Day 22 - 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: The last half hour of any trip is always the longest. Sailing West is no exception.
Word Count: 2370. Ish.
Note: After a rather frustrating day at work, I've decided to chop the 'Dawn arriving in Alqualondë' piece I mentioned the other day into smaller chunks. Because otherwise today's offering would be far less cheerful and possibly considerably darker. Also, I should really find a Dawn icon where she looks happy instead of annoyed.
Tindomiel gripped the rail of the ship nervously.
There was a smaller boat drawing closer, which the captain assured them would be the Teleri sending out a pilot who knew the waters of Alqualondë well to guide the ship safely into its berth. The mariners of Balar, he said, had done the same service for the Teleri when they brought the host of Aman to Beleriand in the War of Wrath - and their sundered kin had promised to return the favor when the time came.
She was curious to see them - whoever was in the boat would be the first Amanyar she had seen.
Well, except for Glorfindel, who didn’t really count since he’d been at Imladris all her life... and was on the ship with them.
“What if they don’t like us?”
Califiriel’s voice was scarce more than a whisper.
All three girls had been keeping their worries from the adults the entire voyage. Tindomiel might not be quite grown up yet, but she’s not dumb, and neither were her two best friends. They knew perfectly well their parents and Galadriel all had their own private concerns about how they will be received in Valinor, and have been trying to protect the ‘children’.
Cali and her sister Tasariel were afraid that the manner of their begetting will be judged harshly by those in Valinor, High Elves who have not met the Secondborn and who cannot be expected to understand their father’s reasons for offering to help their mothers achieve their desire to have children, much less Willow and Tara’s reasons for preferring an elf to one of the edain.
It was something that had long been considered a private affair by the folk of Imladris, but here it will be apparent to all that they are peredhil and that their father was unmarried. Questions will be unavoidable, and none of them are sure what the reaction will be to the answers.
Glorfindel’s daughters were not even sure if they would be welcomed by their grandparents. His mother Irimë had died in the Kinslaying at Sirion, so presumably she at least had some idea that life on the Hither Shores was not as simple as the Blessed Lands, but his father was a Vanya who had never left, not even for the War of Wrath.
Tindomiel herself was mostly worried for others - her friends and her parents. She had long since made her peace with not being considered adult yet and so obliged to sail with her parents unless she meant to choose mortality. Her coming of age will not be celebrated for another eighteen years.
She would miss having her brothers and sisters there to see it, of course, but she will be the only one of them to celebrate with their extended family. Having ‘come of age’ in Sunnydale, Anariel never had a formal celebration - in fact, she had not even known there was such a thing until the twins mentioned it. (Tindomiel had yet to figure out which birthday counted as her sister’s ‘adulthood’, 16th or 18th. It couldn’t be 21st, since they’d left Sunnydale the month before.)
At the very least, she knew she had enough kin in Valinor that the odds that none of them will like her were very long indeed; and if worse came to worse, she will still have her two best friends. The three of them were well used to being the only ones their age around, since there have been no other elflings in Imladris for over a hundred fifty years. It would have been nice if at least one of her brothers or sisters had come with them, though.
Though she might complain frequently, Tindomiel recognized that there were occasional benefits to being the baby. Knowing her older siblings always had her back was one of them - she really wouldn’t have minded having one of them here to stand as a shield between her and the amanyar if necessary.
“If they don’t like us, it’s their loss,” Tindomiel shrugged dismissively, pleased that she sounded far less worried than she actually felt. “We’re totally adorable.”
That at least drew a giggle from Tas and a smile from Cali.
They had been bored for the last few hours. For most of the voyage, it has been safe enough for them to swim daily. Indeed, Celebrian has complained that since the ship found the Straight Road, the three of them have spent more time in the water than out of it, and now smelled permanently of salt water. That had led to her ban on them swimming today - she wanted them to look less like wild wood elves and more like presentable young Noldor.
Tindomiel had made the mistake of pointing out that they weren’t Noldor, they were all mixed.
Her brain had caught up with her mouth too late, and she doubted they would get to swim again anytime soon after Celebrian had walked out of the cabin with a look on her face that could easily have turned the tropical jungles of far Harad into an icy waste.
Though she regretted upsetting her mother, what she had said was true enough.
When she had first arrived in Arda, and just begun learning the history of the elves in general and her family in particular, Dawn had diagrammed her family tree and calculated, with Arwen’s help, the breakdown of her heritage. Even if you discounted the Sindar, which there was a decent chance many Noldor did, she was still more Vanyar and Telerin than Noldor. Tas and Cali were equal parts Vanyar and Noldor, but they were also half edain.
Mentioning that was, however, touching entirely too close to her parents’ worries about Valinor - or her mother’s, at least, as the daughter of Galadriel Arafinwiel and Celeborn of Doriath. Her father probably had a few other concerns in the mix, what with not having seen his biological parents since they abandoned him and his brother as children back in the First Age and having been raised by the two oldest sons of Fëanor.
The upshot was that the three underage ellith were all dressed in “definitely not going swimming” clothes - far more formal than they were used to wearing on normal days - and hanging out on deck, definitely not sulking and lacking much to keep their minds off their concerns about how arriving in Valinor was actually going to go now that they were just about there and it was no longer theoretical.
In their current state, the approach of the Telerin pilot boat at least had the virtue of novelty.
“Hey, I think one of them is young,” Tasariel exclaimed.
“You might be right,” Tindomiel replied, eying the youngest elf in the boat curiously.
Young was a relative term among elves, but in her personal lexicon, it meant anyone less than five hundred years old. The next ‘youngest’ person besides herself and her sister Anariel that she knew was the last elfling born in Lothlorien, and Nardoron had sailed with his parents fifty years ago, not long after his third yen.
She wasn’t really all that sure how accurate her guess at the ages of the elves approaching was. It was hard to develop the same facility for reading ages from eyes most of the grown elves exhibited when you didn’t have many examples under seven yeni to judge by.
But she thought that one of the elves in the boat coming alongside was only a few hundred years old - making him the first ellon close to their age Cali and Tas had ever seen. He definitely looked younger than Anariel, though she wasn’t really a fair example - since the end of the Ring War, Tindomiel had heard many adults fret that her sister’s eyes were too old for her age.
The boat drew up next to them soon enough, and the Teleri who came scrambling up the side looked overjoyed to see newcomers from Middle Earth.
The older of the two immediately swept Galadriel into a bear hug.
“Pitya!”
Tindomiel blinked.
She had to be hearing things. There was no way that the pilot who just came on board had called her grandmother ‘little one’.
First off, Grandmother was one of the most respected elves in Middle Earth. Secondly, she was the tallest elleth Tindomiel had ever seen. Third… ok, she didn’t actually have a real third, other than the general ridiculousness of anyone except maybe Galadriel’s parents calling her ‘little one’.
Did he really just say that?
Cali sounded as shocked as Tindomiel felt.
He did, Tas whispered in amazement. Does that mean he’s older than her? He’s certainly not taller!
“Which of you is my cousin?” demanded a cheerful voice.
Tindomiel recognized that tone, although she doubted her younger kinswomen did. It was the tone of a slightly older relative - the one Xander had always taken with her. Just enough older to rub it in, but not enough of an age gap to really be older and wiser.
She turned to find the young elf from the boat looking from one elleth to another expectantly.
“Doesn’t that depend on who you are?” Tasariel asked practically. “I mean, you could be cousin to any of us or all of us. We wouldn’t know, since you haven’t told us who you are.”
The young Teler laughed.
“I suppose you are correct,” he agreed. “I am Eärsuro, son of Prince Eärlindo of the Lindar.”
Tasariel and Califiriel both pointed at Tindomiel immediately. She rolled her eyes.
“Pretty sure he’s not contagious, guys,” she said. “But they’re right. If you’re kin to Olwë, we’re cousins. Galadriel is my grandmother. I am Tindomiel, and these are my cousins Tasariel and Califiriel.”
Eärsuro looked faintly puzzled by Cali’s name, but smiled and greeted them with a ‘well met’ that didn’t sound so different in the language of the Lindar than it did in their native Sindarin.
“Come, cousin, friends, we are sailing into the harbor soon and you will see much better from the bow than from back here!”
The girls traded looks, but followed the irrepressible young Linda to the front of the boat, where he happily pointed out landmarks of the harbor and surrounding coast.
“Is it usually your father who guides the grey ships in?” Tasariel asked curiously, glancing back to the wheel, where Galadriel had not left Earlindo’s side and the two seemed to be trying to catch up on the last few ages before the ship reached the quay.
“No, usually it is left to the master on duty when a ship arrives,” he answered. “But your ship has long been looked for. When the standard was sighted, my father insisted it would be him who went out. He could not wait any longer, he said. And I was curious, so my grandfather said I might come with him, as there would be elves my age on board!”
“How old are you?” Tindomiel asked.
All three girls held their breaths as they awaited the answer. Not that age was supposed to matter among elves, but it felt odd to be the only young ones around!
“Only one hundred ninety,” Eärsuro said, sounding faintly embarrassed. “I am the youngest, my brother and sister are both older.”
“How much older?” Tasariel asked eagerly, before realizing that it might be rude. For all they knew, his brother and sister might have been born in the Years of the Trees - she knew his father had been killed in the Kinslaying.
“My sister is three yeni, my brother two,” he replied, to their relief ignoring if it was a faux pas. “You?”
“Eighty-two,” Tindomiel replied.
“Thirty-one,” Tasariel and Califiriel said together.
“Ha! I am the oldest here! That is something new!” Eärsuro grinned. “But you have brothers and sisters, do you not, Tindomiel? We have been told Galadriel has five grandchildren…”
“My brothers are much older, twenty yeni, and my oldest sister is nineteen. But my other sister is three and a half, so she is more our age. But they are all still in Ennor.”
“They are adults and so could stay a while longer if they wished,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “But you still have a few years to go before you come of age - will your brothers join you by then?”
Tindomiel shrugged. She didn’t really want to go into details about the whole ‘they’re planning to stay until Arwen dies’ thing. Tucked safely away in her mother’s luggage were letters from Arwen to the relatives she has written to all her life, explaining her choice.
“Maybe,” she temporized. “Who can say for sure? We danced at the Havens, just in case.”
That was why he asked about her brothers in particular. It was tradition on both sides of the Sea that when an elf came of age, their first dance would be with an older kinsman for ellith or kinswoman for ellyn. Elder brothers and sisters were the usual partners, but an oldest or only child might dance with a cousin, aunt, or uncle.
“That will be of no help if they are not here for your coming of age party!” Eärsuro laughed. “I imagine there will be much competition within the family over who gets to do the honors.”
She sighed. Good to know their extended family in Aman hadn’t changed much since the Exile, still ready to argue amongst themselves at the drop of a fancy hat.
“Have you gotten to be the one ‘doing the honors’ for anyone yet?” Tindomiel asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m the youngest grandchild of Olwë,” he replied glumly. “Aunt Eärwen’s children were born in the Years of the Trees, and my uncle’s children are near in age to your eldest sister.”
“Well, then the rest of my cousins can argue all they want, I’m dancing with you,” Tindomiel said firmly.
“You say that before you have met Cousin Findarato’s sons,” he warned.
“What’s that got to do with it?” Tindomiel asked. “You’re telling me ‘you snooze, you lose’ isn’t a saying among the Lindar and the Noldor? Cause it’s definitely known to the Sindar.”
He snickered.
“It is not. I think I shall enjoy hearing you introduce the phrase.”
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: The last half hour of any trip is always the longest. Sailing West is no exception.
Word Count: 2370. Ish.
Note: After a rather frustrating day at work, I've decided to chop the 'Dawn arriving in Alqualondë' piece I mentioned the other day into smaller chunks. Because otherwise today's offering would be far less cheerful and possibly considerably darker. Also, I should really find a Dawn icon where she looks happy instead of annoyed.
Tindomiel gripped the rail of the ship nervously.
There was a smaller boat drawing closer, which the captain assured them would be the Teleri sending out a pilot who knew the waters of Alqualondë well to guide the ship safely into its berth. The mariners of Balar, he said, had done the same service for the Teleri when they brought the host of Aman to Beleriand in the War of Wrath - and their sundered kin had promised to return the favor when the time came.
She was curious to see them - whoever was in the boat would be the first Amanyar she had seen.
Well, except for Glorfindel, who didn’t really count since he’d been at Imladris all her life... and was on the ship with them.
“What if they don’t like us?”
Califiriel’s voice was scarce more than a whisper.
All three girls had been keeping their worries from the adults the entire voyage. Tindomiel might not be quite grown up yet, but she’s not dumb, and neither were her two best friends. They knew perfectly well their parents and Galadriel all had their own private concerns about how they will be received in Valinor, and have been trying to protect the ‘children’.
Cali and her sister Tasariel were afraid that the manner of their begetting will be judged harshly by those in Valinor, High Elves who have not met the Secondborn and who cannot be expected to understand their father’s reasons for offering to help their mothers achieve their desire to have children, much less Willow and Tara’s reasons for preferring an elf to one of the edain.
It was something that had long been considered a private affair by the folk of Imladris, but here it will be apparent to all that they are peredhil and that their father was unmarried. Questions will be unavoidable, and none of them are sure what the reaction will be to the answers.
Glorfindel’s daughters were not even sure if they would be welcomed by their grandparents. His mother Irimë had died in the Kinslaying at Sirion, so presumably she at least had some idea that life on the Hither Shores was not as simple as the Blessed Lands, but his father was a Vanya who had never left, not even for the War of Wrath.
Tindomiel herself was mostly worried for others - her friends and her parents. She had long since made her peace with not being considered adult yet and so obliged to sail with her parents unless she meant to choose mortality. Her coming of age will not be celebrated for another eighteen years.
She would miss having her brothers and sisters there to see it, of course, but she will be the only one of them to celebrate with their extended family. Having ‘come of age’ in Sunnydale, Anariel never had a formal celebration - in fact, she had not even known there was such a thing until the twins mentioned it. (Tindomiel had yet to figure out which birthday counted as her sister’s ‘adulthood’, 16th or 18th. It couldn’t be 21st, since they’d left Sunnydale the month before.)
At the very least, she knew she had enough kin in Valinor that the odds that none of them will like her were very long indeed; and if worse came to worse, she will still have her two best friends. The three of them were well used to being the only ones their age around, since there have been no other elflings in Imladris for over a hundred fifty years. It would have been nice if at least one of her brothers or sisters had come with them, though.
Though she might complain frequently, Tindomiel recognized that there were occasional benefits to being the baby. Knowing her older siblings always had her back was one of them - she really wouldn’t have minded having one of them here to stand as a shield between her and the amanyar if necessary.
“If they don’t like us, it’s their loss,” Tindomiel shrugged dismissively, pleased that she sounded far less worried than she actually felt. “We’re totally adorable.”
That at least drew a giggle from Tas and a smile from Cali.
They had been bored for the last few hours. For most of the voyage, it has been safe enough for them to swim daily. Indeed, Celebrian has complained that since the ship found the Straight Road, the three of them have spent more time in the water than out of it, and now smelled permanently of salt water. That had led to her ban on them swimming today - she wanted them to look less like wild wood elves and more like presentable young Noldor.
Tindomiel had made the mistake of pointing out that they weren’t Noldor, they were all mixed.
Her brain had caught up with her mouth too late, and she doubted they would get to swim again anytime soon after Celebrian had walked out of the cabin with a look on her face that could easily have turned the tropical jungles of far Harad into an icy waste.
Though she regretted upsetting her mother, what she had said was true enough.
When she had first arrived in Arda, and just begun learning the history of the elves in general and her family in particular, Dawn had diagrammed her family tree and calculated, with Arwen’s help, the breakdown of her heritage. Even if you discounted the Sindar, which there was a decent chance many Noldor did, she was still more Vanyar and Telerin than Noldor. Tas and Cali were equal parts Vanyar and Noldor, but they were also half edain.
Mentioning that was, however, touching entirely too close to her parents’ worries about Valinor - or her mother’s, at least, as the daughter of Galadriel Arafinwiel and Celeborn of Doriath. Her father probably had a few other concerns in the mix, what with not having seen his biological parents since they abandoned him and his brother as children back in the First Age and having been raised by the two oldest sons of Fëanor.
The upshot was that the three underage ellith were all dressed in “definitely not going swimming” clothes - far more formal than they were used to wearing on normal days - and hanging out on deck, definitely not sulking and lacking much to keep their minds off their concerns about how arriving in Valinor was actually going to go now that they were just about there and it was no longer theoretical.
In their current state, the approach of the Telerin pilot boat at least had the virtue of novelty.
“Hey, I think one of them is young,” Tasariel exclaimed.
“You might be right,” Tindomiel replied, eying the youngest elf in the boat curiously.
Young was a relative term among elves, but in her personal lexicon, it meant anyone less than five hundred years old. The next ‘youngest’ person besides herself and her sister Anariel that she knew was the last elfling born in Lothlorien, and Nardoron had sailed with his parents fifty years ago, not long after his third yen.
She wasn’t really all that sure how accurate her guess at the ages of the elves approaching was. It was hard to develop the same facility for reading ages from eyes most of the grown elves exhibited when you didn’t have many examples under seven yeni to judge by.
But she thought that one of the elves in the boat coming alongside was only a few hundred years old - making him the first ellon close to their age Cali and Tas had ever seen. He definitely looked younger than Anariel, though she wasn’t really a fair example - since the end of the Ring War, Tindomiel had heard many adults fret that her sister’s eyes were too old for her age.
The boat drew up next to them soon enough, and the Teleri who came scrambling up the side looked overjoyed to see newcomers from Middle Earth.
The older of the two immediately swept Galadriel into a bear hug.
“Pitya!”
Tindomiel blinked.
She had to be hearing things. There was no way that the pilot who just came on board had called her grandmother ‘little one’.
First off, Grandmother was one of the most respected elves in Middle Earth. Secondly, she was the tallest elleth Tindomiel had ever seen. Third… ok, she didn’t actually have a real third, other than the general ridiculousness of anyone except maybe Galadriel’s parents calling her ‘little one’.
Did he really just say that?
Cali sounded as shocked as Tindomiel felt.
He did, Tas whispered in amazement. Does that mean he’s older than her? He’s certainly not taller!
“Which of you is my cousin?” demanded a cheerful voice.
Tindomiel recognized that tone, although she doubted her younger kinswomen did. It was the tone of a slightly older relative - the one Xander had always taken with her. Just enough older to rub it in, but not enough of an age gap to really be older and wiser.
She turned to find the young elf from the boat looking from one elleth to another expectantly.
“Doesn’t that depend on who you are?” Tasariel asked practically. “I mean, you could be cousin to any of us or all of us. We wouldn’t know, since you haven’t told us who you are.”
The young Teler laughed.
“I suppose you are correct,” he agreed. “I am Eärsuro, son of Prince Eärlindo of the Lindar.”
Tasariel and Califiriel both pointed at Tindomiel immediately. She rolled her eyes.
“Pretty sure he’s not contagious, guys,” she said. “But they’re right. If you’re kin to Olwë, we’re cousins. Galadriel is my grandmother. I am Tindomiel, and these are my cousins Tasariel and Califiriel.”
Eärsuro looked faintly puzzled by Cali’s name, but smiled and greeted them with a ‘well met’ that didn’t sound so different in the language of the Lindar than it did in their native Sindarin.
“Come, cousin, friends, we are sailing into the harbor soon and you will see much better from the bow than from back here!”
The girls traded looks, but followed the irrepressible young Linda to the front of the boat, where he happily pointed out landmarks of the harbor and surrounding coast.
“Is it usually your father who guides the grey ships in?” Tasariel asked curiously, glancing back to the wheel, where Galadriel had not left Earlindo’s side and the two seemed to be trying to catch up on the last few ages before the ship reached the quay.
“No, usually it is left to the master on duty when a ship arrives,” he answered. “But your ship has long been looked for. When the standard was sighted, my father insisted it would be him who went out. He could not wait any longer, he said. And I was curious, so my grandfather said I might come with him, as there would be elves my age on board!”
“How old are you?” Tindomiel asked.
All three girls held their breaths as they awaited the answer. Not that age was supposed to matter among elves, but it felt odd to be the only young ones around!
“Only one hundred ninety,” Eärsuro said, sounding faintly embarrassed. “I am the youngest, my brother and sister are both older.”
“How much older?” Tasariel asked eagerly, before realizing that it might be rude. For all they knew, his brother and sister might have been born in the Years of the Trees - she knew his father had been killed in the Kinslaying.
“My sister is three yeni, my brother two,” he replied, to their relief ignoring if it was a faux pas. “You?”
“Eighty-two,” Tindomiel replied.
“Thirty-one,” Tasariel and Califiriel said together.
“Ha! I am the oldest here! That is something new!” Eärsuro grinned. “But you have brothers and sisters, do you not, Tindomiel? We have been told Galadriel has five grandchildren…”
“My brothers are much older, twenty yeni, and my oldest sister is nineteen. But my other sister is three and a half, so she is more our age. But they are all still in Ennor.”
“They are adults and so could stay a while longer if they wished,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “But you still have a few years to go before you come of age - will your brothers join you by then?”
Tindomiel shrugged. She didn’t really want to go into details about the whole ‘they’re planning to stay until Arwen dies’ thing. Tucked safely away in her mother’s luggage were letters from Arwen to the relatives she has written to all her life, explaining her choice.
“Maybe,” she temporized. “Who can say for sure? We danced at the Havens, just in case.”
That was why he asked about her brothers in particular. It was tradition on both sides of the Sea that when an elf came of age, their first dance would be with an older kinsman for ellith or kinswoman for ellyn. Elder brothers and sisters were the usual partners, but an oldest or only child might dance with a cousin, aunt, or uncle.
“That will be of no help if they are not here for your coming of age party!” Eärsuro laughed. “I imagine there will be much competition within the family over who gets to do the honors.”
She sighed. Good to know their extended family in Aman hadn’t changed much since the Exile, still ready to argue amongst themselves at the drop of a fancy hat.
“Have you gotten to be the one ‘doing the honors’ for anyone yet?” Tindomiel asked.
He shook his head.
“I’m the youngest grandchild of Olwë,” he replied glumly. “Aunt Eärwen’s children were born in the Years of the Trees, and my uncle’s children are near in age to your eldest sister.”
“Well, then the rest of my cousins can argue all they want, I’m dancing with you,” Tindomiel said firmly.
“You say that before you have met Cousin Findarato’s sons,” he warned.
“What’s that got to do with it?” Tindomiel asked. “You’re telling me ‘you snooze, you lose’ isn’t a saying among the Lindar and the Noldor? Cause it’s definitely known to the Sindar.”
He snickered.
“It is not. I think I shall enjoy hearing you introduce the phrase.”