| Login | Lost Password | Help | Rules | | |

Most Recent

The Sudden Pain of Silence by Himring Teen
They had found each other easy to talk to.But then...
I'll be Yours if You'll be Mine by NelyafinweFeanorion Teen
Modern setting AU. Maedhros/Fingon. Maedhros owns a bookstore. Fingon is in grad school. Expect appearances from varied members...
People of the Ice by Fadesintothewest Mature
Hi I am back!!!The Fëanorians find that their kin who crossed the Ice have been utterly changed. Fingon is utterly changed...
Sunrise Over Ivrin by Narya General Audiences
Vignette. Nargothrond's exiled King and his faithful captain share a quiet moment at dawn. Written for B2MeM 2018, Music...
Choose Life by Linda Hoyland General Audiences
Hovering between  life and death, Faramir faces a choice.
Where the Shadows Lie by ziggy General Audiences
The One Ring has been destroyed and Sauron banished to the Dark with Morgoth. But not all the Rings were destroyed with the...
Shadows Of The Past by Starfox General Audiences
After a disastrous incident in the mountains Elrond's past experience allows him to help Thranduil and Legolas cope with...

Site Info

Members: 475
Series: 82
Stories: 1623
Chapters: 8329
Word count: 25170237
Authors: 137
Reviews: 15382
Reviewers: 219
Newest Member: ainisarie
Beta-reader: 28
Recommendations: 53
Recommenders: 13
Challenges: 14
Challengers: 9

Who's Online

Guests: 27


03/18/18 06:50 pm
I like rats! They're very intelligent. And Ziggy, I love Black Rebel Motorcycle Club :D great shout!
Spiced Wine
03/18/18 04:18 pm
I’m doing a lot of bird feeding, Ziggy! And foxes, there are some around and I always feel sorry for them, too. Don’t tell anyone, but there is one poor rat that I feed too
03/18/18 03:20 pm
If you're stuck indoors, check out Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Wrong Creatures- current soundtrack of the BMW ad -bit like Kasabian.They are my current soundtrack for Elrohir
03/18/18 02:56 pm
Same here- snowed all day. My shetland pony SO resentful about being outside! My TB happy as a lark- charging about the filed, bucking and rearing. But poor little birds- feed them if you can.
Spiced Wine
03/18/18 10:21 am
Woke up to a blizzard and about 5 inches of snow, of course it’s drifted so it’s not really that deep
03/18/18 09:03 am
We had a good covering of snow yesterday and it’s still snowing. Really fed up with winter now. As Spiced says, thought, it’s forecast to clear soon.
Spiced Wine
03/17/18 10:27 pm
Us too, Narya. Grr. I am sick of it. But this is not going top last as long, apparently.
03/17/18 03:33 pm
We've got snow again...!
Spiced Wine
03/16/18 07:41 pm
Have a lovely weekend :)
03/16/18 11:36 am
Have a great weekend everyone. You too Narya! :)
Shout Archive

The Wit to See by Narya

[Reviews - 7]   Printer
Table of Contents

- Text Size +
Story notes:
Just a little something to get myself back into the fanfic groove after a long absence. Hope you enjoy.
"Isabel? Isabel!"

"Don't tell me. You lost her."

Derry put a hand to his head. Pain still seared through his old injury when he was tired or under stress - and he had turned his back on his four-year-old daughter for half a minute to tie his shoes, and she had vanished. Pain was not the word to describe the sensation lancing through his temples now.

His wife, though, looked singularly unruffled. "Have you tried the shrubbery? You know she loves crawling around in the mud. Making dens and such."

"No - no, I haven't..."


A sigh shot out of him, the balloon of panic pricked by the high four year old voice. The pain in his head ebbed away and left him feeling a little sick. "You, madam, are in an awful lot of trouble." He reflected ruefully that this might have sounded more threatening if his voice hadn’t wobbled.

"Yes, Daddy. How tall do people grow?"

"How - how tall...?"

"All different sizes, love." Anna stepped in, clearly sensing that the panic and relief in such swift succession had undermined his ability to deal with four-year-old logic. "Mostly about as tall as your Dad and I."

"Sometimes smaller?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"But always bigger than me?"

"Well...sometimes people are born with something not quite right in their bodies. Then they might not grow much taller than you."

"Oh. But I don't think he had anything wrong with him."

"He? A man?" A sharp note nipped through Anna’s voice. "What man?"

"In there." Isabel pointed at the bushes she had crawled out of. "He was very, very little."

Derry swallowed the panic and anger that rose in him at the thought that someone had been near his little girl. "Isabel - what did the man do?"

"Nothing. He asked if I was lost, and did I want a cup of tea. I said no because I don't like tea, and then -"

"But he didn't touch you?"


"A rough sleeper?" Anna wondered, picking up her daughter and balancing her on her hip.

Derry shrugged. "Could be. You don't normally see them in the park in winter though. Too cold, too exposed." And they don't normally offer cups of tea.

"He didn't smell. He was very clean." Isabel blinked. "But he wasn't wearing shoes."

"Probably was homeless, then. No one would go out barefoot in this weather if they could help it." Derry hesitated, part of him wanting to go and berate this person who had dared to come near his daughter while he wasn’t there to supervise; another part of him wanted to see if there was any way to help the poor individual. "Anna, do you think...maybe we should give him a pair of socks, or..."

"I don't carry spare socks in my handbag!"

"He doesn't need them anyway. I asked him." Isabel wriggled herself into a more comfortable position. "His feet were really hairy, and the bottom of them was all dry and thick - he showed me. He said that the hair kept him warm enough."

"Mad." The wind freed a strand of Anna's ponytail, and she blew it out of her mouth. "Come on, let's get home before we all freeze."

"But I want to say 'bye to Mister Proudfoot!"

Derry's heart skipped up to his throat. For a moment the name hung in the air, taunting him - then he placed it, and in a rush he remembered an imagined scene at a party, an indignant insistence that the plural was "Proudfeet", a year's puzzling over dreams and dredged-up memories, and a hot summer's day when he was sixteen, sitting in his old form room with a man who was and was not a Maths teacher, who had moved away long ago and told them to keep their eyes open, for there was no telling what they might find...

He glanced at Anna, who appeared to have the same thoughts. Slowly, carefully, she put her daughter down. "Alright. Go and say your goodbyes."

Isabel skipped forwards into the clump of evergreen bushes that shielded her from her parents' view, where she liked to den in the summer and hide from the wind in winter.

"Go with her. Just in case."

Derry nodded. Just in case it was someone unsavoury. Or just in case it really was... "Don't you want to see?"

"No. I'd be - I'd hate it if it wasn't...if it isn't what we want it to be."

He nodded and ducked into the bushes, careful not to lose sight of his daughter's bright red coat. She trotted in a little way, then dropped onto her belly in front of a bare hedge and called through it. He couldn't hear what she said, nor could he see or hear whether anyone replied to her, but in a few minutes she wiggled back out with a smile on her face. He squashed his disappointment at not having seen anything, and smiled back at her.

"Did you find him, sweetheart?"

"Yes. He said to say hello to you."

Did he, indeed. "Well, if you see him again you can tell him I say hello back."

"Am I still in trouble?"

"Yes. Lots and lots."

They emerged from the bushes together, and he swung her up onto his shoulders. Anna was already halfway down the path back to the car park.



"Mister Proudfoot said I had a look of the Old World. What did he mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

"That means you don't know."

For a moment he thought about explaining everything - the tragic early death of the young woman she was named for, the gunshot wound, the year of dreams and guesswork. But no. She would have to be older. Hell, it might have to be never - for who would believe that their parents had lived through something like that?



"Will I see him again?"

"I don't know." The breeze picked up and bit coldly at his cheeks, and the bare trees hissed and seemed to laugh at him. He repeated the advice Mr. Proust had given him all those years ago. "I suppose you’ll just have to keep your eyes open."

"Like when I'm crossing the road?"

"Something like that, yes." Derry smiled. "But more dangerous. And much, much more wonderful."
You must login () to review.