Couldn't Drag Me Away by Grundy

Couldn't Drag Me Away

Read Couldn't Drag Me Away

Elrond heard the music well before he entered his daughter’s library sanctuary.

Anariel was strumming on an instrument that was not quite the ‘guitar’ of California, but also no recognizable elvish make. Xander had crafted it several years ago.

He was almost surprised she could bear to touch it.

The choice of song did not surprise him, though. He had learned enough California music before Willow’s laptop became unusable to know of ‘the Beetles and the Stones’.  This one was far less upbeat than most of them, though. Anariel was not bothering with the words, but he remembered them easily.

He rather thought Makalaurë might have appreciated hearing this – and perhaps he would, someday.

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.

Would that were true – he would much rather have kept his sunshine child with him now that her skies were clouded with grief and loss.

“Childhood living was not so easy for you,” he observed gently.

Anariel startled, apparently so lost in memory that she hadn’t noticed him. Now that he could see her, he was mildly surprised she could play anything in her current position, all but upside down on one of the couches.

She tried to brighten, but it was at best a flash of light on a stormy day.

“It wasn’t all bad,” she said. “From what I hear, the same could be said for your early days.”

Elrond laughed softly.

His childhood might have been marred by a kinslaying, but from that time until he and his brother had been sent to Balar, they had been fiercely protected. Maedhros, had he lived, might well have found a way to California to vent his fury on a deserving object if he knew even half of what Anariel had seen by her twentieth begetting day.

“I will happily tell you more of those days,” he offered.

“Provided I stop moping and start packing?” Anariel offered, a single discordant note marring the plaintive chorus of the song.

“You are welcome to leave packing your things until you sail yourself, should you choose. There is no hurry. Your mother and I simply thought it might help you to send some things on now, that you will find rooms ready for you when you arrive. But time runs short – we depart next week, so anything you wish to send with us must be ready by then.”

Celebrían had been dancing around saying anything, fretting she might make things worse. Elrond had phrased it less bluntly than it might be said, but the plain fact was that being urged to send any of her things on now could only remind Anariel the last of her losses to mortal death were yet to come.

“It’s hard to choose,” Anariel murmured.

Elrond wasn’t sure what to say to that. He suspected his daughter wasn’t referring only to material possessions.

He opted for some gentle teasing.

“Yes, when one has as many weapons as you do, it does become difficult.”

The smile that drew was small, but it was at least genuine.

But no, it was never easy, nor ever going to be.

Some things were better shared directly than spoken.

“I’ll pack up the whole room,” Anariel said briskly, swinging her feet down to the floor. “I think I’ll spend more time in your study anyway.”

“The hangings as well?” Elrond asked in surprise, taking the now empty couch as an invitation to sit down.

Anariel nodded, but offered no explanation.

“Shall we set your study up the same there?”

He really wanted to keep her talking as she reached for the first of the books.

Anariel shrugged.

“Why not?”

She paused, looking uncertain.

“Unless you think we need to give the Trees back?”

Elrond laughed softly.

“If there is anyone there otherwise inclined to reclaim it, I suspect they will yield once they hear it’s now considered yours.”

It had been given to him by Maedhros and Makalaurë, an inheritance from their brother Carnistir. He’d be pleased if any of them were present to see it return, and shocked if any of the three would want it back once they heard he’d also passed it on to a child who had never seen the western shores.

“Do you think they’re alive again?”

Anariel’s question touched very near his own long-buried hopes.

“I do not know, my sunshine. The Doom…”

Anariel’s grimace said plainly what she thought about that.

“Well if they are tell them sorry about haru. I didn’t mean to-“

“Not a one of them will blame you for that,” Elrond said firmly. “Is this why you’re so adamant you will not sail just yet?”

His middle daughter had yet to give any clear explanation, making it plain more by action – or more accurately, lack thereof – that she did not intend to take ship with her grandmother, parents, and younger sister.

“No,” she said quietly. “I promised Arwen I’d stay.”

She was facing away from him, so Elrond did not feel obliged to fully conceal his reaction. He had tried so hard to train his children to swear no oaths. But Anariel still had a California outlook on many things. It was falling away slowly, as time and experience taught her more. But this…

Or break it. Oh, child.

He closed his eyes, wishing not for the first time that things had gone otherwise in the East. He knew without asking that the promise must have been given before Anariel and her mortal siblings set out on their last adventure together. Arwen would neither have asked for nor accepted such a promise after.

“You did not expect Imladris to be so quiet,” he said neutrally.

Anariel turned to face him.

“I gave Arwen my word years before the War. And even then, I thought they were going to live, Ada. It was an easy enough promise to make when I was going to want to be here with them anyway.”

And for their parts, Willow and Xander would likely not have chosen to move to Minas Tirith with Arwen. Though if they had, Anariel had spent several happy years there before the Ring War. She might well have had the thought that they could take a house there again – though she might have been surprised to discover they would have had little choice but to make the uppermost circle their home.

“If you asked, your sister would release you,” he said quietly.

Arwen’s sharp eyes could not have missed the wounds to her sister’s spirit the Ring War had dealt.

“It wouldn’t help,” Anariel replied. “You’re only sailing because you have to, or you’d stay, too.”

He couldn’t very well dispute it when they both knew it was true. And for much the same reasons as Anariel – being unwilling to abandon his daughter to face mortality alone, and a desire to meet all her children, not merely Eldarion.

“Els are staying too,” Anariel reminded him wryly. “I think you can count on them to get me to a ship one way or another.”

“We were all thinking that was your grandfather’s task,” Elrond snorted. “To make sure all three of you don’t miss the last ship.”

He knew perfectly well theirs would be the last. Círdan considered himself bound to see the last of Eärendil’s elven line safely aboard before sailing himself – only then would his duty to Ulmo be done.

“I’m not going to miss it,” Anariel sighed. “It’s just not one that’s going next week.”

Elrond knew Celebrían would not leave it at that, but he was too familiar with the Choice of the Peredhil and the choices it demanded you make after Choosing in order to live with it.

He rose, and kissed the top of his daughter’s head.

“Mind you let someone know if you need help. You’ve left the packing quite late. And it is not anything you should lose sleep over.”