Aug. 14 - Old Family Stories
Title: Old Family Stories
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: It's one thing to read it in the history books. It's another to hear it from someone who was there.
Word Count: 1500
Note: Hey, look, I managed one that's not going to make anyone tear up. (I think.)
Celeborn smiled.
He was always happy to see any of his grandchildren, but time with the youngest two in particular was a treasure.
Anariel and her mortal sisters and brothers had arrived the previous evening, with no firm plan for how long their visit would last.
He’s less fond of mortals than his law-brother had been - he cannot forget the reason his cousin Luthien is no longer with them - but for Anariel’s sake he treats these ones as kin. They’ve earned it. Without them, his little Anariel would not have lived to return to Arda. He wouldn’t have a fifth grandchild - or his daughter.
He’s unsurprised that Willow, Tara, and Anya have clustered around Galadriel for the morning. While their personalities might not be similar, their interest in what they termed ‘magic’ was, and they regarded his wife as a mentor.
Xander, of course, had taken himself off to workshops where those galadhrim inclined to work with wood plied their craft. From what Celeborn has seen, the boy has made great progress since his previous visit - for a mortal, his work is already excellent and edging toward exceptional.
He’s selfishly pleased that this left Anariel free to invade his office - it’s not as if any of his current work cannot be set aside for some time.
He’s equally pleased that whatever else they’re teaching her at Imladris, they haven’t been making a stuffy High Elf of her.
She sprawls on the cushions of his flet as comfortably as any of his people - Thingol’s or Tawarwaith.
“Your mother writes me that I should tell you more of Doriath,” he remarked.
Anariel grinned.
“My study, you mean?” she asked.
“No, sweet one, you forget I saw that when I came to Imladris with Arwen.”
Anariel wrinkled her little nose.
“It really wasn’t as bad as the boys made it sound,” she said decisively.
That’s been Anariel’s version of the landslide that had nearly ended her life almost since it happened. She’s a good deal more cavalier about it than any of her kin can be - Galadriel’s father had even managed the supposedly impossible, speaking mind to mind across the ocean to reassure her Amanyar kin that all truly was well with the child.
“So you have said whenever it is mentioned,” Celeborn replied mildly. “But that has been some years now. ‘Rían simply thought you were learning a good deal of Noldorin history and a bit more from the Iathrim side couldn’t hurt.”
“We read Lindarin history, too,” Anariel protested with a frown. “It’s just that doesn’t have to do with what we’re curious about right now. Besides, the Iathrim were mostly sensible. The Noldor…weren’t. We’re learning from their mistakes.”
Celeborn suppressed a snicker.
He dearly wished his wife had been present to hear that. Her mild annoyance in his head was nowhere near what it would have been had she not been restraining herself in front of her impressionable young audience.
“Though,” Anariel added hopefully, “if you want to tell stories about Luthien, that would be interesting.”
Celeborn eyed his granddaughter closely. For all she was trying to sound casual, his well-honed sense of when he’s not getting the whole story told him there was more to the request that she was letting on.
The innocent look she gave him might have fooled anyone who hadn’t raised her mother. Or remembered Luthien as a child. Or, for that matter, recalled Elrond’s youth - particularly the rare times he stepped out of the Noldorin formality the Kinslayers had drilled into him.
“Little one,” Celeborn sighed, “you do recall that I have known your grandmother almost since the rising of the sun?”
“Yes,” she replied, keeping the innocence going.
“So while I may not know why you’re asking about Luthien without seeming overly interested, I know that you’re up to something.”
“I can’t be curious about my grandmother’s grandmother the actual person instead of Luthien the legend?” Anariel asked brightly.
“Of course you can, darling, but you realize you’d be more likely to discover whatever it is you’re after if you simply told me.”
“I’m just curious. And reading about my family in books is…weird.”
“It’s probably even odder if you’re reading the Noldorin books,” Celeborn muttered.
That Pengolodh had gotten some rather peculiar notions - and from time to time, he wonders if some of what the dratted ellon committed to paper hadn’t been expressly to get back at him and Galadriel for being so unavailable for his chronicle project.
“But you did know her, didn’t you?” Anariel persisted hopefully.
“Of course I did,” Celeborn laughed. “She was a worse brat than I’m told you used to complain Tindomiel was, and all the worse for being her parents’ only child.”
Anariel blinked, sitting entirely still for a moment before she burst out laughing at the incongruousness of hearing the most beloved princess of Doriath and hero of the Silmaril quest called a brat.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she giggled, “we had to get it from somewhere.”
“Oh, no,” Celeborn assured her gravely. “Any faults of yours or your brothers and sisters are most definitely the fault of the golodhrim.”
That didn’t exactly help her settle.
“Ok, so we do not get our brattiness from Luthien. Even though I bet that brattiness was good preparation for annoying Morgoth more than anyone else in history.”
Celeborn smirked.
“Quite possibly. I’d like to think Oropher and I didn’t suffer all that torment in vain.”
Anariel waited expectantly.
Celeborn, with a sigh, launched into a retelling of some of Luthien’s childhood exploits and adolescent pranks.
Anariel showed every sign of genuinely enjoying it, occasionally asking questions, and laughing herself silly over the time Luthien had managed to dye Celeborn’s hair an outlandish shade of green.
Eventually, inevitably, the conversation came around to the Silmaril Quest. (A fresh round of vexation from Galadriel - this time due to a desire to be present for the part that related to Finrod.)
Anariel listened as Celeborn told her the version the Iathrim told - and the version Luthien had shared only with her kin, with the bits she had decided were not for the public. (“I knew she did more than just sing!” was Anariel’s triumphant response.)
She was a rapt audience through the hunting of the Wolf, and the first death of Beren and Luthien, as well as their return.
It was then that she frowned.
“Did they look different when they came back?” she asked.
“Different how?” Celeborn asked.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Would anyone have known looking at them that something had happened?”
“None but Aunt Melian,” Celeborn replied. “The rest of us would never have known had Luthien not told us.”
Anariel looked somewhat puzzled, but didn’t press the issue.
“Did she really sing for Mandos?” she wanted to know.
“As to that, I cannot say,” Celeborn replied with a sigh. “She was reluctant to speak of what had passed in the Halls of the Dead. But she did tell us that when Beren passed from the world, so would she, for they would not be parted again.”
“And what about after that? Pengolodh said the Silmaril hastened their deaths.”
Celeborn wasn’t positive, but he had the distinct impression that somehow they’d come to the point she was actually curious about.
He laughed, and did his best to ignore the tart commentary from his beloved wife, who had a many things to say about the historian, few of them for children’s ears. (Less amusingly, she was mildly concerned that Anariel might have taken it into her head to find Maedhros' and Maglor's Silmarils.)
“Pengolodh, little one, embroidered a good deal. He wanted to tell a good tale. The Silmaril making Luthien shine too brightly for Arda marred sounded much better than the simple truth that Beren was at the end of his allotted time. Seventy-one may not be as old as some mortals live to see, but it was a good age for mortals who had led a hard life as he had.”
To his surprise, Anariel did not look nearly as disappointed as Arwen had when she first heard the truth of the tale.
“No, I guess when you put it like that, it’s not,” she nodded.
Celeborn supposed it was somewhat easier for her to accept, having lived among mortals herself.
“What of the California men?” he asked. “Was seventy-one a good age for them?”
She thought for a moment.
“I guess it depends. As you say, those who have harder lives tended not to live as long. But seventy-one wasn’t an unusual age to die.”
“Mind you don’t,” Celeborn told her with mock sternness.
“I thought we’d agreed that my age counted from my begetting!” Anariel protested.
“We agreed you were an adult. That doesn’t mean you actually experienced all those years,” Celeborn pointed out. “And in terms of time you experienced, you’re coming up on that dangerous age.”
“Pfft,” she snorted. “I’m definitely planning to be around when we gather to kick Sauron’s butt. Which doesn’t sound like it’s going to be in the next thirty-odd years. So I think we’re good.”
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: It's one thing to read it in the history books. It's another to hear it from someone who was there.
Word Count: 1500
Note: Hey, look, I managed one that's not going to make anyone tear up. (I think.)
Celeborn smiled.
He was always happy to see any of his grandchildren, but time with the youngest two in particular was a treasure.
Anariel and her mortal sisters and brothers had arrived the previous evening, with no firm plan for how long their visit would last.
He’s less fond of mortals than his law-brother had been - he cannot forget the reason his cousin Luthien is no longer with them - but for Anariel’s sake he treats these ones as kin. They’ve earned it. Without them, his little Anariel would not have lived to return to Arda. He wouldn’t have a fifth grandchild - or his daughter.
He’s unsurprised that Willow, Tara, and Anya have clustered around Galadriel for the morning. While their personalities might not be similar, their interest in what they termed ‘magic’ was, and they regarded his wife as a mentor.
Xander, of course, had taken himself off to workshops where those galadhrim inclined to work with wood plied their craft. From what Celeborn has seen, the boy has made great progress since his previous visit - for a mortal, his work is already excellent and edging toward exceptional.
He’s selfishly pleased that this left Anariel free to invade his office - it’s not as if any of his current work cannot be set aside for some time.
He’s equally pleased that whatever else they’re teaching her at Imladris, they haven’t been making a stuffy High Elf of her.
She sprawls on the cushions of his flet as comfortably as any of his people - Thingol’s or Tawarwaith.
“Your mother writes me that I should tell you more of Doriath,” he remarked.
Anariel grinned.
“My study, you mean?” she asked.
“No, sweet one, you forget I saw that when I came to Imladris with Arwen.”
Anariel wrinkled her little nose.
“It really wasn’t as bad as the boys made it sound,” she said decisively.
That’s been Anariel’s version of the landslide that had nearly ended her life almost since it happened. She’s a good deal more cavalier about it than any of her kin can be - Galadriel’s father had even managed the supposedly impossible, speaking mind to mind across the ocean to reassure her Amanyar kin that all truly was well with the child.
“So you have said whenever it is mentioned,” Celeborn replied mildly. “But that has been some years now. ‘Rían simply thought you were learning a good deal of Noldorin history and a bit more from the Iathrim side couldn’t hurt.”
“We read Lindarin history, too,” Anariel protested with a frown. “It’s just that doesn’t have to do with what we’re curious about right now. Besides, the Iathrim were mostly sensible. The Noldor…weren’t. We’re learning from their mistakes.”
Celeborn suppressed a snicker.
He dearly wished his wife had been present to hear that. Her mild annoyance in his head was nowhere near what it would have been had she not been restraining herself in front of her impressionable young audience.
“Though,” Anariel added hopefully, “if you want to tell stories about Luthien, that would be interesting.”
Celeborn eyed his granddaughter closely. For all she was trying to sound casual, his well-honed sense of when he’s not getting the whole story told him there was more to the request that she was letting on.
The innocent look she gave him might have fooled anyone who hadn’t raised her mother. Or remembered Luthien as a child. Or, for that matter, recalled Elrond’s youth - particularly the rare times he stepped out of the Noldorin formality the Kinslayers had drilled into him.
“Little one,” Celeborn sighed, “you do recall that I have known your grandmother almost since the rising of the sun?”
“Yes,” she replied, keeping the innocence going.
“So while I may not know why you’re asking about Luthien without seeming overly interested, I know that you’re up to something.”
“I can’t be curious about my grandmother’s grandmother the actual person instead of Luthien the legend?” Anariel asked brightly.
“Of course you can, darling, but you realize you’d be more likely to discover whatever it is you’re after if you simply told me.”
“I’m just curious. And reading about my family in books is…weird.”
“It’s probably even odder if you’re reading the Noldorin books,” Celeborn muttered.
That Pengolodh had gotten some rather peculiar notions - and from time to time, he wonders if some of what the dratted ellon committed to paper hadn’t been expressly to get back at him and Galadriel for being so unavailable for his chronicle project.
“But you did know her, didn’t you?” Anariel persisted hopefully.
“Of course I did,” Celeborn laughed. “She was a worse brat than I’m told you used to complain Tindomiel was, and all the worse for being her parents’ only child.”
Anariel blinked, sitting entirely still for a moment before she burst out laughing at the incongruousness of hearing the most beloved princess of Doriath and hero of the Silmaril quest called a brat.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she giggled, “we had to get it from somewhere.”
“Oh, no,” Celeborn assured her gravely. “Any faults of yours or your brothers and sisters are most definitely the fault of the golodhrim.”
That didn’t exactly help her settle.
“Ok, so we do not get our brattiness from Luthien. Even though I bet that brattiness was good preparation for annoying Morgoth more than anyone else in history.”
Celeborn smirked.
“Quite possibly. I’d like to think Oropher and I didn’t suffer all that torment in vain.”
Anariel waited expectantly.
Celeborn, with a sigh, launched into a retelling of some of Luthien’s childhood exploits and adolescent pranks.
Anariel showed every sign of genuinely enjoying it, occasionally asking questions, and laughing herself silly over the time Luthien had managed to dye Celeborn’s hair an outlandish shade of green.
Eventually, inevitably, the conversation came around to the Silmaril Quest. (A fresh round of vexation from Galadriel - this time due to a desire to be present for the part that related to Finrod.)
Anariel listened as Celeborn told her the version the Iathrim told - and the version Luthien had shared only with her kin, with the bits she had decided were not for the public. (“I knew she did more than just sing!” was Anariel’s triumphant response.)
She was a rapt audience through the hunting of the Wolf, and the first death of Beren and Luthien, as well as their return.
It was then that she frowned.
“Did they look different when they came back?” she asked.
“Different how?” Celeborn asked.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Would anyone have known looking at them that something had happened?”
“None but Aunt Melian,” Celeborn replied. “The rest of us would never have known had Luthien not told us.”
Anariel looked somewhat puzzled, but didn’t press the issue.
“Did she really sing for Mandos?” she wanted to know.
“As to that, I cannot say,” Celeborn replied with a sigh. “She was reluctant to speak of what had passed in the Halls of the Dead. But she did tell us that when Beren passed from the world, so would she, for they would not be parted again.”
“And what about after that? Pengolodh said the Silmaril hastened their deaths.”
Celeborn wasn’t positive, but he had the distinct impression that somehow they’d come to the point she was actually curious about.
He laughed, and did his best to ignore the tart commentary from his beloved wife, who had a many things to say about the historian, few of them for children’s ears. (Less amusingly, she was mildly concerned that Anariel might have taken it into her head to find Maedhros' and Maglor's Silmarils.)
“Pengolodh, little one, embroidered a good deal. He wanted to tell a good tale. The Silmaril making Luthien shine too brightly for Arda marred sounded much better than the simple truth that Beren was at the end of his allotted time. Seventy-one may not be as old as some mortals live to see, but it was a good age for mortals who had led a hard life as he had.”
To his surprise, Anariel did not look nearly as disappointed as Arwen had when she first heard the truth of the tale.
“No, I guess when you put it like that, it’s not,” she nodded.
Celeborn supposed it was somewhat easier for her to accept, having lived among mortals herself.
“What of the California men?” he asked. “Was seventy-one a good age for them?”
She thought for a moment.
“I guess it depends. As you say, those who have harder lives tended not to live as long. But seventy-one wasn’t an unusual age to die.”
“Mind you don’t,” Celeborn told her with mock sternness.
“I thought we’d agreed that my age counted from my begetting!” Anariel protested.
“We agreed you were an adult. That doesn’t mean you actually experienced all those years,” Celeborn pointed out. “And in terms of time you experienced, you’re coming up on that dangerous age.”
“Pfft,” she snorted. “I’m definitely planning to be around when we gather to kick Sauron’s butt. Which doesn’t sound like it’s going to be in the next thirty-odd years. So I think we’re good.”