rather sickening crunch, which she not only heard but felt, seeing as the worst of it came from her own leg.
She eyed the cliffside she had just lost her footing on, and tried to judge how far she had just fallen. Definitely not as far as Anariel had in that rockslide a few decades back - the twins’ telling of that story made it clear that she’d pretty much surfed the falling section of the mountain for the best part of a mile. But still far enough that she was probably lucky it had been her leg and not her neck that just made that horrifying sound.
She could just hear her brothers and sister now if she’d managed to get herself killed in the Undying Lands…
“Tindomiel!”
Her companion, her cousin Anairon, was sliding his way down the cliff as quickly as he could without joining her in a crumpled heap.
“Are you all right?” he demanded shrilly.
She had no idea why he was bothering to ask. From what she could tell, the angle of her left leg could by no stretch of the imagination be classed as ‘all right’.
Just about the time it occurred to her to wonder why she still felt fairly ok, she made the mistake of trying to move.
Pain exploded across her nerves, as her leg - among other body parts - made it clear just how happy it wasn’t.
“Definitely not,” she announced, and found to her consternation that her voice was also not ok. “In fact, pretty sure I’m the opposite of all right.”
Anairon finally reached the foot of the cliff and scrambled across the sand to assess the damage.
“Manwë’s balls,” he swore as he got a clear look at her injured limb. “That looks…”
He trailed off, his face taking on a rather greenish tone.
Tindomiel sighed inwardly. She was certain that Anairon, Amanyar born and raised in the sheltered confines of the Noldor royal complex in Tirion, had never seen an injury like this before.
It was times like this - although to be fair, this was the first time this bad - that she really missed her brothers and sisters, still in faraway Endorë. She wasn’t sure about the boys, but she knew for a fact that Anariel had experienced far worse and lived to tell the tale, both in Sunnydale and in Arda. And their brothers had been around to not only see but also heal a bunch of Anariel’s injuries, so she wouldn’t have had to worry about her big brothers passing out or losing their lunch while there were more urgent issues.
How to get back to her grandfather Olwë’s palace, for one. In her current state, the five miles back to Alqualondë might as well be five hundred. Compared to how she was going to get anywhere she might find a competent healer, how not to be grounded for the next ten years or so was a distant second.
“No puking,” Tindomiel announced. “I’m the one who just well and truly smashed her leg up, so if anyone is going to be sick, it’s me.”
Anairon blinked, but didn’t argue.
“Fine,” he said, his voice still shaky. “But how the Void am I supposed to fix this?”
Tindomiel rolled her eyes.
“Unless you spent a lot of time listening to my father that I don’t know about, you don’t. Something like this requires a healer who knows what they’re doing. Do you even know how to splint a broken bone?”
At his confused look, she rolled her eyes.
“That would also be a no,” she sighed, and then groaned. “Somehow Anariel never mentioned injuries hurting so stinking much.”
“Your sister has done something like this?” Anairon asked, eying her, then the cliff, as if trying to judge the likelihood of somehow getting her back up to the top.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that as much as her leg is hurting, she’d kill him well before they got even halfway up. Possibly even before they got back to the cliff.
“My sister has done far worse than this,” she said flatly. “Ask me later about the time she almost lost her arm.”
Anairon blinked.
“She wrote that you and Arwen exaggerated about that,” he protested.
“Anariel’s a lying liar who lies when it comes to how bad her injuries are,” Tindomiel informed him.
According to the twins, the arm had been pretty much hanging by a thread, wrenched out of its socket and looking something like raw meat pinned between rocks. According to her sister, it was only a flesh wound. Tindomiel was still not sure if that had been an intentional Monty Python reference on Buffy’s part.
“But I’m not,” she continued. “This hurts, and it feels like it’s going to hurt worse the longer I sit here. Right now I'm pretty sure I have shock going for me, but once it wears off, the pain will kick in for real.”
Anairon looked at her.
“What do I do?” he asked nervously. “I don’t think I can carry you all the way back.”
“Yeah, that would be what we in the trade call ‘a bad idea’,” Tindomiel replied.
“You’re not supposed to move someone who’s messed up like this unless they’re someplace clearly unsafe.”
Anairon looked around.
“I think you’re above the high tide line,” he said uncertainly. “So that means this is safe, right?”
Tindomiel tried to prop herself up enough to see, but quickly gave that up as a really bad idea.
“Yeah, let’s go with that, because trying to move me would be worse,” she decided.
“So what do I do?” Anairon asked again. “Try to flag down a fishing boat?”
Tindomiel considered that notion. If they could get a ship to stop, the grown elves on board would probably know better than Anairon how to deal with injuries, and even if they couldn’t ferry her out to the boat, she’d at least have someone with her while they sent word back to her grandmother’s grandparents.
On the other hand, it was mid-day, which meant that most fishing boats were well out to sea, and few if any of the ketches that made the trade runs to the settlements of Araman were likely to be this close to the main city of the Lindar. Their only real chance would be if one of the messenger sloops happened by, but even that was unlikely.
She shook her head.
“You’re going to have to go for help. We could be here all day waiting for a ship to go by, and even then, we wouldn’t be sure of catching their attention. They could sail right on by without noticing us.”
Anairon eyed her leg dubiously.
“You want me to leave you like this by yourself?” he asked, sounding horrified.
She knew her cousin well enough by now to be sure that there were all sorts of sentences starting with ‘Findekano would never’ dancing through his head.
“If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Tindomiel replied crankily.
“Right,” Anairon sighed. “Somehow I don’t think my brothers ever had problems like this.”
Tindomiel snorted.
“You’re telling me that that Findekano, Turukano, and Arakano never got hurt in their childhood? Seriously?” she demanded in disbelief.
“No one’s ever mentioned it,” he shrugged. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll just wait here,” Tindomiel said, trying to smile, but feeling more like grimacing.
Really, how did her sister cope with all her injuries? When they’d still lived in Sunnydale, Anariel hadn’t gotten injured every night, but it still happened fairly regularly - puncture wounds, wrenched muscles, the occasional broken bone. Yet no matter what she’d been through the night before, Buffy Summers had still showed up at school every day, cheerful and normal enough that no adults had noticed. Heck, even their mother hadn’t noticed for the first few years after Buffy had been called!
She gritted her teeth as she watched Anairon set off. She might not be her sister, but she could bloody well tough it out until her cousin brought help.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Even in the Undying Lands, accidents happen. Especially to Dawn.
Word Count: 1385
Note: Sorry so short - on the verge of falling asleep. Hoping to do something longer tomorrow. (And possibly more cheerful - apparently I've been bringing on the tears the past few days.)
The landing was abrupt and came with a sound Tindomiel had never heard before, and would not forget. (There were times when elven memory was not a blessing.) It was a rather sickening crunch, which she not only heard but felt, seeing as the worst of it came from her own leg.
She eyed the cliffside she had just lost her footing on, and tried to judge how far she had just fallen. Definitely not as far as Anariel had in that rockslide a few decades back - the twins’ telling of that story made it clear that she’d pretty much surfed the falling section of the mountain for the best part of a mile. But still far enough that she was probably lucky it had been her leg and not her neck that just made that horrifying sound.
She could just hear her brothers and sister now if she’d managed to get herself killed in the Undying Lands…
“Tindomiel!”
Her companion, her cousin Anairon, was sliding his way down the cliff as quickly as he could without joining her in a crumpled heap.
“Are you all right?” he demanded shrilly.
She had no idea why he was bothering to ask. From what she could tell, the angle of her left leg could by no stretch of the imagination be classed as ‘all right’.
Just about the time it occurred to her to wonder why she still felt fairly ok, she made the mistake of trying to move.
Pain exploded across her nerves, as her leg - among other body parts - made it clear just how happy it wasn’t.
“Definitely not,” she announced, and found to her consternation that her voice was also not ok. “In fact, pretty sure I’m the opposite of all right.”
Anairon finally reached the foot of the cliff and scrambled across the sand to assess the damage.
“Manwë’s balls,” he swore as he got a clear look at her injured limb. “That looks…”
He trailed off, his face taking on a rather greenish tone.
Tindomiel sighed inwardly. She was certain that Anairon, Amanyar born and raised in the sheltered confines of the Noldor royal complex in Tirion, had never seen an injury like this before.
It was times like this - although to be fair, this was the first time this bad - that she really missed her brothers and sisters, still in faraway Endorë. She wasn’t sure about the boys, but she knew for a fact that Anariel had experienced far worse and lived to tell the tale, both in Sunnydale and in Arda. And their brothers had been around to not only see but also heal a bunch of Anariel’s injuries, so she wouldn’t have had to worry about her big brothers passing out or losing their lunch while there were more urgent issues.
How to get back to her grandfather Olwë’s palace, for one. In her current state, the five miles back to Alqualondë might as well be five hundred. Compared to how she was going to get anywhere she might find a competent healer, how not to be grounded for the next ten years or so was a distant second.
“No puking,” Tindomiel announced. “I’m the one who just well and truly smashed her leg up, so if anyone is going to be sick, it’s me.”
Anairon blinked, but didn’t argue.
“Fine,” he said, his voice still shaky. “But how the Void am I supposed to fix this?”
Tindomiel rolled her eyes.
“Unless you spent a lot of time listening to my father that I don’t know about, you don’t. Something like this requires a healer who knows what they’re doing. Do you even know how to splint a broken bone?”
At his confused look, she rolled her eyes.
“That would also be a no,” she sighed, and then groaned. “Somehow Anariel never mentioned injuries hurting so stinking much.”
“Your sister has done something like this?” Anairon asked, eying her, then the cliff, as if trying to judge the likelihood of somehow getting her back up to the top.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that as much as her leg is hurting, she’d kill him well before they got even halfway up. Possibly even before they got back to the cliff.
“My sister has done far worse than this,” she said flatly. “Ask me later about the time she almost lost her arm.”
Anairon blinked.
“She wrote that you and Arwen exaggerated about that,” he protested.
“Anariel’s a lying liar who lies when it comes to how bad her injuries are,” Tindomiel informed him.
According to the twins, the arm had been pretty much hanging by a thread, wrenched out of its socket and looking something like raw meat pinned between rocks. According to her sister, it was only a flesh wound. Tindomiel was still not sure if that had been an intentional Monty Python reference on Buffy’s part.
“But I’m not,” she continued. “This hurts, and it feels like it’s going to hurt worse the longer I sit here. Right now I'm pretty sure I have shock going for me, but once it wears off, the pain will kick in for real.”
Anairon looked at her.
“What do I do?” he asked nervously. “I don’t think I can carry you all the way back.”
“Yeah, that would be what we in the trade call ‘a bad idea’,” Tindomiel replied.
“You’re not supposed to move someone who’s messed up like this unless they’re someplace clearly unsafe.”
Anairon looked around.
“I think you’re above the high tide line,” he said uncertainly. “So that means this is safe, right?”
Tindomiel tried to prop herself up enough to see, but quickly gave that up as a really bad idea.
“Yeah, let’s go with that, because trying to move me would be worse,” she decided.
“So what do I do?” Anairon asked again. “Try to flag down a fishing boat?”
Tindomiel considered that notion. If they could get a ship to stop, the grown elves on board would probably know better than Anairon how to deal with injuries, and even if they couldn’t ferry her out to the boat, she’d at least have someone with her while they sent word back to her grandmother’s grandparents.
On the other hand, it was mid-day, which meant that most fishing boats were well out to sea, and few if any of the ketches that made the trade runs to the settlements of Araman were likely to be this close to the main city of the Lindar. Their only real chance would be if one of the messenger sloops happened by, but even that was unlikely.
She shook her head.
“You’re going to have to go for help. We could be here all day waiting for a ship to go by, and even then, we wouldn’t be sure of catching their attention. They could sail right on by without noticing us.”
Anairon eyed her leg dubiously.
“You want me to leave you like this by yourself?” he asked, sounding horrified.
She knew her cousin well enough by now to be sure that there were all sorts of sentences starting with ‘Findekano would never’ dancing through his head.
“If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Tindomiel replied crankily.
“Right,” Anairon sighed. “Somehow I don’t think my brothers ever had problems like this.”
Tindomiel snorted.
“You’re telling me that that Findekano, Turukano, and Arakano never got hurt in their childhood? Seriously?” she demanded in disbelief.
“No one’s ever mentioned it,” he shrugged. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll just wait here,” Tindomiel said, trying to smile, but feeling more like grimacing.
Really, how did her sister cope with all her injuries? When they’d still lived in Sunnydale, Anariel hadn’t gotten injured every night, but it still happened fairly regularly - puncture wounds, wrenched muscles, the occasional broken bone. Yet no matter what she’d been through the night before, Buffy Summers had still showed up at school every day, cheerful and normal enough that no adults had noticed. Heck, even their mother hadn’t noticed for the first few years after Buffy had been called!
She gritted her teeth as she watched Anairon set off. She might not be her sister, but she could bloody well tough it out until her cousin brought help.