By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

Joyce frowned as she watched her daughters leave the house, Buffy still grumbling about having Dawn in tow. Something was not quite right, even though on the surface everything seemed normal. Something was nagging her, right at the back of her head.

She waited until she was sure the girls were really gone before she sat down on the floor. She’d started meditating recently, and it seemed to help her remember things whenever she got that irritating ‘I know I know it but can’t think of it right now’ feeling. She cleared her mind, expecting to remember something silly like having forgotten to empty the dryer.

That was when it all came flooding back.

First, the sudden clarity that she had not always had two daughters. Dawn was new. She had come from literally out of nowhere. Yesterday, she’d only had one daughter in her house. That was followed immediately by the shocking realization that Buffy was not her oldest daughter. She’d had another- and two sons. Buffy wasn’t her daughter’s name any more than hers was Joyce. How ever had she forgotten all this? It was so important!

Sinking deeper into her trance, she examined her own mind. Right on top of her memory, still fresh, she found the traces of the spell that accompanied Dawn’s appearance in their lives. However the girl had gotten here, she was unquestionably blood kin- though it might be difficult to explain to her husband. She didn’t know who had done this, but she didn’t trust whoever it was. She must protect the girl.

Below that, older by a good decade, she found traces of another spell. She hadn’t cast this one, either, but judging the workings, she would guess Watchers. Not Giles, of course- she’d have recognized his touch. Some other one. Meddling before she had known to be on her guard. Making her forget who she was, what she was.

And why she was here- she remembered it now. All of it. The dangerous journey over the mountains, the orcs, her desperate plea to the Valar- if they would not spare herself, at least her daughter should go unharmed. She had seen the glow in the air from the corner of her eye and taken it as an answer to her prayer. Clutching her daughter to her, she had dived into that light.

But it was not the salvation she had sought. Landing in this strange world, among mortals had been a severe shock. Learning how to fit in herself had been hard enough, but teaching her daughter- who had seen only a few summers- to speak the Mannish tongue instead of the language of her own people had been heartbreaking. She could only hope that when she found a way to return, Anariel would still be young enough to learn quickly.

Celebrían frowned as she came out of her trance. This bore investigation. Perhaps this new daughter had been sent to her and Anariel for a reason. She almost laughed as she realized her new daughter’s name was fitting. She would be Tindomiel. And her appearance made finding a way home more urgent than ever.

Celebrían- she was finding it harder and harder to think of herself as ‘Joyce’ these days- frowned. Even when she hadn’t remembered who or what she really was, she had always known when her daughter was into mischief. She knew both girls were concerned about her headaches- if only she could tell them that suddenly having thousands of years of memories flooding back and missing her home and family were to blame.

Under normal circumstances, she might assume that since her daughter had her boyfriend in her room and had shooed her younger sister away, the mischief had to do with private time with the boyfriend. But she knew how preoccupied Anariel had been the past few days…

Letting her senses flow, as she hadn’t tried in years, she sensed that Anariel was about to try something with magic- probably related to her duty as the Slayer. But she was trying so hard to hide it from her mother and sister. That wasn’t normal, not since Joyce had become aware of what Buffy did. She touched her daughter’s mind lightly- and instantly withdrew when she realized what magic her daughter was working.

It couldn’t be helped, then. She would have to have the conversation with both girls soon. She left her room, following her daughter down the stairs.

“Buffy? Are you alright? You look a little out of it,” she said, noting her daughter’s altered state. She looked almost like an elf walking dream paths.

“No, I’m fine,” Anariel replied somewhat distantly, her eyes fixing on family photos. Walking around her mother, she went back upstairs- and suddenly Celebrían realized this situation could go badly, if her older daughter concluded the younger one did not belong here.

She flew up the stairs, into Tindomiel’s room just in time to intervene.

“Buffy! Let go of your sister right now!”

It was a command- and delivered in a tone not even the twins at their most daring would have disobeyed.

“Mom, she’s not-” Anariel abruptly trailed off, clearly unwilling to say it in front of Tindomiel.

“Yes, she is,” Celebrían said flatly.

“Mom, you don’t understand.”

“Yes, Anariel, I do,” Celebrían replied firmly. “More than you, I suspect.”

“What is going on?” Tindomiel demanded, as her sister stared at their mother.

“What did you call me?” Anariel asked, in disbelief, eyes narrowing as she glanced from her sister to her mother.

“You will both sit,” Celebrían commanded. “Without debate.”

Her daughters both obediently folded themselves onto the bed- as far away from each other as they could manage while still occupying the same piece of furniture.

“Anariel-” she stopped herself abruptly. Calling her daughter by a name she didn’t remember was hers would not help. “Buffy. You were about to say that Dawn is not your sister. Does that feel true to you?”

Her daughter’s lip jutted rebelliously, but she did stop to think before answering. Celebrían was encouraged to realize that Buffy reached out cautiously with her fëa, as an elf would.

“I know she’s my sister, but-”

“But she wasn’t here a few weeks ago,” Celebrían finished. “I know.”

Now it was her younger daughter’s turn to be outraged.

“What?” she shrieked.

Celebrían sighed to herself and reflected that the drawback of whoever had created this daughter assuming that they were children of Men was that her daughter had a distressing tendency to be louder than most elflings in a similar situation- though she admitted the tendency to the dramatic both girls seemed to have could probably be blamed on her husband.

“Dawn, please?” she said mildly. “I said you weren’t here a few weeks ago. That does not make you any less my daughter or Buffy’s sister. You are here now, the manner of your creation is immaterial.”

In this discussion, at least. Celebrían still wanted very much to know who had sent Dawn to them and why. There must be some purpose to it.

“Mom?” Anariel asked, puzzled.

“I think it may be related to your Slayer thing, honey,” Celebrían said, reaching for her Joyce persona. “The important thing is that we must protect your sister- she has been sent to us for a reason. Until we discover what that reason may be, I would appreciate it if you girls refrained from trying to kill each other.”

Buffy looked at her, still not quite sure. Celebrían could feel her wavering.

“I believe your usual procedure is to do research?” Celebrían prompted. “Or perhaps patrol to see if something turns up?”

Buffy shot off the bed, then stopped halfway to the door.

“But Mom, your headaches-”

“You were blaming her headaches on me?” Dawn demanded indignantly. “I’ve been so good all week! I even brought her tea made just like the instructions on the box say to do it!”

“My headaches are nothing to do with Dawn,” Celebrían assured her daughters. “They will pass soon. In fact, I think I am already well enough to stop the medicine the doctors recommended. I’m feeling fine this evening. So, Buffy, go see what you can discover about how Dawn came to be here. I feel sure there is something important we are missing.”

“You sound like you know something you’re not telling us,” Buffy said slowly.

“I do,” Celebrían replied. “And I will tell you when the time is right. Until then, it may be that you are both safer not knowing.”

Her daughters exchanged a glance, before Buffy marched out of the room and down the stairs. Listening to the door shut rather firmly behind her, Celebrían reflected that vampires and demons would do well to stay away from her tonight. Buffy was in a mood to beat something. Her brothers would be so delighted with their smaller sister’s temperament.

Assuming, of course, Celebrían found a way to take herself and her daughters safely home.

“You called Buffy Anariel,” Dawn said, neatly interrupting her mother’s train of thought.

“So I did.”

“That’s her real name, isn’t it?” Dawn asked with a frown. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“I said I would tell both of you girls when the time was right.”

Dawn pouted.

“Why does Buffy get another name? She already has a cooler name than I do, how come she gets a fancy one too?”

“You have another name also,” Celebrían told her, hoping to head off what could be a longwinded whine.

“I do?” Dawn exclaimed. “What is it?”

“Tindomiel.”

For a moment, Dawn was silent, and Celebrían could see her rolling the name around in her mouth, trying it on. Then her youngest daughter’s expression turned smug.

“Mine’s prettier.”

Celebrían knew. She couldn’t have said how she knew, but she was certain that the time was upon them. They would be returning home very soon now. That was why she had invited all her daughter’s friends over. One last time. One last dinner with all of them together.

She would have liked to invite Spike, especially since Riley wasn't here. She knew that Riley and Buffy were having difficulties, so that had given her the perfect excuse to omit him from the guest list. She didn’t want any chance that the problems of this world would follow them home. She didn’t fully understand the rulers of this world, but they had already caused her daughter enough trouble.

She smiled as she passed the potatoes down the table. She would miss them all, Willow, and Xander, and even Giles. She hoped they would be all right after. She knew both her daughters would miss them terribly as well. She was glad to see that Anya and Tara were both present. They would be moral support for their respective partners.

“Now, Buffy, Giles,” she began, seeing both of them start at being addressed at the same time. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve discovered about the Key.”

Dawn sat up a little straighter as well. She was intensely curious. Celebrían shuddered to think what might have ensued had she not told her youngest child that she knew she was new and hadn’t been made in the usual way before Dawn had read the Watcher’s journal.

“The Key was originally pure energy,” Giles said. “It has the power to unlock the gates between dimensions.”

“Which dimensions?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“All of them, if used properly,” Giles replied. “The Order of Dagon has been protecting it for several centuries. Recently, they came to fear that the god Glorificus, who we know as Glory, would seek to use the Key. Their solution was to send it to the Slayer in the form of a sister, knowing she would protect her sister with her very life if necessary.”

Dawn chewed her lip.

“So I wasn’t really real until they did that,” she said.

“No, you are real,” Celebrían corrected gently. “But part of you is much older than your body, and your soul is younger- what our people would call your fëa.”

“Your people?” Xander blurted out. He stopped hastily. Celebrían suspected Willow had just kicked him underneath the table. Anya would not have bothered.

“Yes, Joyce, do please explain,” Giles said, focusing his full attention onto her.

Joyce stood up.

“My daughters have known for several weeks now that there was something different,” she said.

“You’re not still having headaches, are you?” Willow asked in concern. “Because that could be a sign of-”

“No, Willow, no more headaches, but it’s good of you to be concerned,” Celebrían told her with a smile. “The headaches were triggered by the spell the monks used when they put Dawn into our lives. I was not aware, but I had previously been victim of a memory spell. This newer spell destabilized the old one, and when I began meditating, my true memories returned.”

“And what would those be?” Buffy asked quietly.

Celebrían looked at her daughters. Buffy had been curious, and a little reluctant to fully accept Dawn, but now that she had, she was ready to protect her from any threat- even their mother, if necessary. Dawn had slipped a hand into her older sisters, in need of silent reassurance.

“My name is not Joyce,” Celebrían said, quietly but firmly. “It is Celebrían. And I am not human. My people call themselves the Eldar, the firstborn, though I believe you would call us elves- that was what the humans of our world called us.”

“That’s why you’re so freakishly short,” Dawn whispered to her sister- perfectly audible to everyone- in mock surprise.

“I was being hunted by what you might consider demons in our world, when I found a tear between two worlds- though I did not realize that was what it was. I saw only an escape for myself and my small daughter, Anariel.”

All heads swiveled to regard Buffy.

“You called me that before,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “That night-”

“Yes,” Celebrían agreed.

At the same time, Dawn piped up, “My name’s prettier, though. Tell them my name, Mom!”

“Tindomiel, you must learn patience,” Celebrían chided. “Elves are longer lived than men, there is no need to rush. You have plenty of time.”

She forbore to mention that by ‘longer lived’, she meant ‘immortal’. She had a feeling the others had enough to take in as it was.

“What do you call your world?”

That was Anya, and Celebrían realized there might actually be an unexpected benefit to her presence.

“Arda. We are from Arda,” she said. “Do you know of it?”

“Yes, I know of it,” Anya replied. “But I’ve never been there. The protections around your world are woven incredibly tightly. There must have been something very powerful and very malicious at work to rip a hole so conveniently close to you- no vengeance demon could have managed it. You’re talking big leagues.”

“There are several powers of evil that might have thought to wreak mischief in that way,” Celebrían said. “Though I think it would be mischief only. I am not mighty among my people, nor numbered among the Wise, and my daughter was too young to be a threat to anyone.”

“You never know,” Anya said doggedly. “Look what she’s accomplished here, and it’s not even her native dimension. Imagine what she could be if she was on home ground. It matters, you know.”

Celebrían imagined for a second, and it nearly took her breath away. With proper training, Anariel would be the very figure of an elven warrior, maybe equal to even some of the mightiest names among the Eldar. Glorfindel should take her in hand…

And that was enough. It was certain. They needed to go home. Perhaps even tonight.

“Is there a particular reason you have chosen to share this with us, Joyce? Pardon me, Celebrian?” Giles asked.

“Indeed there is,” Celebrían responded. “When Tindomiel was sent to us, I sensed that something had changed. I remembered home. And now I think with Tindomiel’s power, we finally have a way to return.”

“That would solve the Glory problem,” Buffy said brightly. “Without the Key, she couldn’t follow us! Dawn would be safe.”

Dawn looked equally delighted. The Glory situation had been wearing on her. Buffy had been hypervigilant the last few weeks. Celebrían hadn’t had the heart to tell her that when they returned home, she would doubtless find that Anariel’s watchfulness would be outdone by Arwen, the twins, and Elrond- once they got over the shock of finding out that not one, but two elflings were returning with her.

“Anya? Willow? Tara? Is there a way to tap Tindomiel’s power to return us to Arda?” Celebrían asked.

The three women exchanged glances.

“I think so,” Willow said slowly.

“Definitely,” Anya corrected immediately. “Come on, there are some things we’ll need from the Magic Box. And-”

She stopped abruptly, suddenly looking upset.

“This is for good, isn’t it? This will mean we have to say goodbye. You’re going to go and never come back.”

Celebrían looked around the room. It had once been her living room, but no more. After tonight it would be Giles’ living room, and Faith’s. They would be staying. The others- her daughter’s sister and brother of the heart and their lovers had been unanimous in their desire to come with her to Arda, unknown though it was. Even after Celebrían had explained as gently as she could that Anariel and Tindomiel would neither age nor be subject to the Gift of Men- not unless they chose that path.

In truth, in the deepest part of her heart, Celebrían feared Anariel might. She had no memory of Arda or life among the Eldar- how could she, young as she had been? It was true that Tindomiel had never known these things either, but Tindomiel was also younger and less bound to the world of Men. Anariel had spent years of her mortal life as their champion, blessed by whatever greater powers watched over this world. She had been ready to sacrifice all for them, and that Willow and Xander had refused to let her go into the unknown without them might well tip the balance when the day came for her to choose her fate.

But that day was surely long in the future, at least as long as the life of the Secondborn- the children accompanying her children would be cherished and protected in her husband’s house or in her mother’s realm for as long as they lived. For now, the task was to return home.

She had been uncertain what if anything they could take with them- after all, she had arrived with nothing but Anariel. But in the end, every one of the children had a small pack with them, with a few favored items of clothing and those most precious possessions they couldn’t bear to leave behind- in Anariel’s case, mostly weapons, but also a certain stuffed pig.

Tindomiel brought her only weapon, a crossbow her sister had gifted her, but was also hugging a black leather jacket she was currently trying not to drizzle with tears. Willow’s choice had been some books and a laptop with a solar charger she had liquidated her life savings to pay for. Xander had packed a few comic books and a small box he had diligently kept from Anya’s sight, which had made Celebrían smile- she suspected he would find the smiths of Imladris and Lorien produced far finer work than he could hope to afford here.

Tara and Anya carried the least. Tara had only a small duffel bag. She had decided that Miss Kitty Fantastico should remain here, as there was no telling how she might react to a change in dimensions. The cat had been given over to Faith, much to the newly released Slayer’s surprise. Anya, upon learning that American money would be of no use in Arda, had proceeded to quiz Celebrían thoroughly on what life in Arda might be like and what materials would be useful for barter despite all assurances that Buffy’s family would certainly be able to provide them living space, food, and work in abundance without thought of money. In the end, she had produced a small case of precious and semi-precious stones, on the logic that at least some of them were bound to be unusual enough to fetch a decent price.

Celebrían’s own pack contained a few small handcrafted things she thought might be of interest to the folk of Imladris, and photos of her daughters so her family need not feel like they had lost a cherished elfling only to regain two strangers. And, of course, some food. As the only true adult in this expedition, she had prepared for the eventuality that the portal would not work as smoothly as hoped and they might enter Arda a long journey from her home or her mother’s realm.

She turned to Giles, who stood with a clearly uncomfortable Faith at his side. Spike had already said his goodbyes, and hadn’t been seen since. She hoped he would return- the two remaining to continue the fight against the darkness could use an ally. Anariel’s strength had been that she didn’t fight alone.

“I suppose this is it, Rupert,” she said. “If Willow and Tara are ready, that is?”

The two witches nodded.

“All we need to finish the spell and open the portal is a drop of Dawn’s blood,” Willow said. “Once we add that, hello yellow brick road.”

Celebrían smiled at the thought of the linguistic confusion her daughters and their friends were about to unleash on Imladris.

“We will miss you, Rupert. Take care of Faith. I foresee that she will need guidance to rediscover her courage. But once she does, she will be as great a champion as any your Council has known.”

Faith managed a small smile. Celebrían knew the girl barely trusted anyone, even herself, after all she’d been through. She only hoped that her small vote of confidence might help the girl shoulder the burden that now fell to her.

The children all said their goodbyes, with a good deal of sniffling and in Tindomiel’s case, unabashed tears. Celebrían held her daughter’s hand tightly as she offered the other to Willow, who pricked one finger with a small silver knife. Then she gripped both her daughters tightly as the two witches chanted their spell.

As promised, the portal opened. Celebrían focused on Imladris, on home, her husband, her sons, and their people- that, Tara had told her, would help anchor the other side of the portal where they wanted it instead of some random place in Arda. It seemed to work- through the shimmer in the air, she could see the river bank she knew so well, and hear the cheerful burble of Bruinen.

Willow and Tara finished their chant and stood.

“We have to step through quickly,” Willow said. “I don’t know how long the portal will stay stable. It will close as soon as we go.”

“Everyone grab someone’s hand,” Anariel ordered. “We don’t want anyone getting left on the wrong side of the portal. Dawn goes through first-”

“No,” Celebrían corrected, “I go through first. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

Especially since such misunderstandings would likely involve someone learning what an arrow wound felt like!

“Ok,” Anariel amended, “Mom goes first, and I go through last!”

Everyone linked hands, forming a chain. Celebrían stepped carefully through, mindful not to let go of Tindomiel’s hand even in her joy at finally setting foot on the soil of her home world. She was unsurprised to see sentries that she doubted the others would notice observing them from the trees. Turning, she saw the others trooping through the portal, Anariel looking back as she called a final farewell to Giles.

True to Willow’s word, the second Anariel came through the portal, it sealed itself behind them. It felt right, as if the very fabric of the world was knitting itself back together, whole as it hadn’t been before.

Celebrían was unsurprised to see the first elf to step out where they could see him was Glorfindel. His shock at who had arrived on the banks of Bruinen was evident to her, though she wasn’t sure the children would see it, unused to elves as they were.

“This is an unlooked for surprise,” he greeted her. “We had despaired of seeing you again on this side of the sea, my lady. And who might these be?”

Celebrían drew Tindomiel and Anariel to her.

“Anariel I think you remember, though she was much smaller the last time you saw her,” she said.

“She’s still pretty small now,” Tindomiel muttered, irrepressible as ever.

“And this is my youngest daughter, Tindomiel,” Celebrían finished, speaking as though no one had heard the comment, even though every elf in Imladris would doubtless know of it by nightfall. “The others are friends of my daughters who would not be parted from them.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose as he regarded Tindomiel, with only a quick glance at the rest of the group.

“I can see you have much to tell us. But that can wait. There are others who will wish to welcome you home first.”

Indeed, she could hear the hoofbeats heralding the rapid approach of at least two others who could not wait. She was unsurprised to see both Elladan and Elrohir come flying into the clearing. Elladan, ever the more sedate one, reined his horse to a halt and dismounted with dignity, but Elrohir simply vaulted clear of his mount.

“Nana! It is true, you have returned to us!” he exclaimed, striding up to hug her tightly while his twin came to stand behind him.

“Mom, who’s that and why’s he calling you Nana? I know you said immortal, but you’re not old enough to be anyone’s grandmother, right?” Tindomiel demanded.

Celebrían smiled as she pulled free to regard her sons fondly. The folk of Imladris weren’t the only ones in for a surprise.

“Anariel, Tindomiel,” she said. “This is Elrohir and that is Elladan.”

“Hi,” Anariel said cautiously, only to be picked up and swung joyfully around by Elrohir, much to her sister’s amusement.

“Whoa! What the-”

“They are your brothers,” Celebrían finished. Mentally, she counted, reaching three before the stunned silence gave way to the children-except for Tara, who had retreated to a safer position near Glorfindel and seemed to be speaking quietly to him- all talking or protesting at once.

“We have brothers?”

“Mom, you didn’t say anything about brothers!”

“I remember only one sister- how is it there are two now?”

“Arwen is going to love having two small sisters to boss around.”

“Did Joyce mention Buffy having hot brothers before?”

“Ahn, not now.“

“Which one is which?”

Celebrían smiled. It was good to be home.

Celebrian watched from the balcony, comfortable in her husband’s embrace, as her sons tested Anariel’s skills. Blessed as she had been with the gifts of the Slayer, one would barely notice that her archery was not quite that of an elleth her age- although as far as Celebrian knew, she had never held a proper bow before. Looking at her now, Elladan correcting her stance ever so subtly while Elrohir encouraged her, Celebrian could almost pretend that the years away had never happened. All was as it should be- well, almost.

She had yet to see her eldest daughter. Arwen, it transpired, was in the Golden Wood visiting her grandparents- though her visit would be cut short now that Celebrian’s mother was aware of her daughter’s return. Lothlorien would feast as joyously as Imladris tonight, and then the Evenstar would bid Celeborn and Galadriel farewell, returning to her father’s house to greet her mother and sisters.

In their elder sister’s absence, what seemed like all the ellith in Imladris had fussed over both girls, washing them, dressing them, fixing their hair in the style of the Eldar rather than that of the Men of the other world they had lived in, and settling them in their rooms. Willow, Tara, and Anya all came in for their share of the fuss as well.

The twins had regarded the oncoming tide of female elfdom for all of two seconds before they whisked Xander away to a safe distance, in this case the room they’d appropriated for him. Celebrian was sure they would at some point show him the bathing pools and offer him the chance to try elven garb if he desired. Before she had left them, she’d seen them curiously watching the lone male in their mother’s party unpack- if they didn’t discover it for themselves, she meant to drop a hint to them about a certain small box, and how its content might be improved upon.

With all her children occupied, that had left her free to enjoy a more private reunion with her husband. Elrond, despite his confusion at welcoming back two daughters instead of one, was happy beyond words to see them returned safely to their rightful home. It was only now, after expressing their joy in a more physical way, that they got around to words.
“How long has it been?” she asked softly.

“Nearly three yeni,” Elrond replied, holding her still as though he feared to let go even for an instant. “We thought you dead. Our sons have slain many yrch to avenge you and their small sister.”

He paused.

“Was it that long for you also?”

Celebrian smiled, remembering how insightful her husband could be.

“No. Time ran… differently for us. It was not so long, only a handful of loa. Though it seemed long, for we lived as Edain. Our memories were gone, so we knew no different. And for Anariel, young as she was, there was so little to remember.”

She both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath as he understood she meant that they had lived as mortals, unaware of who they were.

“And Tindomiel? How do we come to have a second daughter?” Elrond asked carefully.

“She was sent to us by the Valar, my love,” Celebrian replied. “With her came the power to return, for otherwise I know not how we might have travelled between worlds. That gift is hers alone- and it is well she was sent to us. An agent of Morgoth sought to bend her power to dark ends. Had we not been able to flee, both our daughters might have been killed.”

Her husband stiffened reflexively at the mention of the greatest of all foes of men and elves. She also felt his horror at the thought that his daughters might have truly died, for not knowing the choice offered them, they would have accepted the Gift.

“She brought us safely home, where that enemy cannot follow, and I know she will come to no harm here with her own people. Though all here is new to her, except for our companions. Our daughters’ sworn sisters and brother accompanied us, for they would not let us go into an unknown world alone.”

She felt the approval radiating from Elrond, and knew that for that, her husband and those who looked to him would honor the children for the rest of their days.

“What else has passed while we were away, husband?”

Elrond shrugged.

“No great events to speak of,” he said. “The dwarves of Thrain took Erebor and lost it again to the worm Smaug. The White Tower was rebuilt in Gondor, but the Tree has died. With the Steward's leave, Curunir took Orthanc for his abode. Mithrandir has discovered that the Necromancer is indeed Sauron, and he has made his stronghold in Dol Guldur. Mithrandir counsels that we move against him, yet Curunir urges patience. For the rest, men and dwarves were born and died. Lothlorien is much as it ever was, but Thranduil and his people are sorely pressed and must be cautious when they venture beyond their own halls.”

“The world is not changed so very much, then,” Celebrian said, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“It is a better world tonight than it was yesterday,” her husband murmured into her hair, as their children’s laughter rang out in the courtyard below.

Celebrían was startled at the expression on her husband’s face when he entered the room –their private sitting room, a sanctuary which even the children were expected to knock before entering.

He looked so disappointed, almost diminished.

“My love, whatever is the matter?” she asked in concern.

“I have lost her,” he murmured sadly. “I wonder if this is how my father feels about his sons?”

“Who?” she repeated, now well on the way to alarm.

“Anariel,” was his dejected reply as he sank into the chair opposite hers.

Celebrían reached out to touch her daughter’s fëa briefly, just to reassure herself that all was well with her. She was puzzled to find Anariel also in a less than happy state. She was disappointed, with threads of both frustration and self-reproach running through her mind.

“What happened?” she asked sharply, wondering what cultural misunderstanding has occurred now.

The weeks since their return to Arda have not been easy for Anariel – who stubbornly stuck to calling herself Buffy, clinging onto her familiar name with a tenacity she did not realize might be hurting others. Her daughter, like most of the other children, had not given overly much thought to what moving worlds entailed beyond separation from Giles and others left behind. The children, after the initial excitement of arrival and reunion, were suffering from culture shock.

“She called me Adar,” Elrond told her, sounding heartbroken.

Celebrían blinked. That sounded to her like massive progress.

Anariel’s ideas of her own capabilities when it came to learning a new tongue were shaped by her frankly awful experience with high school French. She had been severely shaken to discover that Middle Earth did not speak American, or even English. Westron was close, but only for those willing to make an effort. And the languages of the elves had very little in common with it. Her daughter’s lack of confidence that she would ever master the words her parents and brothers used with such ease had been far more of a stumbling block to her effort to learn than anything else.

“But, my love, you are her adar,” Celebrían pointed out gently.

“None of the other children are ever so formal with me,” Elrond replied in bewilderment. “There was not even anyone around to make her feel she might need to…”

He trailed off.

Now Celebrían dimly understood.

It would have been only the two of them, because Anariel will hardly have wished to try out a new word – particularly one that should be so simple, one that other elves have no memory of learning, because they have known it from their earliest days – in front of anyone other than her family. Even then, she would rather it be only her father or mother who heard, because she did not trust Tindomiel not to laugh, or want her brothers to think her as stupid as she feels.

She could picture it all too well. Anariel tentatively attempting the word, hoping that she had it right, and when Elrond did not respond as she’d hoped, no doubt covering it with one of those smiles she wears well enough to fool all but those who know her well.

Elrond did not know her well, because he has not had the chance.

Just as her daughter did not know that to the man who could have called himself High King of the Noldor had he wished it, ada is the title he holds dearer than any other. His children were his joy, and he has always endeavored to ensure that their childhoods were happy, not blighted as his had been.

“Husband,” Celebrían said with some asperity, “she does not know enough to understand that she was being formal.”

The startled hope in his eyes made her heart ache.

She kept it brief, but explained as best she could the damage that wretched French teacher had done to their daughter’s confidence. By the time she finished, he was fuming that someone so unsuited to the task was permitted to teach children.

She wondered, watching him as he complained, how Maedhros had taught him and his brother. Her parents spoke of the eldest son of Fëanor as having been fierce and reclusive by the time he and Maglor took the twins into their care, forbidding even to those who had known him in the days of his youth. Yet her husband clearly had no harsh teacher as a child.

Elrond suddenly stopped.

“But how can we correct her without upsetting her further?” he asked. “I wish her to know, but I also wish her to not become still shyer about trying out Sindarin.”

Celebrían smiled.

“Leave that to me, my dear,” she told him.

It was quite simple. She only needed to wait until later that afternoon, when both her husband and her daughter were sitting in the library – and she did hope Elrond noticed that Anariel had taken to ending up wherever her father happened to be whenever she had time not claimed by her brothers or her mortal friends. It was clear to her, at least, that Anariel wished to be close to her father but was uncertain how to go about it, given the less than pleasant memories she had of the man she’d believed to be her father in California.

With both of them in one place, Celebrían went ‘looking’ for Elrond, asking her youngest daughter if she knew where her father was.

Just as she’d expected, Tindomiel knew exactly where he was, and was more than happy to show her. She went skipping in ahead of her mother, cheerfully calling out as she did.

“Ada! Nana’s looking for you!”

Celebrían could see Anariel cock her head curiously, before asking – in English, of course – what her sister had just said. Elrond would probably not be able to follow the conversation, but that was to the good, as she suspected Anariel did not particularly want him to know what was passing.

“What did you call dad?” she asked Tindomiel quietly.

“Dad,” her sister replied.

“But I thought adar was dad,” Anariel protested.

“No, that’s father,” Tindomiel assured her. “You already know naneth is mother, but we never call her that unless there are visitors or people we don’t know that well around.”

“Oh.”

“If you want, I can tell you the words for sister and brother, too. And twins.”

“That would be cool, but maybe later. Speaking of twins, I think they’re heading for the stables.”

With that, Tindomiel bounced back out the door, unable to resist the combination of big brothers and horses.

“Anariel, what have you been doing?” Celebrían asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer was, and making sure to speak slowly enough that her husband could understand.

“Seeing ada read,” her daughter replied, boldly attempting an entire sentence. “And thinking that the book must not be very interesting, because he keeps staring out the window instead.”

Celebrían decided this was not the time to explain the difference between ‘see’ and ‘watch’. One word at a time. There was no rush. And Tindomiel had neatly covered the most important word today.

Elrond hadn’t smiled, but his entire demeanor softened at the sound of his daughter calling him ‘ada’.

“That, my sunshine, is because I have been wondering what you were doing here when these are ‘not your sort of books’.”

Even if she hadn’t understood everything he said before quoting her, Anariel did pick up on his warm tone and seemed to grasp the gist of it. This smile was one of her genuine ones, and Celebrían knew Elrond’s sharp eyes had spotted the difference.

“What, can’t a girl want to hang out with her dad… um, ada?”

Elrond watched his children with a heart full nearly to bursting. His children – all his children – home in Imladris. It was a sight he had thought never to see again.

The twins were loathe to let Arwen pry either of their baby sisters away from them. If Anariel did not mind parceling her time out to her older siblings equally to keep the peace, his youngest daughter felt no such compunction . Tindomiel blatantly favored her brothers, and was currently firmly ensconced next to Elladan watching Arwen fuss over Elrohir and Anariel, who had just returned from an expedition to the furthest reach of the valley that had left the pair a wet, muddy – but remarkably cheerful – mess.

He felt Celebrian’s approach as much as he heard it.

“The novelty hasn’t worn off yet, has it?” she asked, her voice full of fond amusement as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I don’t know that it will,” he replied softly.

Miracles, in his long experience, happened to other elves. Luthien. Idril. Eärendil and Elwing. The kin he has loved and lost have never returned to him. Until now.

His sunshine child may be a young woman rather than the baby who had disappeared, and she may answer to a name he finds odd. (He has reluctantly mastered the correct pronunciation of “Buffy”.) But she lived, and on this side of the Sea. She was turning cartwheels on the grass right now, much to Arwen’s frustration.

Celebrian kissed him – not a kiss of passion, but of reassurance.

I am here now. We will not be parted again.

He drew her closer, as thankful to have his beloved wife back as the daughter he’d lost and the unexpected daughter he’d gained with their return.

He’d been meaning to speak with her about that…

“My love,” he began tentatively, “have you given any thought to the matter of our youngest daughter?”

He could feel his wife’s confusion.

“Do you mean her name?” she asked. “I had not remembered that you had a niece of that name until you reminded me. And I think Tinu would object to being renamed. If you think Anariel is being difficult...”

Elrond smiled.

Tindomiel had been named in the California tongue first, but as her name was for the morning twilight, the time of the rising of the sun, it was natural for his wife to have translated it Tindomiel without further thought. Moreover, it had a pleasing relationship to her sister’s names. But it had been used before to name a granddaughter of Eärendil and Elwing.

It was an understandable oversight on Celebrian's part. She had been begotten too late to know Elros, or even his children. She had met some of the grandchildren, but only near the end of their lives. While the elves might find it worthy of remark, Elrond did not view the name as a problem. The Edain often reused names within families. He suspected his long-dead niece would view the shared name as a honor.

“No, not her name,” he reassured his wife. “More what we will tell others of her. You are newly returned, yet we have a daughter not yet past her first begetting day who looks to elvish eyes to be in her mid-twenties.”

Indeed, if one did not look at both girls’ eyes, most elves would take Tindomiel for the elder sister, and Anariel for the younger. The confusion was likely to increase with the years, for while Tindomiel’s height was beyond what it should be for her age, Anariel would be considered short even for an adaneth. By elven standards, she was child-sized, and would likely remain so her entire life, or at the very least until she reached the West, where there might be help beyond his power for her. (After hearing from both Anariel and Celebrian, not to mention Willow and Tara, about “the Slayer”, he had no confidence her growth would resume naturally.)

If you looked at their eyes, though, Tindomiel’s age was little more than a baby, while Anariel was frighteningly beyond the twenty years Celebrian said she had lived. Well, frightening to other elves. Elrond Peredhel had seen plenty of death and darkness by his twentieth birthday, and while he would not have wanted that for his daughter, it did not horrify him. He understood it. (He was certain Maedhros would have understood it better.)

Celebrian frowned, and he could feel her frustration.

He was privately amused at her reaction. The beings that had created their daughter and slotted her so seamlessly into the lives of her mother and sister had done their work well, to the point that even knowing the origins of her youngest child, Celebrian could easily overlook the newness of her, and the incongruence of her appearance and her age.

“I suppose we should count her begetting as the date when she came into being in Sunnydale,” she said thoughtfully. “Which would be toward the end of Iavas… forty-seventh Iavas, by my reckoning. She'll be very put out to find she's the last one to celebrate a begetting day.”

His youngest daughter had been fascinated by Anariel’s begetting day celebration, which had been a few weeks after their arrival in Rivendell. They would have to make sure her first begetting day celebration was memorable.

“The folk of Imladris will not spread tales of her beyond the Valley,” Elrond mused. “Nor will the Galadhrim whenever she visits.”

The visit would have to be made soon, as soon as he was sure his youngest could travel safely beyond the protected boundaries of the valley. Galadriel could not absent herself from Lothlorien without leaving it vulnerable, but her patience would not hold very long in the face of a new granddaughter.

“Arwen will surely wish to write to our kin beyond the Sea…” Elrond murmured.

“She can be vague about certain details, like the baby’s age,” Celebrian replied firmly. “I will speak with her. Her excitement at a new sister will be plain enough no matter what else she writes. By the time anyone beyond the Sea meets Tindomiel, she will be full grown. Once she sails, her origins will be of little matter beyond curiosity. And Arwen is no less protective of her little sister than Anariel or the boys.”

In the West, their daughter will be safe – as she will not be here in Middle Earth, if tales of Elrond’s remarkable child who was apparently born already half grown should reach the wrong ears.

Buffy still felt nervous about leaving Dawn behind- even though in this case, ‘behind’ meant leaving Dawn at home in the care of both her parents. It was all the twins' fault. Her incredibly irritating brothers had gotten the brilliant idea that as the ‘baby’, Dawn should have some bonding time with her parents and sister without the three of them underfoot. And Buffy needed to meet her grandparents. So they’d somehow persuaded Celebrian and Elrond that it made total sense for them to drag her off to Lothlorien while Dawn stayed at Imladris.

It had taken the two of them together to wrestle Buffy onto her horse over her protests. (It totally wouldn’t have worked if she didn’t have to worry about what Mom and Ada would say if she broke either of her brothers. Or both of them.) Willow had been enthused about the idea of coming along, but Xander had been reluctant- Buffy wasn’t the only one who had been put on a horse against her better judgement.

Consequently, two of the party making camp for the night were in a foul mood. Buffy hadn’t spoken to her brothers all afternoon. Willow and Tara had retreated to the relative safety of the cave they’d found, while Elladan- who Buffy had decided was definitely her smarter brother- had announced he would be in charge of providing dinner tonight and vanished into the trees.

Xander pulled Anya away to find a clearing of their own for a discussion Buffy could still overhear about how in a relationship, people decided important things together- she didn’t get to make unilateral decisions for both of them. Buffy tried not to listen after that.

Besides, she had a target for her own ire right in front of her.

“Alright, Elroy, what gives? There is no reason we had to go visit the grandparents right now.”

Elrohir smirked, ignoring her deliberate mangling of his name. He knew perfectly well that she had no trouble recalling his name- or any of several insulting variations thereof Tindomiel had already worked out. He also knew that if it came to names, all he had to do to wind his small sister up was call her by her given name, as she preferred the odd mannish one she’d grown accustomed to in the other world.

“Of course there is.”

Buffy glared at him. It annoyed her no end that her glares had zero effect on her brothers- if anything, they were amused when she did. This time was no exception.

“Think, little one. Arwen has just returned.”

“Yeah, and…?” Buffy demanded. “I’m already over not being the oldest.”

“We noticed. We like to think our good influence had something to do with that. However, we also noticed that someone else did not exactly welcome her older sister.”

Buffy paused. This was the most annoying part about having older brothers. They were often right.

Against all expectation, Dawn and Arwen had not taken to each other. More accurately, Dawn hadn’t taken to Arwen, to general surprise. Buffy knew from things she’d overheard that everyone had been holding their breath to see her reaction to her older sister. They’d just assumed that Dawn and Arwen would get along.

She was being honest when she told Elrohir that not being oldest wasn’t really that big a deal- after all, by the time Arwen got home, they’d had nearly a month to adjust to Arda. After several weeks in the company of brothers a few thousand years old, a big sister wasn’t such a big deal. Arwen seemed nice enough. A little bit of a queen bee vibe, but then Buffy could only imagine what it had been like for her to live with her dad and brothers after Buffy and her mom had gone missing. She was pretty sure Arwen had gotten the full on ‘daddy’s precious princess’ treatment.

That might have been what got Dawn’s hackles up, but then again, it could have been something else entirely. She had no idea what, though. Arwen was super excited to have two little sisters to dote on, and that seemed to be her main mission right now- spoiling her kid sisters rotten. Buffy hadn’t gotten to ask what exactly had rubbed her little sister the wrong way, seeing as their stupid brothers had given it all of two days before hustling her off.

To be fair, her brothers had half a point about getting the heck out of dodge for the duration. It was probably on now- Arwen had been perfectly nice to Dawn until Dawn had managed to find something equivalent to itching powder and treated Arwen’s hairbrush early that morning.

“So your solution is to run off to hide at grandpa and grandma’s place?”

Elrohir smiled, pleased that she was such a quick study.

“Exactly. Grandmother and Grandfather will be pleased to see you, and we want to be there to see their reactions. Also, we think they will be curious to meet your companions. And we will all be at a safe distance while Arwen and Tindomiel fight it out. I think Adar can be trusted to make sure everyone ends up alive and with all their hair. If not, perhaps Glorfindel can intervene. He has fought a Balrog, after all…”

“Glorfindel hightailed it out this morning as soon as he heard Arwen shrieking,” Buffy informed her brother.

“One of our greatest warriors thought it prudent to retreat yet you question our wisdom?” Elrohir asked with a raised eyebrow.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Fine, you win, it’s a great plan. Tell Elladan he can quit skulking around the woods. To grandmother’s house we go.”

“Eww!”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled as she surveyed her feet. New dimension, new demons, but some things stayed the same- they always managed to ruin her footwear.

Despite the occasional annoyance like icky demon blood on her nice new boots, the trip to her grandparents was looking up. Xander and Anya had made up- thankfully far enough away that no one else had to hear, not that Anya hadn’t filled them in later on the fact that orgasms had happened. Willow and Tara were enjoying getting to know Middle Earth, and were thrilled to see much more of it than they would have staying at Imladris.

Buffy was learning how to ride. She’d progressed past the basics pretty quickly, with encouragement from the twins to try some tricks that probably would have upset their mother greatly had she been there to see them. But more importantly, she was also getting a chance to hunt. She was killing demons- yrch, her brothers called them- fairly regularly, which was a relief after being cooped up at home so long with elder siblings who seemed to think that she was fragile and in need of protection no matter how proficient she showed herself with weapons.

Which brought her neatly to the best part of this trip (aside, of course, from its main purpose- being elsewhere while Dawn and Arwen either learned to get along or killed each other.) Elladan and Elrohir were getting an education in just how fragile their ‘small sister’ wasn’t.

The look on their faces when she’d single-handedly taken out the first group of orcs they’d encountered in the foothills of the Hithaeglir had been seriously smug-making. Since then, the three of them had been gradually learning how to work together- as equals, not as big brothers and their kid sister who needed rescuing. As she’d told them after the first fight, if they wanted to save someone, hang around Tindomiel on a Tuesday.

Elladan raised an enquiring eyebrow at her expression.

“Problem, little one?” he asked.

She’d given up fighting about ‘little one’, ‘small sister’, and pretty much anything else they called her that made reference to her decidedly non-Elvish size. (Dad had explained, but it was long and boring and while Willow had been riveted by the complexities, Buffy had tuned out. The gist was that elfling + Slayer = midget. She wasn’t bothered- like Faith had said, they were hot chicks with superpowers. Why fuss over a few inches?)

“Why is it they always manage to get blood on my shoes?” she asked plaintively.

She had, however, insisted her brothers call her Buffy. While Dawn had taken to her elvish name instantly, Buffy was too used to being Buffy to change. It was the name she’d lived in for as long as she could remember, the name she’d made. She’d answer to it when her parents used it, mostly on account of not wanting to hurt their feelings, but they were the only ones.

“I suppose they must take revenge in any way they can,” Elrohir snickered. “The shoes can be washed.”

“They’ll take forever to dry,” Buffy protested.

“Yes, but washing would be useless,” Elladan pointed out. “We are not yet out of the mountains, and likely to encounter more orcs before we reach the borders of Lorien. Your shoes will doubtless suffer further indignities.”

Buffy frowned.

“Just let my shoes be a mess?” she demanded. “That’s your solution?”

“Or improve your archery so the orcs don’t have a chance to bleed all over you,” Elrohir suggested brightly.

Tindomiel frowned at the skinny kid swinging a wooden sword. He was mortal, she knew that much. She hadn’t realized there were Edain here in Imladris. Unfortunately, the people she normally would have turned to at this point for more information were all elsewhere. That meant if she wanted to know more, she would have to suck it up and ask Arwen.

She wasn’t sure which was more galling, that she was going to have to be nice to her prim princessy oldest sister, or that Buffy had gotten to go off on an adventure with their brothers and take Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya with her. It was totally unfair.

Nana had so not mentioned when she told them about Arda that in addition to Buffy, she had two big brothers and a big sister.

The Els weren’t so bad- in fact, they were downright fun. Ada had scolded them quite a few times about being bad influences on her, not that it had stopped them continuing to show her how to do fun things like rearrange Ada’s library or hide Glorfindel’s favorite sword. Buffy thought their brothers were funny, too, even though they annoyed her a lot, like when they told her she didn’t know anything about weapons.

All in all, Tindomiel- she had slipped out of using Dawn almost as soon as they’d settled into Imladris- had decided brothers weren’t so bad. She could even overlook their occasional big brotherly freakout, when they acted more like responsible adults and yelled at her for playing with Buffy’s new dagger or sneaking down to the Bruinen in the middle of the night to see if it really would rise if she asked it to. It wasn’t like they did it when she hadn’t done anything.
Arwen was a different story, though.

First off, she hadn’t even been there when Celebrian, Tindomiel, Buffy, and their friends arrived in Imladris. She’d been off visiting their grandparents- the same grandparents everyone else was going to visit now, in far-away Lothlorien. By the time she’d gotten back, Tindomiel had gotten used to the way her family was now- Ada, Nana, the gwenyn, Buffy, and her, plus the Scoobies.

When Arwen had finally shown up, she had immediately gotten on Tindomiel’s nerves by assuming that she could just step into Buffy’s place as the big sister. Tindomiel didn’t care that technically Arwen was the big sister- as far as she was concerned, that spot had to be earned. Buffy could boss her around by virtue of having been there for as long as she could remember (even if they were fake memories), not to mention saving her a lot and not flipping out when she realized that Tindomiel hadn’t always been there. Plus, Buffy being instantly ok with leaving California permanently as soon as she understood it would keep Tindomiel safe was pretty big, too. The gwenyn were allowed to boss her if they wanted, because they were cool and fun and didn’t do it too often.

But Arwen was a natural bossypants, and she’d started throwing her weight around as soon as she got back. She’d acted like her youngest sister was either a baby or an idiot who couldn’t do anything right. “Tindomiel, wouldn’t you rather try this gown?” “Tindomiel, have you learned your letters yet?” “Tindomiel, are you sure you can ride?”

Tindomiel had held out for a week before she snapped and short-sheeted her oldest sister’s bed. When that didn’t make any impression, she’d escalated her pranks gradually until she’d finally found something that made Arwen react- turned out screwing with Arwen’s haircare routine was something no one did. The sound her oldest sister had made when she’d used the hairbrush Tindomiel had treated was something she would treasure forever.

Even funnier, despite being related to the gwenyn, somehow Arwen had never been involved in a prank war, so she had no real idea how to retaliate. Buffy wouldn’t have let something like that pass without having her little sister walking eggshells for a week worried about what was going to happen. Arwen’s response was to stomp off to Ada. Tindomiel had laughed herself sick, even after she’d been called into Ada’s study to be scolded and ordered to apologize.

Of course, Arwen had gotten revenge in a different form. She’d gotten herself put in charge of her baby sister’s lessons, meaning Tindomiel was stuck with her several hours a day with no way around it- and no one was showing her the least bit of sympathy about it, either. Of course, almost everyone who would have been sympathetic was gone- even Glorfindel was away.

Tindomiel had been torn about what to do in her lessons- on the one hand, it would be super satisfying to be obstinate and drive Arwen crazy. On the other hand, until she learned the script used here in Arda, not to mention the other languages, she couldn’t read much, and Ada’s library was supposed to be one of the best in Middle Earth. So she’d settled for sullen efficiency- she’d learn as fast as she could, but she didn’t have to look like she liked it, and she didn’t have to make it easy for her sister.

So being in the position of having to voluntarily ask Arwen for information was maddening. Especially since Arwen had lately taken to making her concede something for every question she answered. “Why is Telerin not considered to be Quenya?” had only been answered in return for suffering through fittings for three new gowns and letting Arwen do her hair in a new style.

And she knew perfectly well if she asked any other elf, they were going to tell her she should ask her sister. Even Ada and Nana had taken to directing her to Arwen. On the other hand, if she went to Arwen directly, without being sent, maybe Arwen wouldn’t make her jump through as many hoops…

Nothing for it, then. She went to find her most annoying sibling. Arwen was reading on her balcony. She looked up at the sound of her sister’s footsteps.

“Tindomiel,” Arwen said with a smile.

Tindomiel made herself not roll her eyes. Be pleasant and maybe you’ll get out of this without too much annoyance, she reminded herself.

“Who’s the mortal child playing in the yard?” Tindomiel asked with no preamble.

Arwen smiled again, as Tindomiel mentally counted ten.

“Oh, you finally noticed Estel?” she replied.

Tindomiel looked at her cautiously. Information given without penalty? This was too good to be true.

“He’s been here a while?” Tindomiel asked.

“I believe he’s been here since before your return,” Arwen replied with a small laugh. “Ada has been fostering him since his father died.”

Tindomiel considered her options, but her sister pre-empted her.

“If you will promise to behave, I will have Erestor introduce you.”

“That’s all I have to do?” Tindomiel demanded.

Arwen looked genuinely puzzled.

“What do you think you should have to do?”

“I don’t know!” Tindomiel exclaimed. “You’re always making me do something, so when all you say is ‘behave’, there must be something else you’re going to tell me to do.”

Arwen shook her head.

“I did not mean to ‘make’ you do anything,” she said. “I thought you would enjoy having new gowns-“

“What about making me help the smiths?”

“You asked how swords were forged!” Arwen protested. “Where else do you expect to learn about such things?”

Tindomiel frowned.

“So you haven’t been trying to be annoying this whole time?” she said cautiously.

Arwen looked so completely flummoxed by that question that Tindomiel couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Trust her sister the princess to be too nice to be annoying.

“Does this mean you are willing to declare a truce?” Arwen asked smoothly.

Tindomiel frowned. It would make Nana and Ada happy if she said yes… and maybe then she’d have a better chance of convincing them that she should get to go visit Lothlorien too.

“Fine, truce.”

Arwen smiled, this time looking slightly smug.

“Come, let us find Erestor. I think you and Estel will be good company for each other.”

Now that they were actually here, Buffy was fidgety. Meeting this grandmother she had no memory of who clearly impressed the hell out of everyone around her was making her a little nervous. Oh, and her grandfather was apparently no pushover either. The gwenyn were on their best behavior, which said a lot, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the snooty warden she’d been tormenting ever since they’d reached the border of Lothlorien.

She felt alone, despite her brothers. While it was not the first time since coming to Middle Earth she had been separated from her friends, this was the time she could have used their moral support the most. But the marchwardens had whisked them off to flets of their own, saying that while their lord and lady would doubtless greet her friends later, it would surely be best if the first meeting was family.

“Be at ease, little one,” Elrohir murmured on her right. “Grandmother is not so fearsome as you think.”

“Who’s afraid?” Buffy shot back.

“You have not stopped dancing in place since Haldir went to inform Grandmother and Grandfather we were here to greet them,” Elladan pointed out from her left.

“Oh, and you two wouldn’t be nervous if this was the Undying Land and we were meeting Ada’s parents?” Buffy hissed.

The silence on either side spoke volumes.

“We had not considered it in that light,” Elladan said softly. “But we trust that they will be as pleased to see us as Nana’s parents will be to see you- especially since you return almost as from the Halls of Mandos.”

And then it was too late to say anything else, because Galadriel and Celeborn entered, and Buffy forgot everything when she looked into her grandmother’s eyes.

“Anariel,” she heard her grandfather say softly, but it was not him she focused on.

“This is not the name she prefers now,” Galadriel said, her eyes never leaving her granddaughter’s.

Buffy felt those eyes read her soul, and instead of the horror she knew her father had felt when he heard of her life in California, she found understanding in the depths of Galadriel's eyes.

“Buffy,” she said softly, opening her arms to wrap her granddaughter in an embrace that was the closest thing to peace Buffy had known since being Called. “You are welcome here.”

More than welcome. You are loved.

Buffy couldn’t have said how long she was lost in her grandmother’s gaze before she remembered that her brothers and grandfather were also present. She knew that what had passed between herself and Galadriel had not been said out loud, and was intended for her alone.

Galadriel tucked her granddaughter to her side, as if loathe to let go of her even for an instant, as she regarded her grandsons.

“Your journey here was not free from adventure,” she said conversationally.

“No, grandmother,” Elrohir said with a grin. “There are still yrch in the mountains, but that is just as well. I think our small sister would have been- what was her phrase?”

Elladan smirked.

“Bored out of her gourd, I believe it was,” he told his twin. “Fortunately, she was kept too busy showing us how best to dispatch yrch to have time for boredom.”

Celeborn regarded all three of his grandchildren with some consternation.

“Your sister is only just returned to us and you would risk her to hunt yrch?”

“It was no big, really,” Buffy snorted. “Yrch are pretty lame as demons go. No risk. Well, except for my shoes.”

She felt her grandmother’s silent laughter as she glanced sadly at her boots. Elladan had been right- they were a hopeless mess. When she looked up again, she found her grandfather seemed to be doing that mental counting thing Ada did from time to time when they were trying his patience. The twins were trying hard not to smirk and not quite succeeding.

“Besides,” Elrohir pointed out, “Anariel has the same choice as the rest of us- unless she intends to be counted with the Edain, the worst the yrch can do is send her to wreak havoc in Mandos’ halls.”

His expression suggested this would be greatly amusing, although Buffy had no idea what he was talking about. She knew Mandos was one of the Valar, but among the many things she hadn’t paid much attention to was the pantheon of higher beings in Arda. She was just happy to have the local equivalent of Powers not messing with her life.

“What choice?” Buffy asked, confused. “Make with the 'splaining, please?”

“The choice of the half-elven,” Celeborn said heavily, “is granted to each of your father’s children, as it was to him and his brother. You may choose which kindred to be counted among- Eldar or Edain. The Gift of Men is yours to accept or refuse as you will. But we may hope that choice lies many years before you yet.”

The seriousness with which he treated the choice told Buffy that this was something that worried him deeply. Mortals died- really, truly died, not like elves who would reincarnate after a while. When mortals died, unlike elves, they would pass from the circles of Arda to whatever awaited them after death- and the elves were as unclear about what that might be as any mortal. All they knew was that it was a permanent parting, with no hope of seeing their lost friends or kin again in the West.

“No,” Galadriel said, startling the men, “it does not. Buffy’s choice has already been made. She is of the Eldar. She refused the Gift when she was still in that other world of Men.”

Buffy’s head spun. She had no idea how Galadriel had known- she hadn’t told Ada. She hadn’t even told her mother- she’d never wanted to worry her. Xander had revived her and that was the end of it.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, shocked at the implication- and certain why her parents had not mentioned this choice sooner. Her friends were mortal.

Galadriel’s arm was still about her, and her grandmother’s mind touched hers, feather light, comforting her with more than just words.

“You may not have known,” she said gently, “but you chose.”

“Anariel, you died in that other world?”

She couldn’t have said which of her brothers had asked, the voice was so hoarse with shock. Looking at them, she saw both her brothers’ faces had drained of all color.

“It was only for a minute,” she told them. “Don’t look like that! I was fighting the Master and I drowned, but Xander revived me.”

Elladan flushed, looking guilty.

“And we thought him the least worthy of your companions. We have misjudged him badly.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. They were going to have a talk later about how her brothers had come to that particular conclusion.

“You must tell your mother,” Celeborn said gently. “And your father. They feared that you, more than any of your brothers or sisters, would choose to number among the Edain.”

Then Galadriel spoke again, in Buffy’s head.

Your father has foreseen that he will lose one of his daughters to death. After you vanished with your mother, he feared it was you.

Buffy felt her heart breaking.

And when I returned with mortals as my sworn brothers and sisters, he believed I would yet be lost to him. But if it is not me…

“Your brothers and sisters’ choices lie yet before them,” Galadriel told her aloud. “You cannot spare them their choice, nor your parents the worry of how they may choose. Do not let your heart be troubled. You must wash and rest after your long journey. But before your brothers show you where you will stay, I greatly desire to meet your companions.”

Tindomiel frowned, dubious that this was a good idea. She had come to acknowledge, albeit somewhat grudgingly, that Arwen did usually know what she was talking about. And she insisted it could be done…

“You’re sure it’s possible to ride in skirts?” she asked skeptically.

Arwen smirked.

“Of course. I often ride.”

It went without saying that Arwen only rarely bothered with leggings. She was a full-tilt elven princess, and Tindomiel had to admit, it worked for her. Once she’d gotten over the theory that her oldest sister was being a butt trying to edge Buffy out, she’d realized Arwen also shared what had previously been referred to as the Summers shopping gene. Clearly it was actually a peredhil thing, because Arwen said the boys were the same way, just more about weapons than clothes.

Arwen had been delighted when her baby sister had given up resisting her efforts to give her wardrobe an overhaul. Consequently, Tindomiel was now the best dressed elleth in Imladris, bar none, and nearly all her dresses were tailor made to fit her and no one else. The fancy elven hairdos to go with it were still giving her trouble, but Arwen assured her it would come with practice- Arwen made it look easy because she’d been at it for thousands of years. And it didn’t seem to bother Arwen in the least that her baby sister needed help with her hair on a regular basis.

The only thing that was still annoying about her oldest sister was that Arwen shared all their siblings' belief that Tindomiel was too young to have weapons. She had refused to have the smiths make anything for her, and while Ada gave in to Tindomiel’s persuading on most things, he agreed with Arwen this time. So did Nana. They insisted she had much to learn before she would be allowed weapons of her own. Tindomiel was biding her time- sooner or later, they’d have to give in.

Arwen’s latest idea was to start teaching her new skills to match the clothes, despite Tindomiel’s protests that she could always change into pants to ride or fight. Her oldest sister had pointed out that one could not always know of a situation in time to change clothing. It was a maddening argument, mostly because Tindomiel had yet to find a suitable comeback for it.
There was a definite challenge in Arwen’s expression.

“You realize you will not be able to make the journey to Lothlorien to visit Grandmother and Grandfather until you can demonstrate to Ada that you ride well enough to get yourself safely away should we encounter trouble on the road?”

Tindomiel glared. Arwen was deliberately picking on a sore spot. She was the only one who had never been. And here in Arda visits to the grandparents weren’t just for one or two nights - Buffy and their brothers had been gone for the best part of a year now, and were showing no signs of coming home anytime soon.

“Glorfindel taught me how to ride!” she protested.

“He did,” Arwen agreed. “In leggings. And he still feels you should improve before attempting long journeys.”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes. Unlike most Arwen ideas, this was stupid- Buffy could barely ride at all when the gwenyn dragged her off adventuring. And she definitely hadn’t learned how to ride in fancy dresses, because the boys had decided on the visit to Lothlorien before Arwen had been back long enough to have anything new made for her. Their brothers were wonderfully practical and hadn’t bothered trying convince Buffy to start wearing dresses.

“Nana intends to visit her parents soon,” Arwen remarked. “Ada will remain here, but he will hardly let her ride alone. If you were a proficient rider by the time she sets out, we could ride with them...”

That did it. She was not getting left at home again! If everyone else was going to see Lothlorien, Tindomiel was darn well going to do whatever it took to go with them.

She eyed the saddle, then her skirt. This really was not going to go well- she didn’t need Ada’s foresight to predict that she was going to end up tripping and falling at least once. Her only hope was that there wouldn’t be too many elves around to see- or worse, Estel. Stupid mortal boy always managed to be around whenever she did something embarrassing. It was like he had a sixth sense for when she was about to turn into a complete klutz.

“So how do you do this again?”

Buffy eyed the target. Despite visiting her grandparents, her brothers hadn’t allowed her to neglect her training. Archery and swordplay were still part of her daily routine. Archery occupied more time than it had before, however.

Galadriel sometimes watched, but it was Celeborn who had taken over her archery lessons. Much to her delight, he’d sent the twins scampering. Buffy had the distinct impression he’d enjoyed doing it, too- just like he enjoyed that he was the one teaching his granddaughter the proper way with a bow.

“Ease your grip, Anariel,” he said quietly. “And calm yourself. A swordsman may find strength in emotion, but an archer needs clarity, precision.”

He was the only person who called her Anariel. Somehow, it didn’t bother her as much coming from her grandfather. When most people used it, the name sounded like someone else. When Celeborn said it, the name danced on his tongue. He’d also taken the time to explain to her the relation between her name and the name he’d given her grandmother, Alatariel. She could live with having a name related to her grandmother’s. Particularly when it was said in the fond tone her grandfather reserved for her.

Archery had become a time of day when it was just the two of them. It was a soothing time, and she looked forward to it. Celeborn was only elf other than Galadriel who never pushed her to be anything other than what she was. She’d heard the disappointment of some of the galadhrim that she was not more like Arwen. Apparently Lothlorien had been expecting someone more proper and princessy.

She’d cured them of that on the patrol that had dealt with a group of yrch that had come down from the Hithaeglir. Her brothers had cleaned up on wagers that day- they hadn’t bothered to warn Haldir the Snooty or his brothers what their little sister could do.

Her grandfather had taken her archery in hand not long after that. He had been particularly incensed to discover that she preferred the sword or the knife because she lacked skill with a bow. Buffy had found it incredibly difficult to keep the poker face that was expected of the children of Elrond at the sight of her thousands-years-old grandfather as indignant as a teenager at the idea of his granddaughter not knowing her way around a bow.

She eased her grip as instructed and did her best to make herself relax. A soft snort told her grandfather was not impressed.

To her surprise, he slipped a blindfold over her eyes.

“How am I supposed to hit the target when I can’t see it!” she protested.

“You know I am smiling right now without seeing it,” he pointed out. “And you saw where the target was. I have not moved it, nor has it grown legs.”

“So just shoot where I think it is?” Buffy grumbled.

“No, shoot where you know it is,” Celeborn corrected. “You must trust yourself, Anariel. You have hit the target many times. You will hit it this time as well.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, aware that the whole ‘feeling’ thing elves had going would mean Celeborn knew she was doing it. She pictured the target in her mind. She hadn’t moved, and neither had it. She took a deep breath. Calm. Precise. She loosed her arrow.

A solid thwack! told her it had hit something- and pulling the length of cloth off her eyes, she discovered to her immense surprise that it was the target. Dead center, in fact.

“There was a lesson in there somewhere, wasn’t there?” she sighed.

“The lesson was to trust yourself. You do not lack ability, even if your brothers are quick to point out shortcomings. Yet each time you take aim, I see doubt. With a sword in hand, you are confidence incarnate. It should be the same with a bow.”

“It’s hard to be confident when you’ve got twin drill instructors constantly nitpicking,” Buffy muttered.

“Indeed,” Celeborn agreed. “Particularly when they seem not to remember that it took them several hundred years to develop their archery to a level they themselves would not now find fault with.”

Buffy looked up at him, smiling slightly. This was the other good part of having a grandfather- he reminded her that despite their reputations and their own egos, sometimes her brothers were full of it. And when they were around to hear it, he reminded them, too.

“Come, Anariel,” he said, ruffling her hair fondly. “Shall we see if your grandmother has succeeded in recreating this ice cream you are so fond of?”

Buffy smiled from her perch nestled amidst the trees. She was slowly starting to feel like she fit in here, instead of being some strange hybrid that was neither Edain nor Eldar. She had actually bested her brothers in archery this morning- though they had been at some pains to point out that she had only hit a target, not an actual moving being such as an orc. Buffy had dignified that with the only response it deserved- she stuck her tongue out at them.

She wasn’t sure if it was the archery, or something else entirely, but her grandparents had decided they needed a party. Maybe it had been to offer other elves the chance to sample ice cream, which Galadriel, Tara, and their willing assistants had finally perfected, producing a good dozen flavors. So here they were, enjoying food, drink, singing, dancing, and general merriment. It was the best atmosphere she’d ever experienced.

She was also mulling over the unexpected news that her parents and sisters would soon be joining them in Lothlorien. Elrohir had told her about it yesterday, looking very pleased with himself for being the one who got the news to her first.

She was actually looking forward to the whole family being in one place, even if it wouldn’t last very long. Ada had responsibilities in Imladris, and Galadriel virtually never left Lothlorien- there was a creepy place nearby that she had to watch over, with a Big Bad who had supposedly been defeated long time ago. Buffy could understand that. She also understood more than her brothers suspected about the current ‘peace’.

Celeborn and Galadriel had not seen any point in reticence about the growing shadow in the East and the threat of Dol Guldur, not once they had heard the full story of how she had lived in California. For her part, Buffy had held nothing back from them- she wasn’t entirely sure she could hold anything back from her grandmother even if she wanted to. Galadriel, in her rare unguarded moments, radiated power in a way Buffy had never encountered before.

She wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling of Galadriel’s power, though she had tried to put it into words for the gwenyn. Anti-demon was the best she had been able to come up with to describe that sensation of goodness that was the complete opposite of the things she fought, but that was insufficient, since her brothers’ only reference for what she meant by demon were yrch, and yrch were low grade minions. She’d ended up frustrated, knowing that what they understood was far short of what she meant. Her grandmother was closer to an anti-Glory than an anti-orc, but that would mean nothing to her brothers.

Haldir dropped down to sit next to her. She had forgiven him his snootiness when she first caught sight of Caras Galadhon fully lit and echoing with music. It was as amazing as he thought it was, and she now that she'd seen it herself, she could understand him taking pride in it.

“You are far too serious for a night of feasting and singing such as this,” he told her. “Look, even your friends are making merry.”

She looked, and discovered that Willow and Tara were with a group of ellith who were teaching them one of the more complicated dances. Anya was in conversation with one of the cooks, while Xander was watching intently as another elf sketched the scene.

“You’re right,” she replied. “They’re all having fun.”

It was one of the things she sometimes worried about- that having followed her to Arda, her friends regretted their choice. That no matter how delighted the elves were to show them any crafts they took an interest in, or take them to the places the elves found most beautiful, it would not make up for the harsh fact that they were now set apart by their mortality- and she didn’t know how to confess to them that while she had apparently once had the choice of whether to be mortal or not, that choice had been unknowingly made in the Master’s lair.

“They are. But you are not,” Haldir said, sounding disappointed. “You are sitting here on the hillside alone and quiet.”

“Just thinking,” she said.

“You are very like the Lady,” he said. “But even she is making merry tonight. Why are you are not singing, my lady?”

Buffy shrugged.

“Me and the singing are not really of the good,” she said ruefully. “Ask Tindomiel when she gets here. She’ll tell you.”

Haldir laughed that off.

“Yes, but she is your younger sister. I am sure if you were to ask my own younger brothers, they would tell you I croak like frog, yet still I sing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Right, cause I’ve heard Orophin and Rumil rag on you so much…”

“It would give the Lady great joy to hear you singing,” Haldir said softly.

Buffy sighed. She knew he was right. Galadriel was always so pleased whenever Buffy learned any of the skills most elves took for granted- or even better, the rare occasions when she remembered something from before California.

It had only happened a few times, unexpected bits and pieces surfacing like a submarine, but when it did, Buffy was relieved, because it meant that all her mother had told her was real. This wasn’t one more crazy trick of the powers, something beautiful and good that might be yanked away from her the second she let herself believe it. This was where she belonged. She knew her family treasured those flashes of memory, too- her brothers had been as enthusiastic about her remembering Caradhras as they had been about her returning to Arda in the first place.

“I can’t even if I want to. I don’t know the words.”

“Not even to this one?” Haldir asked, his tone daring her to admit to not knowing it as he began to sing quietly.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel…”

“Silivren penna míriel,” Buffy joined in, surprising even herself.

She did remember- it was a short song, and one even the youngest elflings knew. One of the first they learned, Buffy realized.

“O menel aglar elenath! Na-chaered palan-díriel, o galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon nef aear, sí nef aearon!”

It wasn’t until the last line that she realized Haldir had stopped once she picked up the tune. Galadhrim all over the square had fallen silent and turned to listen. But the faces Buffy cared most about were at the far end of the square- her grandparents and her brothers.

And the night held one more surprise- it wasn’t just her grandparents and the gwynen beaming at her, Ada and Nana were there, along with Dawn and Arwen.

Dawn smirked, and never one to be outdone, started a new song.

“Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas!”

As Buffy walked toward them, she joined in- as did Arwen and their brothers. She heard first Ada, then Nana, and Galadriel and Celeborn’s voices join them.

“O Light to us that wander here, amid the world of woven trees!”

Haldir’s was the next voice she recognized, followed immediately by his brothers. Buffy realized to her surprise that Willow, Tara, Xander and even Anya were singing, too. She wasn’t sure when they’d learned the song- she had a sudden suspicion that Haldir had been very sneaky. Quite possibly her brothers had been in on it, too.

“Gilthoniel! O Elbereth! Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!”

By the time she reached her family, it sounded like every elf in Caras Galadhon was singing. Lothlorien rang with song, building to a crescendo as they reached the final line.

“Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee, in a far land beyond the Sea.”

“So,” Buffy began, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. “You and Arwen?”

Tindomiel snorted.

It was the first chance Buffy had gotten to talk with her, just the two of them, since her sisters had arrived in Lorien with their parents.

“Truce declared,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re slow. Elrohir asked the night of your party.”

They’d slipped back into English for this, although Buffy could speak passable Sindarin. Tindomiel was far better at it- and only answered to Dawn anymore if it was Buffy or the Scoobies. It was almost like someone had hit ‘reset’ in her brain, the way she was absorbing the languages and lore of Middle Earth. Not that Buffy wasn’t absorbing things too- it was just that what she was picking up fastest tended to be more hands on and involve weapons.

“Arwen won, didn’t she,” Buffy snickered knowingly.

Everyone was still in Lothlorien, though she suspected that would not last much longer. While Arwen and Nana were happy to stay, Ada was anxious to be back to Imladris, and Buffy herself was starting to get a nebulous feeling of impending bad that she would once have chalked up to Slayer, but here was taken for granted as a gift some elves had. It had started out faint, but it was growing. She was fairly sure it meant she wouldn’t be allowed to remain either.

“Did not,” Tindomiel grumbled.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, aware she was not yet up to the standards of her brothers in this gesture, but hey, practice makes perfect.

“Ok, fine, she totally won,” Tindomiel sighed. “It’s really not a fair fight when someone has thousands of years advantage on you!”

Buffy couldn’t help the giggle. What little she remembered of Arwen from before California could be summed up as ‘best one at playing innocent’. She almost regretted letting their brothers drag her off to Lorien instead of staying to watch their sisters try to game each other without getting busted by their parents.

“She’s not as bad as I thought,” Tindomiel said. “Just… different, I guess. I was used to you, and the twins aren’t that different.”

Buffy nodded. That was the common consensus of everyone who had met all the children of Elrond and Celebrian. She was the surprise, because for the centuries she and her mother had been missing from Middle Earth, everyone had fallen into the habit of imagining her as a miniature Arwen. That she was more like a tiny blonde version of her brothers had come as a shock to many.

“So you’re not unhappy?” Buffy asked. “You really do like it here?”

Tindomiel gave her a long, searching look.

“Oh, god, you’re freaking out about us, aren’t you?” she demanded. “You really need to learn how to relax. Everybody’s happy here, even Anya! I love Middle Earth. There’s no crazy hellgoddess trying to kill either of us, we have Nana and Ada, Arwen and the gwenyn, we even have the Scoobies here. Sure, I miss Giles and Spike sometimes, but it was their choice to stay behind. We can’t make other people’s choices for them.”

Buffy blinked. Tindomiel had been picking up more than just language while she’d been away.

“I’m not freaking out,” she reassured her sister. “Just… concerned.”

Tindomiel waited patiently- another new trick, one Buffy suspected she’d picked up from Arwen.

“Did you know we’re actually half-elven?” Buffy asked.

“Duh,” Dawn replied. “Well, part-elven, anyway. Nana is edhil, but Ada is peredhil. But he chose to be counted with the Eldar, so we have the life of the Eldar unless we choose otherwise.”

“Have you thought about what that means?” Buffy said carefully.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Not really. Do I need to? I think we’ll all remain among the Eldar. Ada’s brother chose to be Edain, that’s how we’re kin to Estel, but I think it would be awful to be separated from the rest of your family forever. Why would anyone choose that?”

“Love?” Buffy suggested. “You might fall in love with a Man, like Luthien did.”

Even as little attention as she had paid to the many songs and sagas, she couldn’t miss the tale of Beren and Luthien. It was strange to think that they were her great-great grandparents.

Tindomiel shook her head with a certainty Buffy hadn’t expected.

“Maybe that would be a reason for Arwen or the boys, but even if I fell in love with one of the Edain, what happens to the Key if I die? Would it be released for something else like Glory to use? I mean, think about it. If I die like a mortal, I’m no longer bound to the circles of the world- would that mean the Key isn’t either? And if it isn’t, does that mean Morgoth can get his slimy claws on it? Not happening. Not when I can prevent it.”

Buffy regarded Dawn- no, Tindomiel, she reminded herself- in a new light. Even in the short time since their return to Arda, she had already left behind the helpless young girl she had been.

“Tindomiel? You will remain among the Eldar? Truly?”

Both Buffy and Dawn turned to find Arwen had climbed up to their talan so quietly they hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were shining, and deep within them, Buffy could see the relief.

“Of course,” Tindomiel replied, slipping easily back into Sindarin. “Wait- since when do you speak English?”

Arwen blushed.

“I did not mean to eavesdrop. I asked your friend Tara to teach me when I first came home, and I have been practicing with her ever since we arrived in Lothlorien. It is not the same as the Common Tongue, and I did not like to think there might be things one of you wanted to say to me that I would not understand. I do not think I speak very well, but I understand a good deal. Did I understand right? You will not go with the Edain?”

Buffy glanced at her younger sister before nodding.

“Neither of us will. Dawn could still change her mind, I guess, but my choice is already made and I don’t think the Valar do backsies.”

Tindomiel snickered at the confused look on Arwen’s face before she took pity and explained what ‘backsies’ meant. She was pleased to note Buffy was paying attention as well, filing the Sindarin words away for later.

“But how could you know-“ Arwen stopped suddenly, her eyes widening.

She did not pale as the boys had, but suddenly Buffy found herself pulled to her feet in a hug so tight she dimly understood why people had always been yelping at her to mind the Slayer strength.

In that moment, heart to heart with her sister, Buffy abruptly learned much that would have been difficult to put into words. She knew that elflings were rare east of the sea, every one a precious treasure. Arwen had been so proud to be an older sister, even for that brief time before the baby had disappeared with their naneth. She knew that Ada, although he had put on a brave face, had privately feared the worst. That it had terrified Arwen that she might never see her adored baby sister again. And then a small blonde stranger had returned with Nana, accompanied by mortals…

The hug was only broken when Tindomiel started to giggle, although even then, Arwen did not let go.

“It is not funny!” Arwen scolded, but she smiled as she said it. “Do Ada and Nana know? Adar worries…”

“Um, not exactly,” Buffy mumbled. “It didn’t really seem like the sort of conversation to have. ‘Hey, Ada, it's good to be home, did I mention I died while I was away?’”

“Buffy never really told Nana,” Tindomiel said with some asperity. “I mean, ok, she knows there’s another Slayer, so she must have worked out that something happened, but never in any detail.”

Buffy shrugged.

“I didn’t want her to worry. It’s done and over with, and there’s nothing she could do to change it. Besides, the way you and the boys reacted, Ada might have a heart attack at the idea I was technically dead for a few minutes.”

Arwen sank down in front of the bed her sisters had been sitting on earlier, leaning against it, pulling Buffy down with her. As if this was something they did all the time, Buffy and Tindomiel snuggled in on either side of her. Tindomiel hauled a blanket down from the bed, and Arwen arranged it over the three of them.

“I doubt Ada would have a heart attack. Does this being dead for a few minutes have something to do with why they boys are suddenly so much more attentive to Xander?”

Tindomiel nodded.

“He’s the one who revived her.”

Arwen sighed.

“We owe him much. But as to not worrying, you are worried. I feel it. If it is not telling Ada and Nana that worries you…” she paused, considering. “It is your friends.”

“That whole not quite telepathy thing is cheating,” Buffy mumbled.

“You’re being silly,” Tindomiel declared from Arwen’s other side.

“How is it silly?” Buffy protested. “I brought them here, to a place where everyone else is immortal, and now I am too. They’re going to grow old and die and we’re going to stay just as we are.”

“I think Tindomiel still has some growing to do before the ‘just as we are’ applies to her,” Arwen mused, playing with the end of one her youngest sister’s braids. “Were it not for Adar’s explanation of what happened to you in that California, I would say you did too, Anariel.”

Buffy stuck out her tongue.

“Distraction doesn’t work.”

“Yes, but Buffy, they knew that when they chose to come here,” Tindomiel pointed out. “They decided to come anyway. They thought it was worth it to spend what time they could with you instead of being parted forever immediately.”

“Yes, but knowing I could have chosen differently-“

“It is as you said before, Anariel,” Arwen interrupted gently. “It is done and over with. I think you are right about ‘backsies’. Having refused the Gift once, you will not be offered it a second time. All you can do now is make the most of the time that is given them.”

Buffy said nothing, but she did not move from the safe harbor at her sister’s side. She would never say so out loud, but she suspected that sharing thing went both ways, so Arwen would know that Buffy felt sometimes it was good not to be the big sister anymore.

All three daughters of Elrond were still curled together several hours later when Haldir arrived to summon them to their grandmother’s council chamber.

Elrohir regarded his smaller sister in some consternation. He was beginning to understand her complaint about her footwear. It was becoming bothersome. Even now that she was more proficient with a bow, she still preferred the knife or the sword. That had the drawback of allowing her enemies to befoul her shoes. She had already ruined two pairs, and while they were close, they were not yet at Thranduil’s gates.

Before they had been sent on this trip, their grandparents had seen to arming Anariel properly. Twin knives and a sword had been made to her measure, balanced as she preferred them, shaped to her hands. The bow she still tended to use only when prompted to do so, though with great accuracy when she did, had also been made for her- as Haldir had remarked, it was that or continue to use an elfling’s practice bow. Anariel’s weapons were now extensions of her own arms, and it had been a joy to watch her wield them the first time they encountered yrch.

He and his brother were thankful that Anariel was at last beginning to answer consistently to her own name. The mannish name did not bother them precisely, but they both agreed it was no proper name. Tindomiel had tried to explain why it was so rich in humor- in the world of men they had left, the name Buffy had once been a pet name for upper class women, now thought to signify a woman quite silly and helpless- but Elrohir saw no beauty in it.

The light of the sun was beautiful. The same light shone in both his sister’s hair and in her fëa. No matter what the men in that other world might have tried to tell her, the spirit within her was not touched by darkness. Like all light, it drove darkness away. It might dim, but only to blaze out again the brighter. Much like his tiny sister, now cleaning her knife from her latest kill.

“So these spider demons are all over in this forest?” Anariel asked, wrinkling her nose as she cleaning the gore from her weapon.

“Not quite all over, little one,” Elladan replied. “But close enough that it is unwise to venture into the Greenwood unaccompanied. Too many of them can overwhelm even seasoned warriors if they fight alone.”

“Good thing I brought two seasoned warriors with me, then,” Anariel replied, a slight edge to her voice.

His sister was not yet entirely over her anger at being excluded from the march on Dol Guldur.

When Galadriel had summoned her daughter, son-in-law, and their children to her council, it had been clear that some larger plan was afoot. Elladan and Elrohir had been unsuprised when Celeborn announced that the forces of Lorien would soon march against the Necromancer’s stronghold.

“Too long has he lingered on the edge of our domain unchallenged,” Galadriel declared. “Some among the Wise have been overcautious, lulling us into inaction. I fear our complaisance may cost us dearly. An enemy who might have been cast out without great loss has been given time to plan and entrench himself.”

“It is a fight that may not be delayed much longer without grave threat to all free people east of the sea,” Celeborn said sadly. “But with battle fast upon us, we cannot allow all you children to remain here. If it should go ill with the assault-“

“That does not bear thinking on,” Elrohir had interrupted. “We will prevail.”

Elladan nodded.

“We must.”

“Indeed,” Celeborn agreed. “You will march with our army and see that we do.”

Tindomiel and Arwen had been pleased enough with the roles they were to play- the one returning home with her parents to continue her education, the other resuming her interrupted visit to Lothlorien as though naught was amiss. It was Anariel who had protested vehemently that she should not be sent back to Imladris, but allowed to march with the Galadhrim against the Enemy.

“It is hard that she should be required to stay behind while her brothers go to war,” Celebrían pointed out. “Especially when she has already fought enemies as great.”

Elrohir had seen that it cost his mother to say this, but she knew her daughter well.

Their mother, despite her obvious concern and worry for her, treated Anariel more like an elf who had reached her majority than the elfling most others considered her to be. Even though more time had passed in Imladris than in the mannish world, to the elven way of thinking, it was time experienced that counted, and by that reckoning, Anariel would still be deemed a youngling for a good many years.

But Celebrían had explained that in the mannish world they had lived in, men counted time differently, more like the horse lords or those Edain not of Numenorean stock. By the laws of that world, his sister had been considered adult. A young adult, true, but no longer a child. That experience could not be undone. She should therefore be reckoned at her elapsed age in Arda. Elrond had somewhat reluctantly agreed. Imladris had accustomed itself to thinking of her as an elleth grown, despite her size. Many Galadhrim still had difficulty with the idea.

“Anariel, you are a warrior, it is true,” Galadriel told her. “It is not a path I would have chosen for you, but it did not fall to me to choose. You have already met an enemy to equal the one who hides in the shadows of Dol Guldur, and you were not defeated. Yet you are not accustomed to fight as part of an army. I foresee a day when the Enemy will fear you in the field, but it is not this day, nor many yet to come.”

Elrohir had noted the shadow in his father’s eyes at that, and it saddened him. Elrond still feared for his daughters. One of them would be lost to mortal death, and despite Galadriel’s certainty that Buffy was already irrevocably of the Eldar, he feared for her most of all.

“But Celebrían has the right of it,” Celeborn said unexpectedly. “It is hard for Anariel to be left behind, and watch her brothers go where she may not. So perhaps the gwynyn ought not to march either.”

That had drawn a slight smile from Anariel, as it had been Elrohir and Elladan’s turn to protest.

“This is not the last battle, nor even the War,” their father said sternly. “The only thing you lose is the possibility of injury. If Anariel may not march, neither shall you.”

So it was that they had been sent with their sister to visit the Greenwood. The king of the wood elves had heard of the return of Celebrían and her daughters, and was by now no doubt as curious to see Anariel as any other elf in Middle Earth. Anariel had been enchanted at the thought of seeing the Woodland Realm, especially after Arwen spent an evening telling her tales, not only of Thranduil’s halls, but also of Menegroth.

“So,” Anariel said, bringing him back to the present. “Are we likely to see many more of those things before we get there?”

Elrohir shrugged, unsure if she had finally tired of the evil creatures, or was hoping for more.

“If we had kept to the road as Father and Grandmother intended, we probably would not have seen any,” he pointed out.

Elladan rolled his eyes at his siblings.

“Are you going to quarrel again like the elflings you both claim not to be?” he asked pointedly. “It is true we should have seen neither yrch nor children of Ungoliant had we kept to the path. The journey would also have been many miles longer, as the path was not made for travel from Lorien.”

Anariel looked puzzled by that.

“Why isn’t it made for travel from Lorien? Don’t the Galadhrim visit the elves of the Greenwood?”

“They do, little warrior,” Elladan told her. “But why would elves ever expect to need such a path? We walk among the trees easily enough, and until the Shadow fell upon the forest, there was no cause to worry when we did.”

"Men are calling it Mirkwood now," Elrohir added.

Anariel frowned, but said nothing, as she often did when the Shadow was mentioned. She found the idea that the Enemy had been allowed not just one or two years, but hundreds to gather power and lay his plans incomprehensible. Elrohir did not fully understand her tales of the mannish world she had defended before her return, but he knew she believed that allowing a canny foe time to think only served to make him more dangerous.

They had been traveling for some days now, having departed Lorien before the host of the Galadhrim marched. Rather than cross the Anduin and skirt the southern end of Mirkwood so close to Dol Guldur, they had taken a northwards route across the plains below the Hithaeglir, not crossing the river until they reached the Gladden Fields.

Even after crossing the great river, they kept out of the forest, following edge of the woods until they reached the Dwarf-road. It was then that Anariel had persuaded her brothers that they should strike into the forest rather than follow the road through to the Celduin side. It did save many miles from the journey- which had been how Anariel had convinced them- but it meant edging around the mountains, and following the Morduin until they reached the path maintained by Thranduil’s folk.

Had it been Arwen or Tindomiel travelling with them, Elrohir and his brother would never have agreed. But they had known perfectly well that for Anariel, the chance to slay some of Ungoliant’s get would be looked on as a treat. It also gave them a chance to have her practice fighting in a group, which she would need if she truly intended to someday march with an elven host against the Enemy as Galadriel thought she might.

The lessons were proceeding well. Anariel had at first resisted obeying when they would give her orders, particularly orders she disagreed with, such as ‘hold’ ‘do not charge’ or ‘fall back’. It was only after a rather fierce argument that Elrohir had made her see that if she ever hoped to command, or even march with an elven host, she needed to first prove that she could follow.

Elladan had also pointed out that if she could not follow such commands now, when they mattered little, how would she fare in battle, when they might mean the difference between victory and defeat? True, part of the reason they gave the commands now was to see if she would obey, but there would come a time when the reasons were pressing, when such commands would need to be carried out instantly and without question.

Since that day, they worked much better together. Rather than relying on the rapport they had achieved on the journey to Lorien, they were showing their sister how to function as an elven warrior. Now, however, drawing close to the elves' road, there was a more important lesson. A brotherly duty, really. What sort of brothers would they be if they didn't also teach her about keeping out of trouble?

“Anariel,” Elrohir began carefully, “we will soon reach the road, and I doubt it will be long after that before King Thranduil sends a party to greet us.”

“Mmm-kay,” Anariel said. “And?”

“The elves we meet will not be accustomed to you as we are. Please keep your temper.”

Anariel rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to throw a temper tantrum in front of a bunch of elves I’ve never met before. Kinda undermines the whole ‘not an elfling’ argument I keep having to make.”

Elladan raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Perhaps you have forgotten your introduction to Haldir?” he said mildly.

Anariel snorted.

“Please. That wasn’t temper. That was me showing him I could too take care of orcs. No matter how ‘delicate’ I
look.”

“The yrch would certainly have described it as temper,” Elladan replied, though Elrohir could see his brother was stifling laughter at the memory. “And while the Galadhrim were impressed, wood elves tend to be less restrained and quicker to judge. They have had to be, with these creatures on their very doorstep. They are also fiercely protective of elflings, as there are so few in these dark times.”

“I promise I’ll behave,” Anariel sighed. “I’ll even remember they mean well if they get aggravating.”

“A great relief, little one.” Frowning at her footwear, he added, “I am sure I need not remind you that no matter how badly the spiders have fouled your boots, you are not to touch the Morduin.”

“Yeah, yeah, cursed river, one drop equals sleeping beauty minus the prince to wake me up. Come on, ‘Dan, I may be younger, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

Both her brothers smiled, having heard the same line from Tindomiel to Anariel.

---

The next morning dawned as bright as any morning could in Mirkwood, and much to Anariel’s delight, they encountered another pack of spiders just before they reached the path.

“Orders or contest?” Anariel demanded, her eyes sparkling.

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his twin, who grinned.

“Contest!” they replied as one.

At that, the children of Elrond swung into action, each vying to kill the most spiders. As they were always aware of where their siblings were, there was little danger of injuring each other. It was a knot of perhaps a dozen spiders, but with three of them, it was as Anariel would say ‘no big’.

Anariel, used to fighting alone, had an advantage in her unusually fluid style of engaging her opponents. Rather than wait patiently for one golden opportunity as most elves did, she would happily seize numerous lesser openings, injuring if she could not kill- although that occasionally handed a kill to her brothers, if they were in a better position to finish the foul creatures.

Even so, the end of the fight saw each twin with 4 kills to their credit, and Anariel gleeful at her 5- and a ruined tunic to match her shoes, as her last opponent had been dispatched by slitting the creature’s underside from end to end as she slid underneath it.

“How long until we reach the river it’s ok for me to touch?” she asked plaintively, once she’d gotten over the glow of victory. “I need a bath.”

“Indeed, little one,” Elrohir agreed. “I shudder to think what Thranduil’s people would say if they saw you like this.”

“Shudder quick,” Anariel said, frowning, “cause I think we’re about to find out. I’m pretty sure those are wood elves.”

Elrohir cursed softly as he looked up. She was right, and what was worse, he saw the party was headed by Legolas, not by a lesser officer.

“I didn’t catch that word,” Anariel said brightly, aware it was not one their mother would approve of.

“Not now, little sister,” Elladan murmured.

“Mae govannen, sons of Elrond!” Legolas called, smiling. “Perhaps you had forgotten it is best to keep to the path in these woods?”

As Legolas caught sight of Anariel, the smile dropped from his face. Elrohir considered stepping in front of his sister to shield her from the storm he knew was coming, but then decided it would only make things worse- he’d have elves yelling at him from both sides.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Legolas hissed. “It’s bad enough that the two of you choose the most dangerous route through the woods to indulge your love of the hunt- which my father had hoped would have lessened with your mother’s return- but to bring an elfling with you when you do?”

The entire party of wood elves was looking grim as they took in Anariel’s state. Elrohir fought a rather elfling-like urge to justify himself. Fortunately, his sister reacted faster than he did.

“Now I get why I’m supposed to not lose my temper,” the ‘elfling’ in question remarked cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Buffy-“

“Anariel!” both her brothers corrected in the same breath.

“-and I’m not sure why you think you get to yell at my brothers, cause you look about five minutes older than them,” Anariel continued, blithely ignoring what she took as her brothers’ attempt to quiet her.

“Fifty years, not five minutes,” Elrohir said quietly, but not so quietly that every elf facing them couldn’t hear. He fought the urge to smirk, because his sister responded just as he’d hoped she would.

“Pfft. Fifty years, five minutes. Isn’t that pretty much the same difference?”

“It is very close. But it does make him somewhat older than you, little one,” Elladan pointed out brightly. “So while it might not be appropriate for him to yell at us...”

Anariel rolled her eyes.

“Sore loser.”

Legolas now had an irritated look on his face that was nearly identical to his father’s when the sons of Elrond had tried his patience. He pinned Elladan with a stern look, no doubt hoping he would be reasonable.

“What possessed the two of you to allow an elfling to fight spiders? My father might follow through on that threat he makes at least once each time you visit and actually lock you up for such madness!”

“Still standing right here,” Anariel said, irritation creeping into her tone. Elrohir did smile at that. Aside from her dislike of being treated as an elfling, she disapproved of anyone threatening her family. The wood elves were not the only protective ones!

“Also the winner of this morning’s ‘children of Elrond versus demon spiders’ throwdown,” Anariel continued, “so not really seeing the problem.”

To her brothers, she added, “See? I’m totally not losing my temper even though he keeps saying the ‘e’ word!”

Legolas’ upraised eyebrow asked the obvious question.

“Elfling,” Elrohir told him with a smirk. “You keep calling her elfling. Our little sister feels it is somewhat insulting to still be called an elfling at just over three yeni.”

Legolas blinked. Elrohir could see him look over Anariel again, this time lingering longer on the facial expression. He knew his sister was glaring at the Prince of the Woodland Realm, annoyance all over her face.

“But she is-“

“You should not finish that sentence, Greenleaf,” Elladan advised. “You will surely make the situation worse.”

Legolas sighed, and then gestured for the other wood elves in his party to bring water.

“You had better wash,” he said. “If my father sees you like this, there will be a good deal more yelling. And he is old enough to still consider three yeni an elfling, particularly when the elf in question is not yet at their full stature.”

Elrohir smiled gratefully as he accepted a water skin from one of Legolas’ guards. From his words, the prince of the Woodland Realm did not intend to tell his father the full tale of how he had met them.

Glaring at the twins, Legolas added, “In fact, he might even apply the dreaded e word to you two.”

Anariel broke into a sunny smile at that. Perversely, she didn’t find ‘elfling’ irritating if it was also being applied to her older siblings.

“That’s fair,” she said brightly. “So, big brothers, you going to do introductions?”

“Anariel, this is Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, prince of the Greenwood,” Elladan said, purposely introducing their old friend with the title he usually shunned, preferring to be simply Legolas.

Elladan’s wicked smirk wasn’t lost on his twin. Anariel would have no end of fun discombobulating the son of Thranduil, particularly since she wouldn’t even have to try. The elves of the Greenwood were less formal than the Galadhrim, but even so, their sister’s unique ways were sure to turn heads.

“Legolas,” Elrohir said, taking the second part of the introduction, “our younger sister Anariel, long thought lost, but recently returned with our mother to Arda. The full tale will not doubt be told in your halls, but you should know our youngest sister Tindomiel- who is an elfling, by their reckoning as well as ours- is returning with our parents to Imladris.”

For his part, Legolas was sneaking curious glances at Anariel as she scrubbed vigorously at her face and hands with the cloths and water the wood elves had handed her. One of Legolas’ company, another elleth, was speaking to her, sharing her knowledge on the best way to clean up after dealing with spiders.

“My lady Anariel, perhaps you might change into something a little less-“ Legolas fumbled for the right word.

“Spidery?” Anariel suggested with a grin. “Definitely. We were planning on changing before we got back to civilization anyway.”

She frowned as she glanced toward their travel packs, dropped in the hollow of a tree to protect them from arachnid assault.

“Els, do I have any shoes left the spiders and the orcs haven’t ruined yet?”

Buffy grinned to herself. She might not have mentioned it to the Els just yet, but she was over not getting to go kick Big Bad ass at Dol Goldur. The halls of the Wood Elves might not be as fancy as Arwen’s Menegroth, but they were pretty nifty. She hadn’t expected caves to be so pretty. Or so comfortable.

Which was not to say she wanted to make it a permanent thing- if she had to choose, she’d still take Imladris or Lothlorien over Thranduil’s halls any day. In fact, she was starting to miss Imladris. She was sure Dawn- no, Tindomiel- was getting into all manner of trouble, particularly since she wasn’t the only underage one there. Buffy was a little put out she hadn’t gotten to meet Estel, but if he made her sister’s life less boring, he was of the good in her book.

What wasn’t of the good was the sensation she had that she was being followed through some of the lesser used corridors. The feeling was starting to bother her, because it had a touch of malice to it that she didn’t like. So she focused on moving quietly. As it turned out, Slayer hearing was a touch more sensitive than elvish hearing- or maybe it was the odd combination of Slayer + elf which was unique to her.

She heard what other elves wouldn’t- which had made hunting trips interesting the first few times she had accompanied Thranduil or Legolas into the forest. Right now she could hear the sound of very quiet footsteps echoing hers. She took a few random turns, confident by now in her ability to find her way around, and then, when she was positive she was being followed, stopped so abruptly that her invisible tail nearly ran into her.

She grabbed, and was somewhat surprised when her first try came up empty-handed. Oh well, it wasn’t the first time her opponent was shorter than she’d expected. She adjusted downward, gauging her next move by the shocked intake of breath that was perfectly audible, and this time she struck gold. Or struck something, anyway.

“Oh, I say!” someone squealed.

For a split second, Buffy was startled by the feeling of pure and unadulterated evil that she had only previously known when face to face with Glory. Then the feeling vanished, replaced entirely by something that was nothing more or less than a normal- albeit very short- person who appeared out of thin air, struggling in her grip.

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was holding, as he was child-sized, but clearly an adult male of his kind, blinking at her in surprise. She caught the motion of him pocketing something- presumably whatever had let it pull the invisibility trick- and wondered if that was also the source of the horrible evil.

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire at your service,” the little man stammered. “I promise I mean you no harm, my lady.”

Buffy stifled a giggle. She was fairly sure Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t have been able to do her harm even if he meant to. Then again, she had been underestimated many times herself…

“Anariel, daughter of Elrond,” she replied, hoping she was getting the manners right. Up until now, her brothers had always been around for introductions to keep her from accidentally straying into rude. “What exactly are you, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?”

She set him carefully on his feet, and then backed up a few steps, making it clear by her stance and expression that he had nowhere to run.

“I am a hobbit, lady Anariel,” Bilbo Baggins replied. “I did not know Lord Elrond had daughters. I am very sorry we were not introduced at Rivendell.”

“You were at Rivendell?” Buffy asked curiously. Neither Dawn nor Arwen had mentioned anything about hobbits!

“Yes, some months ago,” Bilbo said, sounding sad not to be there still. “The dwarves I am travelling with and I enjoyed your father’s hospitality for several nights.”

“Dwarves? Ohhhh,” Buffy said, the light bulb abruptly going on.

She’d been present for part of Thorin Oakenshield’s interview with Thranduil. While she privately agreed with the dwarf that the wood elves were being a bit harsh locking the dwarves up for basically being lost in the woods, she could also see Thranduil’s point that Thorin had been rude and insulting. And she was pretty sure she herself was the only elf not bothered that the dwarves had drawn the spiders in to break up more than one feast in the forest. Even her brothers had been annoyed after the first time.

“You have met my companions, then?” Bilbo asked wryly.

“Yep. Know where they’re all locked up,” Buffy replied. “What’s your deal?”

Bilbo sighed.

“Well, as I’m the only one not locked up- yet, that is-“

Buffy shrugged.

“I’m not going to rat you out,” she assured him. “So unless you were planning on making yourself known to other elves-“

Bilbo shook his head, and launched into a brief telling of how it was that he, a respectable hobbit of good family from the Shire, came to be in Mirkwood Forest with thirteen dwarves he was not quite in charge of. Buffy got the feeling that a few interesting details were being left out- in particular the how exactly he got away from the goblins in the Hithaeglir.

“So I’m trying to work out a way to get my friends out,” he finished.

Buffy frowned.

“Aren’t you putting the cart in front of the horse?” she asked.

“How do you mean?” Bilbo said, his little brow furrowing.

“Well, getting them out of their cells is no big, since I’m guessing pickpocketing is pretty easy for the invisible,” Buffy said, grinning as Bilbo flushed. “But once you’re out, then what?”

“We escape and continue on to Laketown,” Bilbo said.

“Mmm,” Buffy nodded. “You might want to work on the nitty-gritty of that plan. I mean, not to throw stones or anything, but once you get out of the gates, you’re still in the forest. And your dwarves don’t seem to have been doing too well out there.”

Seeing Bilbo about to argue, she snorted.

“Don’t even try to say you had it under control. I’m a fighter and I wouldn’t say I could control the spiders. Being invisible’s nice, but there’s only one of you and a butt-ton of them.”

“A button?” Bilbo asked in confusion, glancing down at a waistcoat that had clearly seen better days.

Buffy sighed. Not for the first time, she wondered how much longer it would be before the Els judged they had visited long enough with the wood elves. Messing with Legolas was fun, but she wanted to get back to the Scoobies. She missed being around people who understood her.

“Lots,” she clarified. “Way, way more than one.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, looking crestfallen. “Yes, I hadn’t thought on that.”

Buffy nodded.

“I could tell. You might also want to start thinking about the ‘how to deal with the dragon’ part, because I bet you all the gold in that mountain your dwarves are going to leave that entirely up to you.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to nod, ruefully, as he acknowledged that she was likely right. Buffy felt the urge to clap the poor little guy on the back and tell him things would probably work out in the end- they usually did. But truthfully, even she thought that sending someone three feet tall to deal with a dragon was asking a bit much.

“Well, let me know when you have a plan,” she said, making to retrace her steps toward more populated areas of the caves.

She grinned as Bilbo’s little eyebrows shot up.

“It occurs to me that once you have a workable plan, a distraction might help with the getting away part,” she explained. “Trust me, when it comes to distraction, I’m your girl… uh, elf.”

Bilbo smiled.

“I will think on it as you say, Lady Anariel.”

Buffy was pleased to note that he didn’t need her to explain that he should come find her once he had his plan. Even if he wasn’t invisible, he moved quietly enough to escape most wood elves’ notice. But that made her remember the feeling that had accompanied the invisibility.

As he turned to go, Buffy couldn’t help herself.

“Hey, Bilbo?”

When he paused, she said it in a rush, before she could change her mind.

“You should save the disappearing act for when it’s really important. Magic always has a price, and I suspect the trick you’re using has a high one.”

She moved back up the corridor before Bilbo Baggins could reply. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, except that something about the hobbit reminded her of Xander when she first met him- in a little over his head, but determined to help his friends all the same.

Buffy remained determinedly in place, not shifting from foot to foot, as impassive as she’d seen the twins during a similar- thought somewhat less angry- dressing down from the King of the Woodland Realm. Her brothers were a steady, buoying presence at her back, and so far, staying out of it like she’d asked.

The children of Elrond had held a hurried strategy session when the summons to appear before Thranduil had been brought by a disapproving Galion. To be fair, the steward had good reason to be irritated with her. It would take him years to live down the ribbing at not being able to hold his wine, and he wasn’t about to compound his embarrassment by admitting that Elrond’s daughter- who despite being ruled an adult, was still looked on by most as a mere child- had drugged his cup without him noticing.

They had known what it would be about- Buffy’s role in the dwarves’ escape- even without Galion telling them. The couriers who had returned from Laketown had told a most interesting tale of Master Bilbo Baggins the halfling, who claimed that it was by following a beautiful elf-maiden that he had found the means to escape the elf-king’s halls.

She totally got why Bilbo said it- the elves in question had tried to protest the dwarves were their king’s prisoners, and she was guessing that would be pretty obnoxious to Bilbo and his friends, so wanting to gloat a little was understandable- but she couldn’t help wishing he’d had the sense to leave her out of it. To those who didn’t know the maiden and halls in question, it probably sounded like she’d led him to the wine cellar by chance all unaware. To Thranduil and Galion, it was clear that there had been mischief on her part.

The only puzzle had been why Thranduil was bringing it up a second time. He’d already scolded her once.

“You guys can’t jump in,” Buffy told Elrohir and Elladan. “If you do, that just makes me look like an elfling in need of help. I’m a big elleth, I got myself into trouble, I can get myself out.”

Her brother’s matching raised eyebrows doubted that, but since their well-intentioned defense of her behavior hadn’t helped in her last telling-off, they held their peace.

“You were aware that there was an intruder wandering these halls, Anariel. He was here for weeks- yet you said nothing,” Thranduil said angrily.

Buffy rolled her eyes. They’d been through this before.

“Yeah, you could call Bilbo an intruder if you want,” she fired back. “But he’s about three feet tall, you seriously think he’s going to take over the place? I’d have said something if he had been a threat! But all he wanted to do was free his friends.”

She knew she’d walked right into whatever trap the king had laid for her as soon as she said it. She fought the urge to curse- even if Thranduil wouldn’t understand the words Spike had taught her, he’d certainly pick up on the intent.

“He did. Would you like to know what has become of your Halfling and his friends since you helped free them?” Thranduil asked sternly.

Buffy was fairly sure from his attitude that she didn’t want to know, but she was stuck for it.

“They reached Laketown, where the men of the lake were foolish enough to resupply the dwarves. They pressed on to Erebor, where they must have known some secret way into the halls of Thrain, for they did not make for the Gate. They succeeded in waking the dragon- he was seen firing the mountain several nights in a row.”

“Guess that ‘deal with the dragon’ plan still had some kinks in it,” Buffy muttered.

Thranduil’s sharp ears caught her comment.

“So it would seem. No one has seen or heard anything of the dwarves or their Halfling since they entered the mountain. They are almost certainly dead. But that is not the worst of it. Roused by the intrusion, Smaug descended on Laketown in a fury.”

Buffy felt the blood draining from her face. Laketown, she knew, was composed largely of wooden buildings, built on stilts in Long Lake. The water offered some protection against the dragon, but she couldn’t imagine it would be enough.

“Laketown was destroyed?” she asked, hoping her voice remained even.

“Completely,” Thranduil confirmed. “Though they were lucky- a man of the town called Bard, of the line of Girion of Dale, killed the dragon. With the dragon dead, the largest part of the Lakemen survived.”

Buffy breathed easier at that. She knew Laketown was nowhere near as big as the cities she had known in California, but it was large by the standards of this region, so to have its population mostly if not entirely wiped out would have been a disaster.

“My scouts report the survivors are even now huddled on the shores of the Lake, facing hunger and cold. We march to their aid at first light.”

Thranduil paused.

“As you had a hand in this, Anariel, I think it fitting that you march with us. You will see with your own eyes the consequences of your thoughtless actions.”

That provoked her brothers to finally intervene.

“The fate of Laketown was not her doing!” Elladan protested indignantly. “Or do you claim she should have foreseen such an end?”

“We were sent to you to keep our small sister from attempting to march with an elven host,” Elrohir pointed out coldly, sounding so much like Adar when he was displeased that Buffy glanced behind her to make sure it was her brother speaking and not their father.

“Lorien marched to battle,” Thranduil replied. “Ours is an errand of mercy- to bring supplies desperately needed by the men of the Lake if they are to survive the coming winter. Moreover, our presence will deter those who would move against them in their misfortune. Any who might find the Lake-men in their wretchedness a tempting target will think twice with an army of wood-elves at their side.”

“If Anariel marches, so do we,” Elladan said flatly, in a tone that brooked no contradiction. “Our parents and grandparents charged us with her safety.”

“As to her safety,” Thranduil retorted, “what harm do you think likely to befall her under my protection, surrounded by the best warriors in my realm? But as you will. Make ready your packs and armor.”

“Armor?” Buffy asked, suddenly worried. “I thought you said we weren’t marching to battle.”

For the first time, Thranduil looked indulgent as he answered.

“You are still young, Anariel. You will discover that being prepared tends to prevent trouble- and even battle- from happening.”

“I don’t have armor,” Buffy pointed out, not adding that it was unlikely they had a spare set sitting around that would fit her, tiny as she was by elven standards.

“Galion informed the armory to begin preparing armor to fit you as soon as your role in the dwarves’ escape became clear,” Thranduil replied.

“You knew that quick that we’d be doing this?” Buffy demanded.

“Knew that Laketown would be destroyed? No.” Thranduil shook his head. “But I did know that your halfling and his friends would not come to any good end provoking a dragon.”

My heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and companions and my poor soldiers. Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won. -Wellington

Safely shielded from strangers’ eyes by the rocks at her back, Buffy wept.

The battlefield beneath the Mountain was still littered with the dead, men and elves and dwarves alike lying amid the filth of yrch and warg carcasses. It was much, much worse than anything she’d seen before. People dying in ones or twos back in Sunnydale, or even injured in dozens, paled in comparison. Thousands had died this day.

She supposed she could have crept into her brothers’ tent to indulge in tears- the twins would certainly not think less of her for it, they seemed fairly shocked themselves by the carnage. But she felt like her sadness would only add to theirs right now, and being the elder siblings, they would feel obliged to try to comfort her. That wasn’t what she wanted, so she had left them to seek their own balance, together or separately as they chose.

Elrohir and Elladan’s training on the journey to the Woodland Realm had paid off- it was only their word that their younger sister could conduct herself appropriately in an elven host that had swayed Thranduil, who had meant to leave her in Legolas’ keeping when the wood elves marched to Erebor.

“You were sent here to keep you safe,” Thranduil had said, pinning all three Elrondionath with a stern glare. “You are young, and I have no word from your parents permitting me to take you into what may yet prove to be war. There is no shame in remaining here- my own son remains, for I would not leave my people unprotected.”

Buffy had known that any outburst from her would only work against her, so she had for once stayed silent and let her brothers plead her case.

“It is not right that Anariel should be left here when we march,” Elrohir had declared. “Grandmother and Grandfather thought it best that we three remain together.”

“Grandmother said a day would come when she would strike against the Enemy,” Elladan added. “If that is her fate, would it not be better for her to march with an elven host now, when the risk is slight, than wait until an hour of great need?”

Thranduil had favored the twins with a sour look.

“You may be right, but your sister’s safety is your charge, sons of Elrond. I will not be left to explain to your parents and grandparents how it is that she has been injured or sent to Mandos’ keeping when she was brought to my lands to be removed from danger!”

Buffy was sure if he had realized that battle would be joined, Thranduil would not have permitted her to join his army. He had expected a quarrel between men and dwarves picking over the horde of Smaug, not a fast moving yrch swarm mounted on wargs.

She had at least gotten to see her little friend Bilbo again, when in a last ditch attempt to keep the peace, he hand delivered the arkenstone of Thrain to Bard and Thranduil. The brave hobbit had refused to stay with them, saying he had promised to wake his friend Bombur for the late watch, and off he had gone. He’d been poorly repaid for his troubles- Thorin Oakenshield did not recognize what a jewel he had in Bilbo Baggins and drove him down to the massed host of men and elves. She had not gotten to speak with him before the battle was joined.

Her mind still shied away from the horror of the battle as her hand would from hot metal. She had been given command of a troop of wood elves, and ordered to protect the retreat of those who had acted the part of the ‘bait’ across the mouth of the valley. Her brothers commanded units on either side of her.

It had sounded so simple, so orderly when the plans were made and the orders given. It had gotten chaotic and bloody unbelievably quickly. The yrch had come in far greater numbers than the commanders of the free folk had realized, and quickly they found their positions being overrun as goblins swarmed the Mountain.

Only half of Buffy’s troop had survived. As often as she had been told that elves were immortal, it had had come as a nasty shock to see them lying on the ground in the unmistakable posture of death. At first that had only fueled her to fight harder-to avenge her dead as much as not to fail in her mission. It was then that she had first worried for her brothers. It hit her as she clashed with the bodyguard of Bolg, just a huge bear appeared out of nowhere, that her parents would be absolutely shattered to lose a child now.

When the bear had carried what was left of Thorin Oakenshield off to safety, Buffy rallied the elves and any men who still stood near and they had fought their way back to the flank of the Mountain, to higher ground commanding a better view of the battle. Then, just as she realized with horror that she couldn’t see either of the Els, the Eagles had arrived, turning the tide of the battle in favor of the free folk.

She’d yelled at her troops, men and elves alike at that point, to keep fighting, that they could die just as dead winning as losing, and fought grimly on until there were no yrch left. Then came the sickening task of carrying the wounded who could still be helped off the field and looking around to determine who had survived the day.

Unlike humans, elves knew if their family members had been harmed, so she was aware even before she went looking for them that her brothers had survived, though it turned out none of them were entirely unscathed. She had several cuts from blade and arrow, Elladan had broken an arm, and Elrohir had taken a nasty wound from a battleaxe. The three of them had reunited briefly, just to see with their eyes what they already knew in their hearts- they had survived.

But now, knowing as she did that this was only a smaller preview of what was yet to come, Buffy could not help the tears. That was why she had crept off to a place on the arms of the Mountain where she would not be seen.

To her surprise, through the haze of tears, she found a handkerchief entering her field of view. Glancing sideways, she found it was Thranduil himself who had followed her. Even more surprising, he did not seem to find her present state a sign of weakness or cause for reproach.

He said nothing, for the time being, allowing her to cry herself out. It was only when her tears began to wane, that he spoke.

“It has been many years since elves fought such battles,” he said, his voice gentler than Buffy had expected. “And for the Firstborn, such death is perhaps more shocking than it is for the Edain, who live their brief lives knowing that soon they must die.”

“I thought I knew what a fight looked like,” Buffy whispered. “But what I have seen before, what I’d done- it was nothing like this.”

Thranduil nodded, gazing down on the battlefield, where even now, parties of survivors were solemnly collecting the dead, preparing them for burial according to the ways of their own people.

“Battle is always a harsh surprise to those who experience it for the first time. And this was no small skirmish. Had I known, I would have sent you to the rear to protect what remained of Laketown in case we had failed.”

“The last line of defence?” Buffy asked wryly, blotting at her eyes with the hanky.

“Indeed,” Thranduil said. “If not for the intervention of the Eagles, it would have gone badly for the women and children who survived the fall of Laketown. Very few men remained to guard them- most marched with King Bard.”

Buffy tried not to sniffle as she contemplated that.

“Still,” Thranduil continued, “I cannot say you were not needed where you were. Were it not for you, our flank might have collapsed entirely.”

“So you don’t think I’m a wuss?” Buffy asked.

“I do not recognize the word,” Thranduil replied gravely, “but if it is akin to coward, no, I do not. There is no shame in tears, not on a day when so many have died. I wept after my first battle, too. And I have wept at other battles since.”

At Buffy’s startled look, he explained.

“I was at the Dagorlad. My father, Oropher, passed into Mandos’ halls that day, as did many a brave elf and man. My tears flowed as freely as any other at battle’s end. As, I assure you, do the tears of many an elven warrior this night.”

The hand that helped her to her feet was sympathetic.

“If, young warrior, you would see the Enemy defeated, I fear you will see worse than this day before you pass into the West or beyond the circles of the world.”

“Into the West,” Buffy said softly. “Though I will not go before the darkness has been defeated.”

Thranduil nodded, accepting with a nod that this child of Elrond had made her choice.

“You should go to your brothers now, Anariel,” he said quietly. “You are not the only one who has not seen such slaughter before, and they will be the better for your company.”

Bilbo watched her out of the corner of his eye. It was the only choice, really, since both of them had been given a place at the high table- he as one of the company of Thorin, she as the elf who had, like a hero of old, helped prevent complete disaster for the dwarves. Not that she wouldn’t have merited a high place in any case, as the daughter of Elrond, but after the battle, no one spoke of her as her father’s daughter- they all knew her.

Bilbo had seen her during the battle. Everyone, it seemed had seen her during the battle. The she-elf of the Battle of Five Armies would no doubt be legend before the winter’s end. There were already songs being sung of the paragon of a warrior made inscrutable elven flesh- female elven flesh, which to Bilbo’s disgust seemed to fascinate the Men of the Lake no end.

Privately, Bilbo was quite sure Lady Anariel hadn’t known one dwarf from another in the heat of battle, but Dain Ironfoot had credited her with saving Kili, and although Anariel herself wasn’t too polite to argue with the Lord of the Iron Hills, both Gandalf and the elf king had pinned her with stern looks that had stopped any further protest on her part. She had to accept her role as the protector of the new young King Under the Mountain.

Poor Kili seemed quite overwhelmed by the turn of events that had made him king, and insisted that his older cousin Dain stay. Dain would no doubt be among the young king’s most trusted advisors, probably second only to Balin. Kili had, even before Dain’s guidance, declared his intention to honor Thorin’s agreement regarding the disposition of one fourteenth of the treasure to ransom the Arkenstone.

The Arkenstone had been returned to Kili before the feast this very evening, with Anariel acting as the representative of Kings Bard and Thranduil. Bilbo had heard murmurings from several sides that Kili was the luckiest male in the huge tent that had been raised specifically for the feast- he had both the gem and Anariel at his side.

Bilbo himself was concerned. When he’d watched her return the stone, he’d noticed that Anariel was not herself. At least, not the self that he remembered. Warrior or not, he had seen her kindness and her humor- and her mischief. The words he was hearing whispered about her, and the evidence of his own eyes bore no relation to the Anariel he’d seen in the elf king’s halls, and only slightly more to the goblin bane revealed in battle.

If anything, she seemed in that moment to be an extension of the Arkenstone- pale, remote, gleaming with a light all her own. But that light was cold, a winter morning now where before it had held the warmth and cheer of a summer afternoon.

He had observed that her own people seemed concerned about her also. Her brothers, both so very like their father that he should have guessed them sons of Elrond on sight even had he not been properly introduced, kept quite close to her ever since the battle’s end. King Thranduil watched over her, and there seemed to be a guard of elves around her whenever she moved through the camp. It was a bit silly, to Bilbo’s mind. A girl who could fight the most fearsome goblins in Bolg’s army had little to fear from men, and nothing at all from her own people.

So it was quite the surprise to him when she managed to slip away from the feast. Not unnoticed, of course- Anariel Dagnis would never again be unnoticed by Men. Her brothers exchanged a troubled look, but allowed her to sneak out of the tent unaccompanied.

Bilbo tried not to smile. He had not had the chance to speak to her since the battle, and now was as good a time as any. And unlike others at this feast, he could follow her without being seen.

Slipping the ring on, he followed in Anariel’s wake, which was easy enough to do- even without her in sight, all he needed was to look for the men (and even a few elves) who had the expression which told him she had passed by them.

She moved swiftly, and something in her face must have warned other elves not to approach her. Men would not- they were well aware she was beyond their reach. It was only when she reached the edge of the camp that her pace slowed. She didn’t go beyond sight of the camp- Bilbo suspected there was an agreement between her and her king- but she did look more at ease.

She stood still, regarding the all too fresh mounds marking the burials of men, elves, and dwarves who had fallen in the battle. Not Thorin, of course- he had been entombed in the Mountain itself, and Kili had declared the Arkenstone would be laid on his tomb, in his keeping for all time. But all other dead had been laid to rest in graves, each with their own people. While she regarded each mound in turn, it was not surprising that her eyes lingered on the elves’ mound.

She must have known he was there- she had always known when he was there- so he waited, keeping vigil over her as she did over her fallen, until she was ready to speak. He had quite lost track of how long he waited by the time she did.

“You know, I’m sure I told you to be careful with that invisibility trick of yours,” she told the air around her.

Bilbo removed the ring, now that she had acknowledged him.

“You did,” he replied. “You said to save it for when it was important. I can think of nothing more important than the welfare of a friend.”

She smiled, but it was touched by sadness. The merriment that had previously marked her face was absent, its lack as shocking as its presence had been encouraging.

“I suppose I cannot argue with that. Thank you for being so understanding.”

He knew at once that she meant for leaving her to her thoughts until she felt up to conversation.

“You would have done the same,” he said heartily, sure that he was right. At least, he was right when Anariel was her usual self. He wasn’t entirely sure about this more subdued, distant Anariel.

“Why are you here, Bilbo?” she asked quietly. “I am told hobbits like good food and good company, and I cannot provide either at present.”

“I have always heard it is better to walk a sad road in company than alone,” he offered.

He waited, but she still had returned her eyes to the dead.

“Is it the first time you have seen death?” he asked, shocking himself with his boldness. Elves, he knew, did not die, so it stood to reason that an elf maiden might have trouble with the idea.

“No,” she replied sadly. “Nor the last. Though it is the first time I have seen so much death.”

“Ah,” he muttered. “I thought surely I was the only one who was not impressed with what battle truly was.”

That got no reply from Anariel, so Bilbo pressed on.

“Personally, I shall be happy to return to my own snug little hobbit hole, and the biggest adventure I mean to have after I do will be lighting off fireworks at Midsummer. I shall write poetry, and if I’m feeling particularly daring, I may venture as far as Bree on a sunny day.”

The smile she gave him was marginally closer to what he remembered, just enough to reassure him that she did still know how to smile properly.

“Where is your home, Bilbo?” she asked, sounding more the carefree young elf she had been in Thranduil’s halls.

“In Hobbiton, which if you did not know, is the very nicest part of the Shire,” Bilbo replied. Speaking of it, he could almost imagine his garden, and picture himself seated in it blowing smoke rings.

“Where is the Shire?” Anariel asked. “I may have been told where it was, but my brothers say so many things it’s impossible to remember all of it.”

“West of your father’s house, Lady Anariel,” Bilbo said, heartened to hear her sound more like her old self than she had since those desperate moments on the Ravenhill. “In fact, I shall call on Lord Elrond on my journey home.”

“You will?” she exclaimed, brightening.

It was like watching the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, Bilbo reflected.

“When are you setting out?” she asked excitedly. “Because I think we go back to Imladris when Thranduil returns to the Greenwood. We could make the journey together.”

Bilbo found himself grinning at the sheer infectiousness of her enthusiasm.

“I believe we will set out when the elf-king breaks camp,” he replied. “Gandalf speaks of stopping in the Woodland Realm before continuing the journey. I think we will also stop at the house of another acquaintance of ours, Beorn.”

“The bear-man?” Anariel asked, sounding intrigued. “He doesn’t mind elves, does he?”

Bilbo laughed.

“I doubt it. You will praise his animals, so he will doubtless like you better than me! But will your brothers not object to joining us?”

Anariel waved that off.

“If Mithrandir’s with you, you must be on the list of folk it’s ok to hang out with,” she assured him airily. “Come on, let’s go find the wizard. And my brothers.”

Bilbo hesitated a moment. While he was pleased to see her more herself, he couldn’t help but wonder at the abrupt change.

“Lady Anariel?” he asked.

She snorted.

“Bilbo, we’re friends, right?” At his nod, she continued. “Then call me Buffy. They call me Anariel, and Dagnis, and other names that aren’t me, and talk as though I walked straight out of a song with a sword in one hand and the light of Elbereth in the other.”

Bilbo wondered if perhaps part of the answer to his question hadn’t just been given, but he asked anyway.

“Buffy, then. Why were you out here, watching the dead, when the entire camp is feasting?”

For just a second, her seriousness returned, though her light blazed brighter in the darkness.

“A reminder to myself,” she said grimly. “And a warning.”

Bilbo couldn’t think what she meant.

“A reminder of what?”

“The price of failure,” she said, and for just a moment, his friend Buffy was not the one speaking, but the mighty elf-warrior Anariel Dagnis. “Of why I must fight the Enemy wherever he is, and see him utterly defeated. Nothing can ever erase that sight, but it may take away some of its sting.”

Arwen had been with her grandparents when the messenger arrived from Legolas in Eryn Galen. Thranduil’s people had taken part in a great battle at Erebor, after the dragon’s defeat. Though there had been terrible loss of life, the mountain was secure. The dwarves were rebuilding, as were the men of Dale.

There had been no greetings from her siblings, but that didn’t worry her unduly. The twins might still be irritated at being packed off to prevent them from joining the march against Dol Guldur, and Anariel would probably be extremely annoyed at having missed not one but two battles.

So it was with an easy heart that she joined Anariel’s friend Xander to tell him the news. While the mortal women had elected to return to Imladris with her parents and youngest sister, the lone male had asked to stay behind. He felt the craftsmen of Lorien had much to teach him about the working of wood, and since it was expected that Anariel and the twins would return to Lorien after their visit to Thranduil’s halls, he could accompany them whenever they returned home.

She found him sanding what looked to be the lid of a chest. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t imagine who it was for.

“It’s for Buffy,” he said conversationally, almost as though he’d heard the question.

Arwen wondered, sometimes, if Xander did hear them. It wasn’t something the Edain normally were capable of, but he often seemed to do this of late- volunteer an answer before the question was asked, or even give information before the question was fully formed.

“I know they made weapons for her before she left, and I realized she doesn’t have a weapons chest here like she did in Sunnydale. So it seemed like a good project to start with. And the way elves take care of things, it will give her something to remember me by.”

He did not need to explain that he meant ‘when I’m gone’- Arwen was not as hyperaware of his mortality as Anariel seemed to be, but she did understand that being mortal, he would one day die, and they would have only memory.

“I do not think she will need anything to remember you by,” Arwen remarked. “You are as much family to her as I am. She could not forget.”

He smiled, though it seemed to Arwen there was both sadness and some bit of knowledge she was missing in it.

“You think that now,” Xander said. “Ask her again in a hundred years or so, when I’m long gone.”

“A hundred years is not so very long!” Arwen protested.

Xander laughed.

“I guess it isn’t when you’ve got forever. It is for us, though.”

“I do not understand,” Arwen said. “The men of Numenor were not so short lived.”

Xander blinked.

“A hundred years is short lived? Arwen, where we come from, a hundred is a venerable age, and very few people live that long. Most die before they reach ninety!”

Arwen was horrified. She had not realized Anariel could expect so little time with her friends.

“But even so,” she protested weakly. “Anariel could never forget someone so important to her.”

Xander sighed.

“I was serious, Arwen,” he said gently. “Ask her again when we’re all gone. Wait until we’ve been dead a decade or so. Then find out if she thinks it’s important.”

“You expect she will,” Arwen said, trying to understand.

Xander nodded.

“Absolutely. It’s part of being mortal. Because the day will come when the people you love can never be with you again, tokens like this are something to hold onto. Something you can see and touch when the people that made them aren’t there anymore, to feel close to them again.”

Arwen considered the idea. Perhaps it was different for mortals. She had heard their memories faded with their days. But for the eldar, memory was evergreen, as deathless as they themselves were. She would need to think on this. And perhaps speak to Adar, who had known more mortals than she had.

“I am sure she will appreciate it either way,” she declared, trying to turn the conversation to less solemn matters. “Grandmother has had news from the Woodland Realm.”

“What hijinx have Buff and the Brothers El gotten up to now?” Xander asked cheerfully, continuing his sanding.

“Evidently nothing of note, they were not even mentioned,” Arwen said, slightly frustrated. She hadn’t thought on it before, but the lack of mention was odd considering that the message had been sent to daernaneth. Surely Legolas ought to have known to convey their greetings to his friends’ grandparents.

“The wood elves, men, and dwarves fought a great battle against yrch and wargs after the dragon Smaug was killed at Long Lake,” she explained. “They sent word to us of the victory and to say that Kili, son of Dis, is the new King Under the Mountain.”

Xander had stopped sanding.

“That’s the Buffster for you,” he muttered. “Tell her she has to sit out one battle, and she goes and finds another. Wait- she didn’t start the battle, did she? She’s ok, right? And your brothers?”

He sounded genuinely concerned, to Arwen’s amusement.

“Xander! I’m sure Anariel was nowhere near the battle! Thranduil would not let her march if our parents and grandparents did not!”

Xander blinked. He waited, to her confusion, then shook his head.

“Wow. You really think she was nowhere near that battle.”

“She couldn’t have been,” Arwen began reasonably, but Xander was shaking his head again.

“Arwen, if she wasn’t, I will live on lembas alone for a month,” he said, raising his hand to testify to his vow. “If there was a major throwdown, she was there. It’s kind of what she does. Short of Legolas tying her up and sitting on her- and I’m guessing it wouldn’t occur to him that’s something he’d need to do- she would get herself into the fight by hook or by crook.”

Arwen’s eyes grew wide. Xander was absolutely convinced of what he was saying. There was not the slightest trace of doubt in him that her little sister had been in a battle.

“There was no word of her,” she whispered, frightened. “Or of our brothers.”

“She’s probably ok then,” Xander decided. “Or at least, close enough to ok to not want to freak anyone out.”

He paused.

“Any word on whether she’s still coming back to Lorien?”

“You think she would not?” Arwen demanded.

Xander shrugged.

“Your parents sent her to the Greenwood to keep her out of trouble, and she went and found it anyway. I don’t know about your dad, but I’m pretty sure your mom’s not going to be happy with her. Buff’s usual m.o. when there’s something she knows your mom will find out about is to let her get it out of her system. Giving her time to stew just makes it worse.”

“Their relationship was not good in your Sunnydale?” Arwen asked. This was the first she’d heard of this!

“Well… your mom kinda kicked her out of the house at one point because of her being the Slayer,” Xander admitted. He hastily added, “at least Buffy thought she did. Two sides to the story, I'm sure. And that was a low point. Things were better after that. But like I said, letting her know what’s going on and not giving her time to stew is key. Buff’ll probably try to beat the bad news home and fess up straight off.”

Arwen frowned.

“I’m going to speak to Grandmother,” she said, rising and heading back the way way she had come. “She will find the truth of it.”

With a sigh, Elrond opened the door to his study and found two children – one mortal, one elf – waiting for him with hangdog expressions. He had hoped to have support from their mothers in this matter, but Gilraen was puzzled by the nature of the offense and Celebrían (after laughing herself silly at her cousin’s predicament) was still trying to settle the ruffled ellon who had been on the unfortunate end of their mischief.

When his wife and daughters returned to Arda with his daughter’s sworn sisters and brother, all had brought with them keepsakes of California. The children’s choices reflected their personalities and interests. Anariel had brought primarily weapons, but also an oddly cheerful stuffed pig. Tindomiel had a coat gifted from a friend and a few favorite books. Willow had brought an odd device that she explained held the knowledge of more books than could possibly fit into her pack- this one had puzzled Erestor and Elrond both, but they had as yet had no chance to examine the curious ‘computer’. Xander had a few small sheaves of paper he called comics and a box with a ring intended for Anya.

Anya had brought precious stones and gems. Elrond was aware that some viewed her choice as motivated by greed, but he rather suspected that she had been trying to ensure, in her own way, that she would be able to adequately care for those dear to her – if they had misjudged their location and had to travel to reach Imladris, those stones would have been valuable resources to trade for shelter, food, or transportation.

Tara’s choice was the most interesting. While the others had brought things that were immediately tangible – and other than Anya’s choice, largely fleeting, as most things made by men were – her choice required more thought and patience, but would ultimately survive long after she herself accepted the Gift of Men, a lasting legacy that meant elves beyond Elrond’s family would remember her until the end of time. For she had seeds and seedlings for a myriad of plants that she had discovered through questioning Celebrían did not exist in Middle Earth.

In the first few days in Imladris, she had long and involved talks with those elves who were most skilled in Yavanna’s arts, to determine what could be planted, where, and when. She had been disappointed to discover that several of the warm climate plants were unsuited to Imladris or even Lothlorien – several packets of seeds and a dozen carefully wrapped seedlings had been urgently dispatched to the Havens along with instructions for their care and cultivation, translated into Quenya by the best scribe in Imladris. They would be taken to Valinor, where they might be coaxed into thriving as they would not even in the glasshouses of Imladris.

Tara had begged Elrond to say nothing of those varieties to his daughters- if the elves of the Undying Lands were able to successfully grow and harvest them, a wonderful surprise would await Anariel and Tindomiel when they sailed. If they were not successful, it was better not to get the girls’ hopes up.

Tara’s garden had flourished since she and the other two mortal women had returned from Lothlorien. It had been tended in their absence by the Imladrim, of course, but that was not quite the same as the care Tara and Willow lavished on it, with occasional help from both Anya and Celebrían. It had become a favored place for the children to gather, as they kept eager eyes on the progress of the various fruits and vegetables.

Imladris had taken to some of its bounty rather quickly – blueberries and tomatoes were particular favorites, along with beans and the sweet potato. The odd grain which was called corn in the California tongue, but which the elves of Imladris had christened ‘goldenhair’ had taken somewhat longer to catch on. Willow was currently trying to convince the cooks that the fruit of the delicate flowers growing in the glasshouse had a wonderful flavor, no matter how shriveled it looked, as did the bright yellow flesh of a gnarled brown root.

Tara had been trying not to overwhelm Imladris with too much at once, but with the bounty of her garden this season, those elves who were so inclined could try something new nearly every day. Erestor had only the other day been beguiled into trying pineapple, which despite having a similar name to the apple, had no relation to it whatsoever.

But it seemed that some of the California plants that Tara grew in her garden were painful to eat, and his youngest child, knowing that no elf would suspect such a thing, had delighted in tricking Estel into trying a bit of a variety of pepper called a habanero. Estel had told no one of his unfortunate experience after a laughing Tindomiel had assured him the proper course of action was for him to play the same trick on another unwary person. Glorfindel, Estel’s chosen target, had described the experience as being like he imagined eating a balrog would be.

While trying to soothe his mouth – well after ingesting enough water that Elrond had to order him to stop before he made himself ill – the irate hero of Gondolin had demanded of his younger cousin why anyone would want to grow such horrible fruit. Celebrían had replied with some asperity that quite a few cultures of that other world had enjoyed spicy foods, and anyway, shouldn’t he have realized something was amiss when he saw Estel holding the pepper so carefully by its stem? She’d then had him eat a spoonful of honey, which she said should ease the burning somewhat, before handing him bread.

Elrond himself failed to see how the way Estel held the fruit should have been a warning, but he had ordered Erestor to bring the young offender to his study to await justice. It seemed Tindomiel had accompanied him of her own volition – she was unwilling to see him punished for what had been ultimately her idea.

He regarded the pair for a long moment in silence. Estel looked repentant, which was no surprise, but Tindomiel’s expression put him in mind of his long dead twin Elros when he was due for a scolding for something he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” he finally asked.

“That Glorfindel’s a big baby,” Tindomiel said crossly. “One bite of a hot pepper wasn’t going to kill him.”

“Your mother tells me that eating a whole pepper in one bite is not a pleasant experience,” Elrond replied calmly.

He was pleased to see she did look guilty at that – the joke was plainly intended to be played on someone slightly more cautious.

“He ate the whole thing?” Tindomiel spluttered, looking incredulously at her partner in crime, and showing for the first time a glimmer of remorse.

“We’re sorry,” Estel said contritely, his expression undergoing a complex series of maneuvers to indicate to Tindomiel that yes, Glorfindel had eaten the whole thing, that she was getting them in deeper, and to subtly encourage her to follow his lead.

“I should hope you are,” Elrond said, trying to remain severe despite an unholy urge to laugh. “To help prevent any further incidents, you will be helping Tara put warning signs on all the hot peppers.”

He paused, watching as Tindomiel visibly calculated that they were getting off remarkably lightly before nodding with an appropriately rueful expression.

“You will also be assisting Glorfindel all day tomorrow in whatever task he chooses to set you.”

He relished the horrified looks that appeared on both faces. Elrond couldn’t wait to see what the hero of Gondolin would come up with to settle this particular score.

When they reached his halls at dusk, the King of the Woodland Realm was unsurprised to find a messenger waiting for him along with his son. Over the years, Thranduil had had plenty of experience with Galadriel’s ability to know what was passing far from her own lands. Under the circumstances, he was somewhat relieved to find it was only a messenger and not Celeborn himself. He imagined that if their positions were reversed, he would be waiting impatiently for his erring younger kinsman and grandchildren in person.

Even if he hadn’t erred so much as misjudged the situation…

“Adar,” Legolas greeted him with barely restrained joy.

The younger ellon was aware, of course, that his father had survived the battle, but ‘survived’ did not necessarily mean ‘whole’ or ‘unharmed’. It pained Thranduil that his son had known that distinction from his earliest years- though he has always been thankful that he has largely succeeded in keeping his only child safe. Legolas has known danger, yes, and suffered the loss of his mother, but his youth was not marred by destruction and war as Thranduil’s was.

The king embraced his son, murmuring a few reassuring words for his ears only, before turning to the Galadhrim messenger.

“What news from Lorien?” he asked calmly, watching out of the corner of his eye as his son also welcomed the twins and their younger sister back. The boy is still disconcerted by Anariel, but he can sympathize. Celebrían’s middle daughter is nothing Ennor has seen before.

“My lady congratulates you on your victory at Erebor,” the messenger replied. “She has also charged me to return swiftly with word of how her grandchildren fare.”

The other ellon’s chilly look conveyed all too clearly that Finarfiniel was not pleased.

Thranduil smirked. If he is ever reproved for his actions face to face, he is quite ready to suggest that Anariel is every bit as willful and headstrong as her grandmother was when she first came to Beleriand. It’s perfectly true if the tales his father told him are anything to judge by. And if the remnants of the Exiles wish to claim the girl as completely as they claim her brothers- they can hardly lay sole claim to Arwen when all who have seen both agree she is the likeness of her foremother Luthien come again- then her extraordinary talent for involving herself in trouble is theirs as well.

“My lord has sent a letter to his grandchildren and bid me deliver also to the lady Anariel the things he has sent, knowing that she did not bring clothing fit for a feast such as will be had this night.”

Now Thranduil did raise an eyebrow.

Anariel stepped forward, looking surprised, to receive two packages. One contains a dress more fitting for the princess she is than the warrior she prefers to be. Thranduil hoped this gift was a sign that Celeborn also believes his granddaughter should learn that lady and warrior need not be mutually exclusive- not so far as the Sindar and the wood elves are concerned, at least. (If the Golodhrim think otherwise, Thranduil will very much enjoy watching them try to fight that battle when the girl reaches the Undying Lands.)

Celeborn’s gesture promised to simplify Thranduil’s evening considerably. He had needed the help of both her brothers to convince Anariel to sit still for the fittings necessary for a dress to be hastily made for her before the kings’ dinner to mark the return the Arkenstone to the dwarves of Erebor and reaffirm their alliance in the wake of their victory. But even she can hardly argue when her grandfather has had a dress sent for her.

The other package for her contains something Thranduil had thought lost long ago – something he has not seen since the days of his youth in Doriath.

Anariel looked from the elegant circlet, its silver bands studded with finely wrought leaves tinted delicate shades of green and sparkling jewels cunningly set to look like living flowers, to her brothers. They are just as mystified. How could they not be? They are children of the Third Age, who never saw Nimloth wear this circlet as she danced with her cousins in the great hall of Menegroth.

Thranduil cannot help but smile at the memory, and think how lovely it will look on Nimloth’s great-granddaughter. It was made for a silver head, but will be set off just as well by a golden one.

“It seems your grandfather wishes to remind us all that you are a princess of the Sindar as well as of the Noldor,” he said, noting the twins’ startled look. “That belonged to your father’s grandmother in the days before the Kinslaying.”

He was irritated to see the faint traces of confusion in her eyes. Perhaps Celeborn’s reminder is sorely needed, if the girl was so unaware of her Sindarin heritage. He will have words with his singers. There will be songs of Doriath and Menegroth this evening, and not merely the ones of Beren and Luthien. His young kinswoman should know all of who she is, not merely what the golodhrim deign to acknowledge.

---

Buffy tried not to groan out loud as they rounded the bend and caught sight of Thranduil’s gates. Legolas was waiting for them, but so was an all too familiar Galadhrim face.

This means we’re in trouble, doesn’t it? she asked her brothers silently.

Possibly not. Haldir may just be irritated at being made to wait. Or had you forgotten your first impression of him? Elladan replied.

Buffy sighed. It was easy to get the idea that the marchwarden disapproved of something or someone. His natural expression tended to stern and his emotions were usually well guarded.

Although he does disapprove of Legolas. Far too flighty, these wild wood elves, all too prone to not taking situations seriously, Elrohir added with a suppressed snicker.

Buffy would dearly love to know what Thranduil’s very proper son and heir had done for Haldir to be so snippy about him. It must have been good, and suggested that buried deep beneath the public face of Mirkwood’s prince was an ellon who could match her brothers prank for prank.

You have no idea, little sister, Elrohir told her, his mental voice dancing with laughter. He has been on his absolute best behavior with you around – we think he is trying very hard not to corrupt the young.

It has been quite amusing, Elladan agreed. Though we have been wondering how much longer he can keep it up. Especially as it should now be quite clear to the elves of the Greenwood that you are not an elfling.

Buffy caught sight of the fierce glare Haldir had just favored the three of them with.

Maybe not an elfling, but I’d say we’re definitely in trouble, she replied in a subdued tone.

Unlike previous instances of getting in trouble for things she’d done in the course of Slaying, she had company this time. Unfortunately, she also had more in the way of parental and other family figures to dish out said trouble, and the only one she was truly familiar with was her mother. She had a feeling her grandmother will back her against the world after her time in Lorien, but she is less confident about her grandfather and father. And she’s not even completely sure how her mother is going to take this.

Although Joyce had been more laid back about Slaying the last couple years in Sunnydale, Buffy couldn’t help the icy tendril of fear curling around a deep down part of her that hasn’t been able to forget the time her mother hadn’t been ok with what she had to do to save the world. And she doesn’t exactly have the excuse that it was about saving the world this time. She knows darn well that most elves aren’t going to agree that wiping out a bunch of dwarves and men is apocalypse level.

She tuned back in to the spoken conversation to find that Haldir had been sent by their grandparents to get an eyes-on. She was certain Galadriel already knew they were fine, she’s felt the soothing brush of her grandmother’s mind several times over the last few days, but she suspected Celeborn wanted the reassurance that his littlest granddaughter’s definition of ‘fine’ actually overlaps with everyone else’s.

In this case it does, but she’s pretty sure that some of what she’s described as ‘fine’ over the past few years would not be counted as such by even her brothers, who are of similar mind to her when it comes to self-assessment of injuries that are not life-threatening.

The frosty look on his face said that Haldir has plenty of experience in determining how injured the gwenyn are, and he will not be foolish enough to ask their opinion on the state of their own health.

On the bright side, Haldir will be able to honestly report that of the three of them, she’s the healthiest. What small scratches she picked up in the battle had healed before they had even set out on the return journey to the Woodland Realm. Elrohir had been slightly envious, given that the angry red line on his leg had not completely faded yet - he assured her that in another week or so, it would be as invisible any of her wounds. Elladan’s arm was in a sling, and Thranduil had decreed it would stay there until Gandalf said otherwise. (The wizard had simply smiled and declined to involve himself in the matter thus far.)

“My lord has sent a letter to his grandchildren and bid me deliver also to the lady Anariel the things he has sent, knowing that she did not bring clothing fit for a feast such as will be had this night,” Haldir added, and she just knew from the spark in his eyes that he expected a reaction and was greatly pleased that he was the one here to see it.

Her brothers took the letter – she is not good enough with tengwar yet to make out more than her own name or her brothers’, and those she recognized mainly due to repetition – and skimmed it rapidly while she opened the larger of the two parcels, a clothbound package.

The dress – and it’s definitely a dress, she knows without looking that she will find no leggings to go with it – has to be the work of her sister and her grandmother. She doesn’t know anyone else who does such amazing embroidery. She was hugely relieved to discover that neither one of them expected her to develop such a talent, although Arwen had remarked thoughtfully that learning to stitch herself up might be a useful skill for someone who managed to find yrch so regularly.

She’s fairly sure Haldir was expecting a protest, as everyone in Lorien knows she’s much more comfortable in pants for day to day wear. But she’s still a fashion lover at heart, and she’ll be the first to admit that Arwen has an unmatched eye for what will suit her sisters.

The dress was lovely, and Buffy had never seen its like before – the color starts the blue of a summer sky at midday by the shoulders, with ornaments of silver leaves, but darkens over the length of the dress until it is night at the hemline, broidered and edged with stars. It’s super soft, to the point where she could happily sit there and snuggle it. To her relief, the sleeves weren’t the long trailing type that Arwen favored – Buffy could just see herself snagging sleeves like that on everything – so either Galadriel had a say or Arwen realized that her little sister would prefer something fitted.

She actually can’t wait to wear it, and she trusts her brothers to know how exactly it’s meant to look – unlike at Erebor, where she’d been trussed into something quickly made for her by the wood elves, who had attempted to make her look as ethereal as her grandmother but more delicate. She’d been afraid to move in that dress and hadn’t felt like herself at all.

But the real stunner was the other package. It was a small box, its contents carefully padded for the journey. Inside was nestled an exquisite circlet, different from what she’s seen her parents, grandparents, and sister wear. (Thus far the twins have managed to avoid them.)

This one looked more like something Thranduil or Legolas would have, with jeweled flowers in deep reds and frosty white, and leaves in such realistic shades of green that it was only when she cautiously touched one with a single careful finger that she realized they were wrought of metal.

This cannot be for me, she whispered in awe. Haldir made a mistake, El, he brought the wrong box. This must be grandmother’s.

Niphredil and seregon, Elladan replied thoughtfully. Those are flowers of Beleriand, not Lindon or Eldamar. I do not think this is something grandmother would wear.

Thranduil spoke at nearly the same time.

“It seems your grandfather wishes to remind us all that you are a princess of the Sindar as well as of the Noldor,” he told them. “That belonged to your father’s grandmother in the days before the Kinslaying.”

Buffy blinked. She really doubted Thranduil would joke about such things. Nor did she believe he would he make her the butt of the joke, as careful as he has been of her these past few weeks. His kindness after the battle more than made up for his sternness before, to the point where she has started to think of him as an uncle of sorts.

Brothers, when did I become a princess? she demanded fiercely, because it’s news to her.

She could feel nothing but pure astonishment from the pair of them. Apparently she’s just walked straight into the wall of ‘things everyone else expected her to know already’. She wondered if she could enlist Legolas’ help tying her brothers up for spider bait. They’d said he’d been on his best behavior for too long…

Was anyone planning on telling me at any point? And as long as we’re taking a tour through family history, which grandmother does he mean?

Buffy was torn when they left Thranduil’s halls. On the one hand, the wood elves knew how to throw a party. Mirkwood feasts were a little more boisterous than those of Lothlorien. (Also, the elves of Mirkwood were considerably earthier than the Galadhrim.) And now that he’d finally loosened up around her, she wouldn’t have minded spending more time with Legolas – especially given that she did have some getting even to do with her brothers, and she felt like he’d be a good ally. On the other hand- parents who were almost definitely pretty unhappy with her right now. And possibly grandparents as well.

It hadn’t occurred to her before, but she was feeling sort of lucky at the moment that aside from her parents, grandmother, grandfather, and siblings, Thranduil and Legolas as the closest thing to family she has here. The familial disapproval might be intense, but it will be limited. It’s not like she had a huge extended family the way some of the wood elves do. Not on this side of the sea, at least.

And her brothers were so in trouble for letting her find out from Legolas that they’re cousins. Thankfully, they’re not close kin- their grandfathers were first cousins. She might actually remember that bit of genealogy, considering how she’d learned it...

Legolas was a wonderful source of information. He just had the world’s worst sense of timing about when to share it. The bit about elven marriage practices, for instance. That definitely should have been shared sooner. At least there had been no harm done. They were both still single. Not that she thought Thranduil would have been too bothered if she had done the local equivalent of a drunk Vegas wedding with his son, but she and Legolas are both pretty sure that they’re better as friends.

It was probably just as well they were leaving before she accidentally found a way to publicly embarrass herself.

Travelling with Bilbo, Mithrandir, and Beorn was fun. Bilbo believed in regular meals and comfort whenever possible – and it was mostly possible, now that he was hanging out with elves, a wizard, and a skinchanger the entire region now knew not to mess with. The hobbit also, against expectation, turned out to be a pretty good cook. Buffy had gotten the impression from what she knew of him that he was the sort of gentleman who had servants. But Bilbo had assured her after he’d caught her curious stare at the campfire the first evening that all hobbits adored food - as such, those who could not cook with some degree of skill were rare, and something of an embarrassment to their families.

Mithrandir favored her with plenty of lore and history of Arda as they rode, apparently aware without being told just how much she didn’t know that an elf her age and official adult status should have known. He also seemed to realize that while the nature stuff was interesting, she particularly liked to hear anything he cared to tell them about dragons. The wizard even managed to make it sound like much of what he was saying was for Bilbo’s benefit instead of hers. She meant to find some way to thank him privately before he went his separate way.

Beorn was just plain fascinating. He’s not the first skinchager she’s ever known, but he is the first bear, and unlike werewolves, he’s fully in control of his transformation. As curious as she was about him, she held back from asking too many question, partly because she wasn’t sure if it was rude, and partly because he’s got that whole laconic thing going. She would have called the emotion that rose within her when it occurred to her how much he reminded her of Oz homesickness except for one thing.

To her own surprise, she realized that she no longer thought of Sunnydale as ‘home’. Somewhere in the mixed up, muddled up adventure that had been their trip to the Woodland Realm, Imladris had turned into the picture that came to mind whenever someone said home. Instead of palm trees and beaches, there were waterfalls and mountains in her mind’s eye now.

Home for her has always been wherever her family is, and that’s Imladris. Her brothers, her sisters, and her parents are all at home there, so she’ll find a way to be at home there, too. She thought quietly about California, and then silently bid it farewell, finally accepting once and for all that Sunnydale was nothing more than a memory, a place where she’d lived for a few years- a blink of an eye for an elf.

Elrohir bumped against her, accidentally on purpose.

You are thinking thoughts of that other place, little sister. Do you miss it so much, truly?

He sounded wistful, and a little sad.

She shook her head.

I miss the people I knew. Giles, Angel, Oz. Wow, I even miss Spike. That’s something I never thought I’d say. But I miss home more.

The brightening of his face when he realized what she meant was better than miruvor, and twice as warming. A wave of joy washed over them both from Elladan.

We will be home soon enough, he said jubilantly, and you will be happy when you see what kind of welcome we get. Ada never forbids us from travelling, but he is always pleased at our return.

Buffy hoped he’d be pleased to see her, despite the whole accidental battle thing.

Ada will never not be pleased to see you, Elladan said firmly. You are his daughter.

And even if he is a bit annoyed, Elrohir added, you are still here.

That both her brothers touch her then, almost as if reassuring themselves what Elrohir has just said is true, suddenly made clear just how deeply shaken her family had been all those years that passed in Arda, in a way Buffy hadn’t understood before. It wasn’t just the uncertainty of the loss, of not knowing what had happened to Celebrian and her daughter.

Because even without the physical touch, she could feel her brothers’ presence. She hadn’t understood the importance of that before the battle, but after, she finds herself brushing against their minds every so often, just checking in. Even though she’s at a distance, she was also faintly aware of Dawn – Tindomiel, whatever she chooses to call herself now. Arwen was closer, a blaze of starlight and joy in the back of her mind. And her parents, too. If she focused, she could probably find grandmother and grandfather as well. And if it was like this for her, if it’s already so natural that she takes their presence for granted and would be alarmed if they were suddenly gone…

Her brothers and Arwen and their father spent hundreds of years with an empty space where she and her mother should have been, a lack of presence they could not have avoided. A wound that wouldn’t heal – and one that they must have felt immediately when her mother moved from one world to the other. It’s how her brothers arrived so quickly the day she, her mother, her sister, and the Scoobies left Sunnydale for good.

That was a very good day, Elladan said quietly. One we had given up hoping for.

Which is how we can be quite sure that Ada will not be as angry as you fear, Elrohir assured her. You could dance through Mordor naked and he would do nothing more than scold so long as you came back alive and unharmed.

Though we would prefer you not test that theory, Elladan added hastily.

She rolled her eyes.

Why exactly would I want to dance through Mordor naked? Isn’t that where the Big Bad used to hang? Surely dancing through it with a sword would be more useful.

Her brothers sigh in sync.

It was a joke, sisterling. Meant to be ridiculous- so that you don’t get ideas. If we said ‘Mordor’ and ‘sword’, you would certainly be tempted.

Would not! she retorted. I’ve had enough of battle for a while. I want to go home, let Ada spoil me, and catch up on Scooby time and Dawn time.

And Nana? Elladan prompted, well aware that she did not expect their mother to be nearly as calm about her doings.

And let Nana yell at me and hopefully not lock me up for the rest of time.

She’d rather not tell her brothers about the time she was thrown out of the house. She didn’t want them to worry about Mom’s reaction the way she’s worrying. She also didn’t want them to feel like they had to pick between them. Whatever ripped her mother and her out of Middle Earth has already hurt her family enough. She’s not going to add to the damage.

They had been nearly to the Old Ford when Buffy realized why it was that she could feel her older sister so clearly. She turned to her brothers.

“Did the plan change? Is Arwen coming home with us?” she asked.

The twins blinked, as surprised as she was to notice their other sister was nearby.

“Oh dear,” Elladan murmured.

She shot him a suspicious look.

“What does ‘oh dear’ mean?” she demanded.

“It means,” Elrohir answered with a sigh, “that Arwen would hardly ride up the Vale of Anduin alone, even if she kept to the Hithaeglir side of the river. Grandfather must be with her.”

“Why is that ‘oh dear’?” she asked, puzzled. “We like Grandfather!”

She hoped this wasn’t a sign that she should be worried about her grandfather’s reaction. Her brothers had reassured her several times that their father would not be angry so much as resigned and worried after the fact at her having fought at Erebor. If anything, her grandmother seemed faintly amused – although that might be because by the time Galadriel had known, the battle had already been over and she was clearly still alive and well. It might have been different had she realized at the time.

Buffy was aware just how many family members her grandparents have lost over the years, and she can imagine that doesn’t make it any easier to have a grandchild like her. Or her brothers, really. She’s pretty sure they can match her crazy idea for crazy idea. Well, crazy idea by other people’s standards. And this time hadn’t been her fault, really - Erebor had been an accident, not a plan.

It had all worked out anyway…

“It is ‘oh dear’ because it means Grandfather did not consider Haldir sufficient, and has come to see for himself,” Elladan explained.

He glanced at her, and sighed.

“Had we known, we would have made more of an effort when we broke camp this morning.”

“We don’t look that bad,” Buffy replied, nettled as she considered her own appearance as well as her brothers. “Do we?”

“We would have put on better clothes,” Elrohir explained. “And Elladan probably would have tried to make his injury look less serious, not that Grandfather would be fooled.”

Buffy shrugged.

She couldn’t see where Grandfather would care about the clothes. She knew he led patrols himself often enough. He knew even elves got dusty when travelling, and that good robes weren’t for riding the way she and her brothers tended to do. She loved her pretty outfits as much as the next elleth, but not when she’s out in the wild.

When they finally caught sight of Celeborn, they found he, Arwen and Xander were waiting for them, a camp already prepared for even though there were still a few hours of daylight.

She was the one her grandfather greeted first, pulling her into a hug that is as much to reassure himself that she is still there, alive and healthy, as it is to welcome her.

“You, Anariel, were supposed to be visiting Thranduil to keep out of the way, not march to battle,” he said quietly, not letting go of her.

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” she shrugged.

At Xander’s smothered cough, she looked up to discover everyone but him looked utterly bemused.

She sighed and leaned ever so slightly into her grandfather to hide her irritation.

She’d been getting much better with Sindarin – she had to with no other family but her brothers around to buffer her, and Thranduil’s less than subtle campaign to make a proper Sindarin princess of her – but she’s so used to tossing off references to everything from contemporary pop culture to Shakespeare that having to adapt to a culture that doesn’t recognize any of them is incredibly frustrating. Even biblical and mythological allusions, which are practically built into English, don’t register.

“It means sometimes things go wrong,” she explained. “It’s from…”

She trailed off, because she wasn’t actually sure where it’s from originally. She had a vague notion the book wasn’t the ultimate source.

“A poem,” Xander broke in. “We read it in English after we did the novel. Remember?”

Actually, Buffy remembered that Willow was the only one who had (mostly) understood the original version. Now that she thought about it, reading the Scots version was a bit like everyone here listening to her and the Scoobies talk to each other. If they repeated it to themselves and played with the pronunciation, they could get the gist, but usually wound up puzzled about specific words.

“The best laid schemes of mice and men oft go awry,” Xander quoted.

Buffy was relieved he didn’t bother giving the whole verse, as she did remember it now, and it mentioned foresight – something that elves did recognize, and a subject she tried to avoid since so far none of the foresight she’d encountered had been rainbows and puppies.

“Indeed,” Mithrandir replied. “The same may be said of elves and wizards!”

She was grateful to him for the save, and when Celeborn turned to see to her brothers – who were absolutely right in thinking he was not fooled by Elladan’s attempt to appear one hundred percent healthy – she mouthed a quiet ‘thanks!’ at him.

When Celeborn finally let go – mostly so he could examine her brother’s arm – she hugged Xander before Arwen claimed her, first holding her tightly for several minutes before giving her a more intense once-over than even her mother would have done.

“Yes, I really am in one piece,” she said amusedly, as Xander snickered.

“You cannot fault me for checking,” Arwen sniffed. “Especially since we are told you are worse than the boys for saying you are fine when you are not.”

“Who tattled?” Buffy sighed resignedly, expecting to hear that Will or Tara had let something slip in concern.

“Naneth,” Arwen replied.

“Oh, I am in so much trouble,” Buffy groaned. “Watch, I’m going to be grounded until the end of Arda.”

“Well, maybe not quite that long,” Xander suggested. “Just the next thousand years or so.”

“Not helping,” she grumbled, as Arwen finished her inspection and dragged her sister over to the farthest tent to wash and change.

Buffy finished well before Celeborn was done checking the twins’ injuries and – much to her bemusement – giving them a thorough scolding for ‘getting your sister into such trouble’.

She had been torn whether to go with it or fess up that she’d gotten into trouble all by herself, thank you very much, until Xander shook his head.

“He knows,” Xander told her quietly. “He just thinks they should have stopped you.”

“Yeah, that would have worked,” Buffy snorted.

“That’s what I said,” Xander smirked. “But what can you do?”

“Sit back and watch,” Arwen suggested, patting the spot next to hers on a blanket covered log. She left her little sister any choice – Buffy found herself pulled down to sit next to her sister and that was that.

Buffy was startled to discover that while Arwen might play the princess to the hilt at times, she knew how to start a campfire as well as their brothers.

“Since I’m in trouble, does that mean I’m the one who gets to cook?” Buffy asked warily.

Cooking had been the task for the loser of any contest she had while traveling with the twins – fortunately, she hadn’t lost often, because the twins didn’t think much of her cooking ability. (Protesting that she was used to cooking in kitchens hadn’t helped.)

Arwen snickered.

“You are not the one in trouble – at least, not tonight – so I think it is safe to say that you are not cooking. I do not know if the boys will, or if Grandfather will prefer to do it himself. Either way, I think they will use the other fire for that. Grandfather and Mithrandir will likely talk all night, so I thought we should have our own fire. Master Baggins may join us or remain with them as he wishes. How bad is Elladan’s injury?”

“Not that bad,” Buffy shrugged. “Thranduil and Mithrandir both said it’s healing nicely, and they would know. He’s more annoyed about it than anything now.”

Both her brothers stalked over to settle themselves on the other side of the fire with identical scowls.

“Thank you for your help, littlest sister,” Elladan groused.

“Littlest?” Buffy asked. “Did you pick up a head injury, too? Tindomiel’s at home.”

“She is our youngest sister,” Elrohir pointed out, his eyes sparking with mischief. “You, on the other hand, are our littlest sister. And as she is still growing and you are not, it seems likely you will remain our littlest sister.”

Buffy stuck out her tongue.

“I may be short, but my arm’s better,” she pointed out smugly.

“Yours wasn’t broken,” Elladan protested.

Buffy laughed.

“It’d be healed by now even if it was.”

“Just wait, short one, just wait,” Elrohir promised. “Remember, there are two of us.”

Xander snickered.

“Don’t forget, once you get home, she’s got more backup,” he told them. “So, how was the battle? Saving the world any different in Middle Earth?”

Buffy sobered immediately.

“Bigger and uglier,” she replied. “Think ten times the size of graduation. The word ‘horde’ was used seriously to describe the orcs. Real weapons on both sides and casualties to match.”

“Messy,” Xander whistled. “And you only ended up with scratches?”

She nodded.

“One decent one, but mostly just small stuff,” she confirmed, looking to her brothers to back her up.

Elladan raised an eyebrow at her description, but chose not to argue – he’d probably had enough of that with Celeborn, albeit in the opposite direction.

“She forgets to mention she is also a dwarf-friend now,” Elrohir observed. “Bravely saving King Kili before the bodyguard of Bolg could remove his head from his shoulders.”

“How was I supposed to know he was a prince?” Buffy grumbled. “There was a battle on. It was noble of him to try to stand over the dead king-“

“Dying king, as the dwarves tell it,” Elladan corrected.

“Whatever they say,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

If Thorin had still been breathing when she got there, he hadn’t been long for the world. The younger dwarf who turned out to be Kili had been on the verge of getting overwhelmed trying to protect him. She’d knocked him down when he hadn’t had the sense to duck, and proceeded to slay the large, well-armed orcs around him with extreme prejudice.

By the time a dazed Kili had gotten back on his feet, the situation was a little more stable, and she’d been able to form a wedge with him and three other dwarves to move Thorin to more defensible ground. If they told the story with him still alive until later, she wouldn’t argue. She’d think they were wrong, but she wouldn’t argue. Dwarves got upset if you questioned their word.

“How was the party?” Xander asked, brushing aside the whole dwarf thing – he’d already heard enough in Lothlorien to know that an elf saving a dwarf could be a sore subject.

Buffy grinned.

“Pretty good actually!” she said. “Thranduil’s people know how to throw a soiree. It was a little livelier than Lorien…”

“Oh, surely you’re not going to leave it at that, little sister,” Elladan cut in with a truly wicked smirk.

They wouldn’t. They so totally wouldn’t…

“Yes,” Elrohir agreed. “You forget to mention the best part. How you almost ended up married to Legolas Thranduilion!”

Both twins nearly fell over laughing at the look on Xander’s face as he realized that they were not joking.

“Buff? How much alcohol was involved?” he asked cautiously.

“Less than you’d think,” Buffy said, with a sour look at her brothers’ matching smirks. “I only had one glass of wine.”

“How strong was it?” Xander demanded.

“Not that strong,” she replied, somewhat insulted. She wasn’t that much of a lightweight! “Alcohol had nothing to do with it.”

“It is not funny!” Arwen hissed, fixing her older brothers with a truly intimidating glare. “How could you?”

“Ha – got yourselves in trouble again!” Buffy crowed. “Serves you right.”

“It is not our fault you did not know!” Elrohir shot back.

“Yes, and it gives us such a wonderful story to tell,” Elladan grinned. “We might tire of telling it sometime around your twentieth yen. Maybe.”

“If you are married. To someone other than Legolas.”

“And we like your husband.”

“Otherwise, we may delight in this one forever.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Yes, me not knowing what the Sindar consider sex ed 101 is totally hilarious.”

“What does the number have to do with it?” Elrohir asked curiously.

“Brothers,” Arwen said pointedly. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘almost married’?”

The thunderous look on her face settled the twins’ mirth somewhat – Arwen looked uncannily like their father when angry.

“Rest easy, little sister,” Elladan replied. “It is funny because they are not married. Legolas explained matters to her in time.”

“Good!” Arwen snapped. “He should not have had to, however. You are her brothers-“

“Hi, sitting right here and actual adult!” Buffy interrupted, because her sister looked utterly scandalized. “Also, learned my lesson. No taking the name in vain during sex.”

“Wait, what?” Xander spluttered.

“You actually joined with him?” Arwen’s expression had only gotten worse.

Buffy looked from one to the other, and then at the twins.

“Ok, brothers, fun and games are over – time to make with the explanations,” Buffy announced. “Why does Arwen look like I’ve just killed someone?”

The twins sighed.

“Arwen takes a more Noldorin view,” Elrohir said slowly.

“Well that cleared that up, I know exactly what’s going on now,” Xander said after a pause in which none of the three older children of Elrond explained.

“Short version of the part I get,” Buffy said. “For High Elves, sex equals marriage. Period. But the Sindar aren’t High Elves – there’s actually a lot of history there, try not to mix up who’s who, because pretty much everyone is touchy about it – and they think sex is fine between unmarried adults as long as everyone’s willing. By their definition it’s only marriage if you invoke the name of the One during the act. Legolas explained that part.”

Xander blinked.

“So… you’re telling me Ahn and I are already married,” he said slowly.

Buffy snickered. She hadn’t even thought about that.

“Now that you mention it, I’d have to go with ‘yeah, probably’,” she said. “We definitely heard her yell ‘god’ a time or two on the way to Lothlorien.”

“It is ‘Eru’ you must invoke,” Arwen corrected primly.

“Oh, good,” Xander said in relief. “Not that I’m not planning on marrying her – I have the ring and everything, just waiting for the right moment to ask – but I think she’d be a little upset to find out she’d gotten married without knowing it!”

“Yeah, let’s stick with only the actual name counts,” Buffy agreed. “Cause otherwise not only am I a bigamist, my husbands are back in California. And one of them is a total douchecanoe.”

“That would be awkward,” Xander laughed.

“Anariel, you had relations there? At such a young age?”

Just when she’d thought Arwen couldn’t sound any more horrified…

“That is why we did not realize she did not know,” Elladan said calmly. “We knew that she had joined before, yet she is clearly unmarried, so why would it occur to us that it was because marriage is completely different there?”

“Fortunately, it did occur to Legolas,” Buffy said drily. “He knew that I had lived among mortals and was unsure if mortal marriage customs were the same, so he asked before things got too far. Not that marrying him would have been the worst thing in the world, but it would have made for an interesting conversation with Thranduil in the morning.”

Xander cracked up. If Arwen hadn’t been there, he would have asked ‘before or after you were naked’, but Buffy’s older sister looked ready to strangle all three of her siblings as it was.

“It would at least have settled his concern about whether you are more Sindar or Noldor,” Elrohir suggested brightly.

“Pretty sure if the battle didn’t do that, the party did” Buffy replied. “He still thinks I’m slightly nuts, but at least it’s a Sindarin kinda nuts.”

She paused.

“Wait, you said I’m clearly unmarried. How do you know? I mean, just because I’m not wearing a ring, or-“

Arwen glared at her brothers again.

“It would have been nice had you bothered to make sure of what she did and didn’t know,” she said frostily. “She might have propositioned a married ellon!”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to splutter.

“There was no propositioning!”

“Then how did you end up joining with Legolas?” Arwen asked archly.

Buffy was not about to admit the whole story on how exactly Legolas had finally understood that she wasn’t kidding about definitely not being an elfling to her sister – her brothers seemed to think it had come about as a dare or a series of escalating dares between the two of them, and she was happy to leave it at that.

It turned out that sex was an acceptable enough part of life for the Sindar that there were areas of the halls that those so inclined were known to retreat to after a certain point whenever there was a major party. At least, it was known to people other than her.

Legolas had seen the route she was taking back to her room, realized she didn’t know, and followed her, expecting to have to explain the facts of life to an embarrassed elfling. That wasn’t how it had worked out. And since it was clear she did know what was going on and had done it before… Legolas was an adventurous soul. And, as it turned out, a skilled one.

“It just happened,” she told Arwen with a shrug. “Propositioning makes it sound scandalous.”

Elladan sighed.

“Arwen really does not mean it that way,” he said slowly, giving her a meaningful glare.

“No, but…” Arwen looked very unhappy. “Anariel, do you not see how much more special it would be to wait?”

Elladan traded a look with Elrohir, but seeing his twin was leaving it entirely to him, he sighed again.

“You know we are both Noldor and Sindar- decended from both High Elves and what the Exiles termed ‘moriquendi’.”

Buffy nodded.

“Moriquendi meaning Dark Elves,” she explained quietly to Xander. “Basically, the amanyar who came back acted like the umanyar were uncivilized barbarians.”

“I bet that made for good feelings all around,” Xander whistled.

“Indeed,” Elrohir said drily. “And as you can imagine, that the ‘moriquendi’ indulged in pleasures of the body instead of saving themselves only for their mate was taken by the ‘caliquendi’ as proof of their ignorance and fallen ways.”

“Adar has never said anything one way or the other on the subject,” Elladan continued, “So we honestly do not know, but we suspect he was raised with the Noldorin view. Makalaurë and Maedhros were both amanyar, and Gil-Galad’s court was dominated by amanyar and their descendants.”

“Adar may be of the amanyar view,” Elrohir said, “But Naneth was raised Sindarin, and so we assumed she would have taught you as we were taught. The decision whether or not to indulge has been left to each of us. Unlike what you have told us of California, no elf would judge another for not doing so.”

“Though the Noldor certainly judge those who do,” Elladan sniffed, “Arwen has taken the Noldorin approach – to wait and join only with the one she will bind herself to for all time – though thankfully not the judgmental attitude.”

He didn’t need to explain that the twins took the same view as Buffy herself – she knew perfectly well they’d ‘indulged’ same as she had. She suspected they were actually sought-after partners among the wood elves.

“That still doesn’t explain how you know I’m not married,” Buffy pointed out.

Elladan laughed.

“Whether or not they are bound shows in an elf’s eyes,” he said. “And it's certainly clear enough to your own brothers!”

“I can’t go around staring into everybody’s eyes to try to figure out the difference!” Buffy protested.

“Do not worry,” Elrohir said reassuringly. “We will find a way for you to see that does not involve staring. I am certain you will recognize it quickly enough – all other elves do.”

“Dumb question,” Xander piped up. “What about… wait, I don’t even know the word in Sindarin. Contraception?”

It took some lengthy explanation on Buffy and Xander’s part before any of her older siblings even understood what was being asked. Once they did, Xander and Buffy were astonished to learn that elves didn’t actually need any such thing – and that even the twins, who had trained as healers, were unaware that mortals usually did.

“I wouldn’t mention that to Anya,” Xander muttered, after the two of them had gotten over their surprise at the idea that reproduction was a voluntary thing for the eldar. “She’s already jealous enough that you get the immortal lifespan and eternal youth.”

Elrond smothered a grin.

His youngest child had been sitting in the courtyard all morning, eyes firmly trained on the mountain road. Anariel, Xander, and the twins were expected to return today, and Tindomiel had asked for them as soon as she’d woken up. She’d bolted her breakfast and then taken herself outside to wait. All attempts on Estel’s part to pry her away from her vigil had failed in her excitement at finally having her sister and brothers back home.

Anya, Willow, or Tara checked in on her periodically, but seemed content to leave her on watch duty, trusting that she’d make enough noise when she spotted her siblings that they could be on hand to greet the returnees.

The contrast between his daughter and his wife was telling. Where his littlest star was all giddiness and excitement, Celebrían was a bundle of nervous tension.

She had not taken the news of their daughter’s involvement in battle well.

The news had been broken to them by Galadriel directly, as soon as it had reached her from the Woodland Realm. She’d let them see that Celeborn was also listening to the conversation, and preparing to go meet his grandchildren when they set out from Thranduil’s halls.

Elrond hadn’t been pleased to hear that his daughter, who was far too young to be marching to war, had fought as part of Thranduil’s army. He planned to have words with Thranduil on the subject – the older ellon was a father himself and Elrond would have expected better.

But Celebrían’s reaction had been a fury that surprised even her parents in its intensity – and Elrond had been startled to realize that the anger covered truly gut-wrenching fear. He could feel the thought screaming at the top of her mind– her daughters were supposed to be safe here – and the helplessness she felt at Anariel’s apparent determination to involve herself in any trouble to be found. She did not want to surrender a child to Námo.

Both her parents had tried to reassure Celebrían that Anariel was well enough, only to have her laugh hysterically and ask who had told them so.

“I’m sure she said she’s ‘well’, naneth, but she’ll say that for everything from concussion to limbs wrenched clear out of their sockets!”

He’d winced at that, as had Galadriel and Celeborn. He had felt Galadriel’s deep concern, but she had ended the conversation quickly, leaving them with the promise that Celeborn would soon have his own observation on the matter, which she would relay to them at once. Elrond had spent the rest of a very long night trying to calm his beloved.

Dinner had been a tense affair, during which he’d made the mistake of sharing the news with Tindomiel and Estel. His younger daughter’s airy assurance that her sister was fine, but her brother had a broken arm hadn’t helped. Estel had looked confused by the entire situation, while Tindomiel had shot her mother nervous looks the rest of the meal, aware she’d somehow made things worse.

Tindomiel had, however, given him a clue as to why her mother was reacting so strongly. After Celebrian and Estel had both left the table – in complete opposite directions – his youngest had sighed.

“Poor naneth,” she said sympathetically. “She thought you’d found someplace nice and quiet to keep Buffy out of trouble. At least no one will get kicked out of the house this time.”

Elrond had gaped at her.

Kicked out of the house? As a teenager?

There was a reason elves only brought children into the world in times of peace. Young elves required the support of their parents in the first decades of life, otherwise their fëa would be gravely damaged. The loss of one parent could be devastating. The shock of losing both at a young age could kill an elfling.

Elrond knew that all too well, having been orphaned in all but name at the age of six. Many elves had been amazed that he and Elros had survived not only the Kinslaying, but the complete sundering from both parents. That had been despite the support of adults anxious for their continued well-being surrounding them almost immediately. (Not that most elves had believed them when they explained that had been the case.) It had been attributed to their being only peredhil, nearly half mannish. Purely elven children would have faded.

His children may be called peredhil, and even be granted the choice of which kindred to count themselves, but they are more elvish than anything else –their most recent mannish ancestor is a great-grandparent. And unlike him, his young daughter hadn’t had a twin to lean on to cushion the blow of being suddenly separated from all other close kin.

He had needed some time alone to gather his thoughts and master his own temper, because demanding to know what in the name of Manwë Celebrían had been thinking would not be productive.

When he did finally join his wife, he found her in their bedroom, weeping.

He’d had many difficult conversations in his life, but that one had been among the most difficult.

He hadn’t even known where to begin, especially when Celebrían raised teary eyes to him and said in a voice that betrayed all too well how she was feeling,

“We can’t even send her West to keep her safe.”

He could feel that was her dominant desire. She just wanted her children safe. There had always been risk. Middle Earth still had its perils, and would as long as the spirit of Sauron endured. She knew her sons hunted yrch. She knew there was still the chance that one or even all of the four who had not yet made their choice would choose a mortal life. But she’d truly believed that in returning to Arda, Anariel might be able to leave the Slayer behind. To know peace. To not risk her life every night, fighting the darkness over and over.

“My love…”

She knew what he wanted to ask, even before he could find the words. She could feel the question.

“You cannot possibly think worse of me for that than I do of myself,” she whispered.

She opened her mind to his, and let him feel the toxic maelstrom of guilt and disgust and terror when she thinks of that time. She had not understood the Slayer was real before that night. She had panicked, and trusted in her daughter’s love for her mother to do what common sense and self-preservation instinct would not – to keep her at home, where she belonged. Where she might be safe. Not running out into the night after killers.

She hadn’t known then, who and what she was, or what her daughter was. She hadn’t understood the damage she was inflicting on both of them. All she had known was that she felt deep in her heart that she’d made a terrible mistake when Anariel walked out into the darkness. She’d sat up the rest of the night, waiting. Hoping. And hadn’t seen her child again for months.

She still doesn’t know where or how Anariel lived during that time.

For Elrond, the worst part was not just the scars he could feel on his beloved’s fëa, even years later. It was his certainty that if he examined his daughter, he would find a matching set of scars on her soul.

Which is why he has been checking in on his daughter every so often this morning, as she and her brothers draw closer to Imladris.

He could feel her happiness at being nearly home again, and her desire to stay there for a while – between the battle and what she thinks of as the ‘after-party’ at Thranduil’s, she has decided that she wants several months of peace and quiet. Maybe even a year.

He could also feel her nervousness. To his surprise, it centered not only on her mother – who she has correctly guessed is very unhappy with her actions – but also on him. His daughter feared his reaction.

“They’re here!” Tindomiel yelled.

Her call was loud enough to draw both the mortal women and her mother to the courtyard as his children rode in with Mithrandir and the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Estel also came running, wide-eyed and eager to meet Tinu’s older sister and to see the twins again after their time away.

Tindomiel could hardly wait for the travellers to climb down from their horses.

“You guys took for freaking ever to get home!” his youngest daughter exclaimed happily, bouncing from brother to sister to brother for hugs, chattering at top speed the entire time. She managed to give Xander a quick hug before being elbowed out of the way by Anya with a firm, ‘go bug your other brothers, I haven’t seen my boyfriend in months.’

She might be worried about his reaction, but Anariel approached him with a steady step, looking all for the world as if she had no feeling in her heart but joy at being home.

“Ada,” she greeted him, bouncing up to give him a quick kiss. He folded her in a fierce hug, trying to wrap her in love and reassurance.

“It is good to have you home again,” he told her quietly.

“It’s good to be home,” she replied with a shy smile.

Her worry about him has melted away.

That was when Celebrían joined them. Elrond tried not to hold his breath, especially because he could see his daughter bracing herself, torn between happiness at seeing her mother and trepidation at her reaction, and at the scolding she knows is coming.

“Anariel,” her mother said tightly. Celebrían’s embrace is no less fierce than Elrond’s was, but the emotions behind it are more complicated.

When his daughter draws back, she gave her mother a sheepish look.

“I’m grounded, aren’t I?” she asked, speaking in the California tongue.

“Definitely,” Celebrían replied. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Elrond wasn’t sure what grounded meant, although he did understand it was some form of punishment. But it didn’t seem important at the moment, because Anariel was still smiling. His daughter and sons were home. All was well with his small corner of the world.

Buffy grinned.

The best part of being back in Imladris was having just about her whole family – barring Arwen and her grandparents – around again. Her mother seemed nonplussed that she wasn’t all that upset at being grounded. Actually, her mother had spent far more time trying to explain the concept of ‘grounded’ to her father and brothers than Buffy had in acknowledging that she did kinda deserve it, even if the battle was not her fault at all. (She’d done her best to leave King Thranduil out of it. She’d like to go visit again someday, after her mother has been reassured that she doesn’t just wander around Middle Earth looking for trouble.)

Right now, she was catching up on Scooby time.

She’s had plenty of time on the road to hear all about Xander’s adventures – which he had assured her were not nearly as adventuresome as hers – in Lothlorien. Today she begged Tara to show off the garden she’s heard about from what seems like every single elf in Imladris, and Tara hasn’t disappointed. Not only is the garden gorgeous, the food that comes from it is a sight for bored eyes. After months of tame elven food, she was thrilled to finally eat something a little spicier, and it wasn’t like anyone else needed much excuse for Mexican.

Anya and Willow been exploring elven ‘magic’, which apparently is not thought of as magic here, even though it would be called that in Sunnydale. Buffy had been intrigued to learn that while some of it is written, based on runes, quite a bit of it is worked through song. They were in a fairly intense explanation of the properties of some particular rune when Willow said something that made Buffy tune back in.

“We could always check in the library, there’s bound to be something there.”

“Library?” Buffy asked. “There’s a library?”

Anya shook her head.

“This is your house, how do you not know there’s a library?” she asked.

Buffy sighed and decided now was not the time to remind Anya how little time she’d spent ‘at home’ before they’d left to visit her grandparents, and how much of that time had been taken up by showing the twins her proficiency with various weapons and learning how to ride a horse.

Willow grinned impishly.

“There’s a library. Way better than the high school’s.”

“Yeah, for a start, this one’s not located directly over a Hellmouth,” Xander pointed out.

Anya rolled her eyes.

“We weren’t talking about location, we were talking about content. There are books in this library significantly older than I am.”

Buffy blinked. She’s been scolded before for her casual indifference to the proper treatment of old books, so putting her in a room with tomes that antique doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Don’t worry, they don’t look ancient,” Willow said reassuringly.

“Besides, your mom mentioned we could have a room just off the main library for studying if we wanted,” Tara said. “So you don’t have to hang out with the volumes of the First and Second Age if you don't feel like it.”

Buffy smiled slowly. Hanging out in the library again would be nice. Especially a library that was probably much safer than the SHS one.

“It’s not like you have much choice,” Anya mused. “I mean, you’re going to have to learn a lot – it seems like your family are involved in most of the important parts of history here. Although I guess you have to work on basic literacy first.”

Willow glared and Tara sighed, while Xander started to reply, thought better of it, and quietly facepalmed at the overly blunt reminder that Buffy couldn’t read much more than her own name in elvish letters.

“It’s not so bad,” Willow assured her. “We made a lot of progress when we realized that Joyce – I mean, Celebrían , I keep forgetting – would be a better tutor than Arwen or Lindir. She knows Sindarin, Quenya, and English, so she did a better job explaining the sounds that go with the letters because she knew what we’re used to.”

“Yeah, you’ll be reading in no time,” Tara agreed. “Tindomiel’s already good enough that she’s started transcribing some of what Willow brought on her laptop – Shakespeare, Austen, Harry Potter…”

Buffy stifled a snicker. She can’t wait to hear the elves’ reaction to that last choice – not to mention, she’s curious to see what Dawn chooses to do about years 5, 6, and 7. Maybe she’s waiting to see how Harry goes over first.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Willow said. “Xander, we were thinking that now you're back we should have a Star Wars movie night.”

Xander’s face lit up.

“All right! I can’t wait to see what the brothers El think of Yoda and Vader.”

Buffy blinked.

“Will, do I want to know?” she asked cautiously.

Willow grinned.

“You know magic and technology let me bring a lot more than I could have carried in books and DVDs alone,” she said smugly. “It won’t last forever, though. When the laptop wears out, that’s it – it’s not like we can get new parts here. So we decided we should start having movie nights, because your father says elven memory is different than ours, that you’ll remember forever once you’ve seen it. So if your brothers watch, even once we’re gone, you’ll still have someone around besides Dawn who will understand why ‘have fun storming the castle’ is funny, or know why St. Crispin’s Day matters.”

Although Willow’s subtle reminder that Buffy counts with the elves and her casual mention of mortality was less than comfortable – like pressing on a bruise – Buffy still had to snicker, because Willow makes it sound like there’s some highbrow reason she liked Henry V.

“Will, I really only watched that because Christian Bale was in it.”

“It’s still Shakespeare. And I didn’t think we should show them Swing Kids.”

That sobered her right up.

For all the sharing of the human history and culture of Earth they’ve been doing – and elves love learning, so they’ve been happy to see and hear anything Buffy and her friends are willing to show or tell - there’s some things Middle Earth really does not need to know about. Nazis are on that list, along with modern warfare in general. Having seen what old-fashioned warfare can do, Buffy is prepared to stand by that call. Orcs are bad enough with swords, she doesn’t want to picture them with machine guns or napalm.

“Right. So.. Star Wars,” she said, bringing the discussion back to where it started, and hoping to put off uncomfortable conversations until some other day.

Xander looked at her knowingly. His smile was slightly melancholy.

“Remember, Buff, the Force will be with you, always.”

Buffy grinned.

Technically, she was grounded, but since ‘grounded’ wasn’t really an elven concept, Ada had decided that it meant she had to remain within two days ride of Imladris and have an adult other than her brothers with her at all times when she went beyond the boundaries of Imladris itself. It was hard to say who had been more irritated by these strictures- her mother, who had pointed out that if she was able to go wherever she liked, she wasn’t grounded; or her brothers, who were insulted that they suddenly didn’t count as adult supervision.

The cave where Bilbo and his dwarves had encountered trolls was two days’ ride from Imladris if one rode without stopping- not that Bilbo was able to do such a thing. First off, his little pony could not possibly have kept pace with the horses of the elves, even if he had only Bilbo to carry and not Bilbo’s treasure as well. Second, hobbits needed significantly more food and more sleep than elves. But technically it was two days ride, so Buffy had been able to cajole Glorfindel into playing chaperone and the twins had come along out of curiosity.

It ended up taking them five days to reach the spot keeping a pace that was comfortable for Bilbo, but Buffy didn’t mind. Until now, she had never been west of her father’s house, only east. Everything she saw was new to her, and the possibility of encountering trolls was hardly a deterrent – ‘ensuring Bilbo and Mithrandir have no more trouble with trolls’ was the excuse she’d given her father for why they should accompany the hobbit and the wizard at least as far as the troll cave.

Privately, Buffy suspected her father wasn’t really that fussed about the terms of her punishment, but merely going through the motions to humor her mother. Celebrian had been somewhat mollified by her daughter’s insistence that she didn’t want to go on any more long trips for a while. And Buffy meant it. Really, she’d barely gotten to know Imladris before going haring off to Lothlorien.

But she was curious about the trolls. And more curious to see what else might have been stashed in the troll cave.

The wizard had hinted that there had been other swords in the stash, just not as fancy as the blades of Turgon and Ecthelion. Even if they were perfectly boring, ordinary mannish swords, it seemed like just asking for trouble leaving them lying around. And Buffy was intrigued by how two of the most famous swords of the Gondolin had come to be in a troll cache in Eriador…

Her brothers persuaded Glorfindel to tell them some of the history of the Hidden City on the journey to pass the time. Bilbo had seemed quite interested, so Buffy had let Glorfindel go on as long as he wanted, even though she was bored by the descriptions of buildings and festivals. The gates and layout of the city had been interesting, and she’d been mildly surprised to discover that the King of Gondolin had been her father’s great-grandfather. Buffy would have liked to hear more about the layout and defense of the city, not to mention the battle at the end, but she wasn’t about to demand that Glorfindel tell a tale that ended in his own death.

He has told the tale before, little sister, Elrohir told her silently. Who do you suppose taught us about it?

Buffy frowned.

I don’t think I would like telling about how a demon killed me, even if I came back, she replied dubiously.

Why not? Elladan asked mildly. You’re cheerful enough about the time you drowned.

That was true, but that had been neither as painful or as lasting as what her brothers had told her of Glorfindel’s demise.

He is alive now, and it is not as if he is not used to telling the story, Elladan pointed out. But if you do not wish to ask, there are also books in Ada’s library on the Fall of Gondolin.

And songs- Lindir will happily sing them for you, Elrohir added.

Lindir would no doubt indulge her- the Imladrim were very happy to have her back. She had the impression they felt unfairly deprived by her running off to visit her grandparents so soon after her return. But the books did her no good. She couldn’t read them. She didn’t mention that to her brothers, though. It was embarrassing enough being illiterate without having to remind everyone of it. It was worse that she was making very little headway learning elvish letters.

“Here we are,” Mithrandir announced cheerfully.

They all dismounted, and Bilbo looped the reins of his pony around a tree. The elves had no worries that their horses would bolt, and allowed them their freedom, knowing the animals would not stray far- the horses were smart enough to know that if dangerous creatures were about, near their elven riders was the safest place to be.

The clearing wasn’t far off the road, and as promised, it contained three large, ugly stone statues.

Buffy cocked her head to the side, wondering if these were normal trolls or not, but decided there would be time enough for questions later. She was supposed to be behaving herself, and ‘behaving’ meant not giving non-elves the impression that she was less than knowledgeable about Arda. An elf old enough to travel without her parents would know about trolls.

“Yes, they are quite normal trolls,” Glorfindel said, speaking in Sindarin so Bilbo would not know that Buffy had not seen trolls before either. “Not particularly large or clever specimens, either.”

“And yet trouble enough for the unwary,” Gandalf added with a smile. “Always remember that trolls must be below ground during the daylight hours, or they return to the stone from which they are made. Orcs may journey by day at need, though they like it not, but trolls never.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully.

“Here is our small hoard,” Bilbo called, at work with a small spade which had evidently been secreted nearby for just such a purpose.

Glorfindel and the twins were just as curious as Buffy to see what else the trolls had amassed, and with four elves helping, it did not take long to reveal the cache.

The coins were of no interest to Buffy, though the boys glanced at them, no doubt able to tell where and when they had come from. It was the weapons she wanted to see. Bilbo might have been a novice treasure-hunter at the outset of his adventure, but the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company had known well enough how to preserve the swords that they had not wished to take with them. They had been bundled together, well wrapped in cloth and leather that looked to have been repurposed from the clothing of troll victims.

Most were just as the twins had predicted: very ordinary swords of men. Most were in such poor condition that it was clear why the dwarves had seen no point to taking them. But in between the mannish swords, Buffy found one that even her untrained eye could recognize as elf make.

It was not as flashy as Glamdring. The scabbard was plain, no-nonsense. The jewel-less hilt was more to Buffy’s taste than the sword of Turgon – this was a sword made by someone who knew the real purpose of a sword. To her surprise, when she picked it up, it fit her hand. She was so small for an elf that this was unusual – unless this sword had been made for an elfling. Buffy didn’t know if such things were done, even in Gondolin.

She cautiously unsheathed the sword, and gasped. Because while it wasn’t flashy, it was beautiful. The design of this sword was far more elegant than that of Glamdring. The metal had lost none of its gleam over the years – and it wasn’t just plain steel shining at her. Buffy knew only a little about metal – though she meant to learn more – but she did know you wouldn’t use real gold in the blade of a sword. But however the effect was achieved, the blade she held had golden streaks, and more fascinatingly, streaks of black. Sun and shadow chased each other around the sword.
There were also the more usual flourishes and decorative accents, because elves think swords should be beautiful as well as deadly.

She decided that she approved of whoever made this weapon. She regretted that she couldn’t read, because there are runes wound around the blade, and she was curious to know if the sword had a name.

“Brothers,” she called quietly.

The twins’ look of surprise at her find was quite satisfying.

Elladan glanced at her for permission before taking the sword and examining it critically.

“Does it have a name?” she asked.

Elladan nodded.

“Dancing light,” he replied, as if she had been asking what the name would be in Westron. She does not yet understand any elven tongue but Sindarin, but the Gondolindrim would not have named their swords in Sindarin.

Elrohir joined them, also looking at the sword closely.

“A very fine blade,” he pronounced. “Though it is unsurprising that it was overlooked by the dwarrows. No jewels or fancy workings on the hilt, and hiding among all the plain ones.”

His eye was caught by the stamp near the hilt, the maker’s mark.

“You were not intending to keep this sword, were you?” he asked quietly.

Buffy glared at him. The first sword she’s picked up that wasn’t special made for her but looks and feels like a real sword, not a kid’s sword? And pretty to boot? Of course she was intending to keep it. The only way it could be more hers was if the runes spelled her name.

“Why not?” she asked with a frown.

He showed her the mark as if it would mean anything to her.

“A mole?” she asked, perplexed. “So what? Moles are cute.”

Her brothers faces were matching studies in exasperation.

The Lord of the Mole, little sister, Elrohir prompted her. Maeglin.The traitor of Gondolin? That’s whose mark is on this blade. I do not think you should keep it.

She glared at him. It’s totally not fair trying to have an argument like this in front of Bilbo.

Ask Glorfindel, Elladan suggested at the look on her face. I suspect he will also say you should not. A granddaughter of Turgon carrying a sword made by the one who betrayed him?

She fought a strong urge to roll her eyes, reminding herself that elves don’t do things like that in front of non-elves. At least, grown elves don’t.

She didn’t see why she should care what else Maeglin did- as far as she’s concerned the relevant point is that the guy made a good sword. She doesn’t think he could have made a sword that was more her if he’d tried.

Glorfindel had noticed the tension among the children of Elrond, and walked over with the clear intent of defusing whatever was going on.

He glanced at the sword with an expert eye. Taking it, he gave it a few experimental swings before handing it back to Buffy and gesturing for her to do the same. When she did, clearly finding it balanced to her satisfaction, he smiled.

“It should serve you well, Anariel,” Glorfindel told her.

He cut off her brothers’ incipient protest at her triumphant grin.

“Maeglin did many things in his short life, young ones. It is true he betrayed his city to Morgoth,” he said quietly. “But he made excellent swords.”

Buffy was sorry to see Bilbo go. She’d grown fond of the hobbit and used to having him around, but it could not be helped – he was off to the Shire, and she had to return to Imladris. A trip to Hobbitland would have to wait until her mother’s temper cooled a bit more.

The return journey to Imladris was different. Without the wizard and the hobbit, they travelled faster, and conversation was less constrained – which was not necessarily a good thing, since Buffy and her brothers were still at odds with each other over her new favorite weapon.

Glorfindel had been doing his best to keep the peace as they rode. He had altered his tales of Gondolin, and Buffy realized he had known perfectly well which parts she had been listening for before. His descriptions now were less of festivals and more of the things one who meant to defend the city would know.

He went over the layout of the city again, but this time focusing on its strengths and weaknesses, until she knew where she would have placed the defenders to buy time for the people to escape. (Her choices were not always the same as Turgon’s, from what Glorfindel was telling them.) The gates, all seven in order from wood to steel, he described in such detail that she could see them clearly in her mind’s eye, and wonder at the innermost ones. The Gate of Steel had been a marvel, possibly the greatest of Maeglin’s works. Not that any gates could have held against dragons and balrogs…

And this time, Glorfindel also spoke of the people he had known. His own Golden Flowers, who he praised for their discipline and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, but also the other high lords of Gondolin, those sung of for their courage or noble sacrifice- nearly all of them - those held as indecisive or cowardly – Salgant – and of course he couldn’t quite avoid mentioning Maeglin.

That was when Glorfindel’s valiant attempt to keep the children of Elrond from fighting with each other failed.

Buffy listened, increasingly mulishly as her brothers built off the older elf’s description of the ill-fated prince of Gondolin – which he had tried to balance with the good Maeglin had done before his fall – their argument for why she ought not keep her beautiful new sword. Finally, she could keep silent no more.

“I did hear you the first twenty times,” she told them acidly. “You have thoroughly denounced Maeglin Lomion as a traitor and a shame to both his house and his kind. Feel free to move on at any time.”

“Anariel, he betrayed Gondolin,” Elladan retorted. “If not for him, the city would have-“

“Would have what?” she demanded. “Would have stood a little longer? With all Morgoth’s thought bent on finding it, on destroying it? For how long? Another year? Ten years? Fifty? Long enough for Earendil to grow to manhood and fall with the others defending the escape of those few who survived?”

She may not know much about her grandfather, but she was sure a man who would give up everything to try to find a way West to save the world would not be persuaded to run away when his city, his people were in danger. He would have fought, and he likely would have died for it.

Her brothers looked first astonished, and then displeased by her intransigence, but a glance at Glorfindel showed them that they were on their own for their first serious quarrel with their little sister.

“That still does not excuse him,” Elrohir said sternly. “He did not have to give away the location of the Hidden Valley.”

“No one made him do it,” Elladan nodded.

She stared at him in utter incomprehension.

“El,” she said slowly, as though speaking to a child instead of her older brothers who had been full grown long before her birth, before Arwen’s birth even “he was tortured. By Morgoth himself.”

“Then he should have remained resolute, as Maedhros Fëanorion did!” Elrohir growled.

Her brothers had begun telling her the tales of the First Age on journey over the Misty Mountains to Lothlorien. They covered this one sometime on the way to Mirkwood, so she did know who and what they were talking about. But she suddenly realized with sickening clarity that particular story did not go the way they seem to think. She had thought when they first told it to her that they knew.

“Morgoth kept him for years, not the mere months Maeglin Lomion was held,” Elladan backed up his twin, “and yet Maedhros was steadfast. He did not break!”

They may have seen more of battle than she has, but the very fact that they could speak so told her that they knew little if anything of torture. This was something they should hear from their elders, not from the little sister they have scarce stopped thinking of as ‘the baby’. And yet…

She did not know the full truth of what happened to Maeglin Lomion in Angband – and she suspected she did not truly want to, because she could guess. She has seen enough of torture to fill in the blanks. All he would have had to do is waver for a mere second, something even one with no weakness might have done. That would have been all Morgoth needed. And Maeglin had a weakness, a terrible one.

A beautiful cousin he loved, wed to a mortal man. Whether his dislike of Tuor was born of petty jealousy, or distrust of the edain after the treachery at the Nirnaeth cost his uncle’s life mattered not at all.

Maeglin had been doomed from the moment the orcs found him. It had been only a question of how long it would take.
She sighed, unsure how to explain this to them.

It was not even about winning the argument anymore. She needed them to understand, because the same thing could happen to any one of them. Sauron had not been destroyed, and Morgoth too would return someday. Torture was actually her greatest fear – with Slayer healing, she would survive far longer than even other elves, and it would be no blessing.

“Brothers, Maedhros had nothing the Enemy wanted,” she said gently. “He could have broken a thousand times and it would have helped him not at all. Morgoth desired nothing from him except his screams.”

The twins both looked utterly gobsmacked at the idea that Maedhros might not have been a paragon, just a very unlucky elf.

“But-“ Elrohir began, before stopping abruptly, looking sick.

“Morgoth already had the Silmarils, did he not?” she asked them quietly. “Fëanor was dead. There was nothing more his sons could give him but the pleasure of their fall.”

He must have nearly died laughing, gleefully watching the havoc as the Oath undermined them again and again.

“Then Fingon’s heroic rescue-“

Elladan stopped, as if he could not bear to ask the question.

She did not want to rob them of that. She knew full well that story was loved by the Eldar, for Fingon’s courage and loyalty resonated with many in the Mortal Lands. If Maedhros was the example of how to bear through captivity, to hold out hope when all seemed lost, Fingon was the lesson that faith and courage will be rewarded.

She might have believed that once, before she had seen that faith and courage could lead to death as easily as reward. The list of those who died in Sunnydale was not short, and few of them could have been said to deserve their fate. What had Jesse ever done, or Jenny? Kendra? How long would Faith survive, courage or not?

She bit her lip, unwilling to shatter any more of their illusions, but suspecting that Maedhros’ escape had amused Morgoth greatly, knowing how fleeting his ‘freedom’ would be and at what great cost it was purchased.

She waited, quietly, as her brothers reconsidered their position on things beginning with M related to torture.

She did not share with them her suspicion that Maeglin’s torture might not have ended with his release from Angband – she also knew enough of evil to realize that he may well have been little more than a puppet from the time of his ‘release’ until the time of his death, a horrified observer in his own body, aware of what was to come yet unable to stop it, dying with Morgoth’s laughter ringing in his ears only after seeing all that he loved destroyed.

The stories say he was given a token to protect him during the sack. Funny how the stories never mention that Maeglin would have known that Morgoth’s word was not to be trusted. That part of Maedhros’ story was true enough. For Maeglin to have gone quietly back, to have believed that he would be spared and permitted to save Idril even without her peredhel son was beyond folly. Even those who condemned Maeglin as traitor did not name him a fool.

A quick glance at Glorfindel showed her surprised respect in his eyes, and she wondered if he has tried to make them see this before, or if he too had never thought of Maeglin in this light. He must have thought from time to time on what really happened. She knew he has called some of the songs about his death silly, so he was well aware that story and fact often parted ways.

“The sword-” Elladan finally said, slowly, uncertainly.

She could see they would reprove her for it no more, even if they have not decided yet whether they believe her that Maeglin may be more victim than monster.

“I mean to use it,” she replied steadily. “It’s mine now. It was meant for me, even if its maker didn’t know it. Maybe I’ll get to thank him for it someday. But that sword came to me for a reason.”

That much she’s sure of. She may be new to the elven foresight thing, but she knows this for a fact: there will come a day Morgoth is going to see that sword in her hands and know fear.

She doesn’t say that part out loud. Her brothers have had enough to take in for one day.

Celebrian smiled at the sight of her cousin riding into Imladris, her sons and middle daughter following. Although the twins looked subdued, Anariel was all smiles, chattering away happily to Glorfindel as they headed for the stables, their golden heads standing out like a beacon among the more prevalent dark hair of most Imladrim.

If she wasn’t mistaken, her littlest had come home with yet another sword – not that she needed any more. Between what she had when she left Imladris with her brothers, what Celebrian’s parents had gifted her in Lothlorien, and what she had acquired from Thranduil’s folk and the dwarves of Erebor, Anariel was already well on her way to having as extensive a weapons horde in Imladris as she’d had in Sunnydale. And she had yet to discover that Imladris had an armory…

It was a relief to have her problem children back under her roof. Though it had been Anariel she worried most about in the wake of the battle at Erebor, she was not without concerns for her sons. She had heard enough of their bitter and merciless orc hunts in the years she had been gone to know that they needed her attention as much as their younger sisters did.

Not all her children were home – Arwen had elected to remain in Lothlorien, resuming the visit her mother and sisters’ return had interrupted. Celebrian did not begrudge her that – she knew her parents had been largely responsible for holding her family together in her absence, keeping Elrond from surrendering to grief, the twins from doing anything too rash, and Arwen from being smothered by the weight of it all. Her mother had told her that her oldest daughter had nearly sailed, worried sick that her baby sister might be released from Mandos to find no family she knew waiting for her.

Celebrían herself would have happily remained longer in Lothlorien, spending time with her mother and father. She has missed her parents as much as she has missed her husband. But Elrond had wished her and Tindomiel safely away before the assault on Dol Guldur, and in truth, she was needed here. The children are not the only ones still adjusting – Celebrian herself is still adapting to the changed dynamic of their family. And still working to heal the damage.

Tindomiel had the easiest transition. Already used to being the baby but less used to being the youngest of five with every single one of her older siblings overprotective, she had been adding to the annals of Imladris elfling pranks, using her California experience and knowledge to show the elves that even after thousands of years, there could yet be something new under the sun. Thankfully, when not finding new and innovative forms of mischief, she seemed to take more after Arwen than Anariel.

Tindomiel had found a partner in crime (and punishment) in Estel, the latest in the line of kings to foster at Imladris. Estel, for his part, seemed charmed to have gained not only a playmate close to his own age in Tindomiel, but also an older brother who knew what it meant to be mortal in Xander. Thus far, the boy had been too in awe of Anariel to approach her, though Celebrían was confident that once he does, he will discover her nowhere near as intimidating as her fast growing legend might suggest.

Arwen, of course, had been wild with joy to have not one but two baby sisters returned to her – and taken it largely in stride that Anariel now considered herself an elleth grown, not the little one she ought to have been and still looked. Once Tindomiel had relented and accepted Arwen, she had spoiled her youngest sister shamelessly to make up for lost time. And she had been immensely relieved to have her mother back. When it came to her youngest and oldest daughters, Celebrian had few worries.

The twins, on the other hand... She has heard the tales of their unrelenting grudge against the orcs, their decades-long hunt that had nearly consumed them. It was not just Elrond who had been concerned about them – everyone who knew them had worried, from their kin in Lothlorien and the Greenwood to even those elves of the valley who knew them only in passing. Even their mother and sister’s return had not fully healed the damage. She felt that it was really their time travelling with Anariel that had begun to salve their wounds.

Celebrían had been immensely relieved that Anariel’s relationship with her older siblings had not suffered more for her time in California. Sundered so long from her kin at such a young age, it was possible that she might have never recovered from the lack of the family bonds most elves took for granted. She and Elrond had said nothing of their concerns to their daughter, however, choosing instead to wait and observe when they had first returned.

Anariel had been slightly standoffish for a few minutes after the first introductions – she recalled nothing at all of her older brothers or sister, and Elrohir’s typically boisterous welcome had taken her aback. Fortunately, her trust in her mother had been strong enough not to question her abrupt change from oldest of two to second youngest of five. Her outgoing and friendly nature allowed her to quickly recover from the surprise and be pleasant if not overly warm to the twins.

Elrohir and Elladan had been very upset in those first days to discover that not only did their adored baby sister not remember them – or their language – at all, but that she had in the years she had been away acquired siblings of choice in Xander and Willow. Fortunately, they had concealed it well from Anariel, but it had been easy enough for Celebrian and Elrond to see. For all their years and wisdom, the twins had needed their parents’ reassurance that they had not been wholly displaced in their sister’s heart.

Much of Celebrían’s time those first few days back had been spent in comforting her sons, doing her best to not only heal what she could of the damage inflicted by an absence of nearly three yeni, but to help them understand Anariel. Tindomiel had been in many respects easier for them to bond with. Not only did she take to Sindarin almost instantly, at only 14 – and precious little of that time real – she was now not just ‘the little sister’ but ‘the baby’ and perfectly happy to bask in the attention of her big brothers.

As Celebrían had expected, Anariel’s facility with weapons had been the key to reconnecting with her brothers. Anariel had been happy to have sparring partners whose abilities better matched her own, if somewhat less pleased to discover how much her brothers felt she had yet to learn. Xander, Willow, Anya, and Tara all seemed relieved to discover the twins were more than happy to take over their sister’s training. Celebrían could only imagine they had been picturing themselves taking turns as the practice dummy of the day indefinitely.

Their sudden trip to Lothlorien while Arwen and Tindomiel came to an understanding seemed to have cemented their relationship – and proved once and for all to the boys that while Anariel might also regard Xander as a brother, they were definitely her big brothers and had an unshakable place in her world. Celebrian just wished they hadn’t had to cap it off by involving themselves in the largest battle in several centuries, resulting in the worst casualties an elvish army had suffered since the days of Sauron.

It was in light of their suddenly battle-hardened relationship that she had insisted that the boys were not adequate chaperones for Anariel for the duration of her grounding – such as it was, once her husband had finished defanging it. Grounding wasn’t really a concept among elves, since elflings in Ennor rarely ranged far from their parents prior to coming of age. It wasn't that she didn't trust her sons so much that she worried that they and Anariel would egg each other in when it came to rash decision making. Not a one of them would ever back down in the face of a fight.

If she had meant to drive them further together, it had certainly worked – the twins had gleefully aided and abetted Anariel’s brief but spirited campaign to be allowed to accompany Mithrandir and his hobbit friend at least as far as the Trollshaws. For Anariel had taken her mother’s reaction to the Battle of Five Armies with surprising grace, protesting the admittedly lax terms of her ‘grounding’ only in so far as wanting to accompany Master Baggins as far as the Trollshaws to assure the halfling’s safety. Between Mithrandir and Glorfindel, Celebrían had felt there were sufficient level-headed adults along to allow it.

Now that they have returned, Anariel's training regimen with Glorfindel would begin. Celebrían may not like that her daughter is a warrior, but she will see to it that Anariel is the best warrior she can possibly be. She meant her daughter to arrive in Aman on a ship, not through the gates of Mandos as so many of her forebears have.

She wondered what in Arda Anariel had done or said now to have discomfited her brothers so – particularly since it didn’t seem to bother their cousin in the least. Glorfindel looked as serene as ever.

It was not a long wait before she found out.

There was a quiet tapping at the door, accompanied by a quiet Nana? Are you busy? May I come in?

“Of course, Elladan,” she replied aloud. Even were I busy, I always have time for you, my son.

Her more thoughtful son entered the room looking troubled.

His brother was not with him, but the twins had discovered in their youth that they could effectively be in two places at once – one sitting sedately visible at an innocuous task, while mentally listening in on whatever mischief his brother was working. As they had matured, they began to put their trick to more responsible use, with one conducting a serious conversation while the other served as his backup. It made them formidable negotiators, as more than one opponent had discovered over the years.

Celebrían suspected they had decided to attack the problem from more than one angle – Elladan speaking to her while Elrohir pursued some other avenue of enquiry they had decided on together.

“Nana,” Elladan began hesitantly, “what was California really like?”

Celebrían was puzzled. After the initial reunion, when the boys had been full of questions about where they had been and how they had lived, she has occasionally spoken to her older children of California in passing, filling in anecdotes her younger daughters regard as settled history, or explaining what appear to folk of Imladris to be astonishing behavior or gaps in their experience such Tindomiel’s disproportionate excitement at winter snow or both her younger daughters’ utter bemusement at Tarnin Austa.

“What do you wish me to speak of, my son?” she asked, at a loss for where to begin.

Elladan did not answer immediately, and she could feel his uncertainty and even a hint of fear. She began to worry.

“Why does Anariel know so much of torture?” he asked at last, electing to be blunt.

Celebrían stiffened at the question. Her son made no pretense that this was a casual question – it directly related to whatever was bothering him.

They will finally have to speak of the Slayer, of what was done to Anariel, beyond merely the explanation her husband had given Arwen and the twins of her stunted growth. Her sons have embraced their sister’s abilities, but they have never questioned them. Perhaps they believed that it was normal in the world their mother and sisters had known for an adaneth of not quite twenty to be so lethal.

Celebrían was certain that if the situation had been reversed, if her sons had suddenly appeared in Sunnydale, Anariel would have been full of questions about how they had appeared and who or what had been responsible. The count of her years might not match her brothers’, but she already knew instinctively what they had yet to grasp – there was always a price for such gifts.

In Anariel’s case, the price had been her youth and innocence. Her height was merely the visible tip of the iceberg. If Celebrían ever got her hands on whoever had done this to her daughter, there would be a reckoning. Morgoth himself would tremble before her wrath.

“Why do you ask, my little one?” she replied gently, dreading what the answer might be.

The tale that came tumbling from his lips was less disturbing than she had expected, in truth. Disabusing her brothers of the notion that Maeglin Eölion could have held out in the face of relentless torture had not been what she thought to hear, but it was not as upsetting as some of the things Anariel might have said.

Celebrían did not delude herself that she knew all, or even most, of what her daughter had seen and done in Sunnydale. But she knew enough to understand that her daughter had seen things no elfling should have at her age. And she knew how much this would upset her older children, for she was certain they had no inkling of it. Anariel’s sunny disposition fooled many, and she was unlikely to have spoken to her older siblings in any detail of the darkness she had already faced.

Her son, despite his nineteen yeni, sounded very much an elfling wanting nana to tell him there were no orcs under his bed. Elladan might not want to admit it, but he had understood that for his sister to speak with such certainty, she must have seen torture – or possibly even experienced it herself.

She wished he were still an elfling. In those days, she could cuddle him and tell that it was all a bad dream. If she could only say that nothing so dark had ever touched the sister she knew beyond doubt he would give everything to protect. But she can’t. She will not lie to him – either about what she knows, or that if he wished to learn more, he would have to ask Anariel herself.

Elrond could hear the sound of swords floating up from the training yard long before he reached the balcony he usually watched from. He had meant to be out here sooner, but finishing the letter soothing Thranduil – and reassuring him that despite whatever Galadriel and Celeborn had said, Elrond did not hold him responsible for his daughter’s involvement in battle – had taken longer than he’d expected.

It was difficult to reassure someone of something you weren’t completely certain of yourself. He had certainly hoped that Thranduil, as a careful father himself, would be able to keep his littlest child out of trouble. (He’s slowly beginning to suspect that might be a task only incrementally less difficult than the one Thingol had set Beren.)

One of the strictures placed on his middle daughter after her return from Erebor – at her mother’s insistence – was daily training with Glorfindel. As she had only just returned the previous evening with her brothers from escorting Mithrandir and his hobbit along the more dangerous part of their road back to Hobbiton, this was her first session.

For an elf who wanted nothing more than to keep his family safe, watching first his sons and now his daughters learn the way of the sword has only ever been bittersweet at best. He understood they needed to be able to defend themselves, and his sons will always want to protect their younger sisters. There was comfort in knowing they would not be defenseless. But he had never enjoyed watching the process.

He can’t forget what he has seen swords do over the years, and how many of his kin have been on the receiving end.

Occasional instructions punctuated the clang of metal on metal ringing through the air.

“Mind your footwork!”

He would have preferred to train his daughter himself, but Celebrian had said flatly that her mother’s cousin was the best warrior in residence. She had allowed that her husband was second best only at his indignant look. To soothe his disappointment, she had offered that Elrond probably knew the spear better than Glorfindel, and that so far as she knew Anariel had no experience with spears.

It was not much comfort.

“You are dropping your shoulder. Again.”

He found his youngest daughter already leaning against the railing, watching her sister and Glorfindel sparring with a critical eye.

“Hi, Ada!” she greeted him cheerfully before returning to her observation.

At her tender age, she was nowhere near up to the level of instruction going on in the yard below – she knew little more than how to hold a sword properly. But she did have a fair eye for the fighting abilities of others, honed by hours watching her sister train in California.

“How long have you been watching, gil-nin?” he asked, ruffling her hair.

She shrugged.

“Maybe half an hour?” she offered. “I’m not really sure. Since whever Erestor got tired of my questions about the differences between Telerin and Sindarin dialects.”

Elrond smothered a proud smile.

His youngest child was already a scholar in the making. It was a relief to find that her skills, at least, would not cause her mother further worry. It was an even greater relief to discover that he had not missed her entire childhood. Unlike Anariel, she was yet reckoned an elfling, and would remain so for some years to come. Fourteen might be nearly adult for the edain, but for elves it was only early childhood. And her fourteen was not a normal fourteen at that.

Much like her older sister, her size did not match her years. Her hröa had been created with the edain in mind, and was thus much taller than any elfling would be at such a young age. To Elrond’s relief, the nearly two years since her return to Middle Earth had shown that Tindomiel's growth followed the elvish pattern, not the mannish. She would likely not reach her full adult height for another twenty to thirty years – and unlike her older sister, he judged her likely to be as tall as her grandmother.

“You know it is not only Erestor who can answer such questions,” he reminded her.

“I know, ada,” she chirped. “But he was there, and he did not seem to mind, so I asked until he said he had other things he needed to attend to. Then I came to watch and see how Buffy was doing.”

Elrond did not sigh aloud at hearing his middle daughter’s current preferred name. He did so hope she might accustom herself to her given name soon. But for now, it seemed to help that her younger sister humored her in the matter – for the twins flatly refused to use the California name any longer, and even Celebrían was trying to wean her away from it gradually.

“And how is your sister faring?” he enquired, watching closely.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Ok, I guess,” she said slowly, sounding troubled. “She’s definitely enjoying this, but I don’t think that was really nana’s point.”

Anariel did look to be holding her own, which was fairly impressive. The Balrog Slayer of Gondolin was not noted for going easy on his trainees - and Elrond knew Celebrían had made it very clear to Glorfindel that he was not to be soft on her daughter who had already managed to finagle her way into a major battle, no matter how little and adorable he thought she was.

“It looks as if she is not doing too badly,” Elrond observed, puzzled at the less than approving way his youngest was reacting.

Tindomiel sighed in exasperation.

“You need to stop holding back,” she called down into the yard.

Glorfindel frowned at being reproved by the child of Elrond who knew the least about weapons and fighting. Tindomiel’s own lessons in this area were as yet only with her father or brothers, and far more basic. She was not even permitted more than wooden training swords – much to her irritation, all her older siblings were in complete agreement with their parents on that subject.

“I am not trying to actually hurt your sister, Tinu,” he pointed out patiently.

Tindomiel snorted.

“You’re not the one I was talking to.”

All eyes turned to the petite blonde who was still unexpectedly pristine. Elrond knew the pair had been out here for over an hour. Normally Glorfindel would have dumped his opponent on their behind at least once by now, and more likely several times. But Anariel’s leggings and tunic showed no sign of contact with the ground – or anything else, for that matter.

“What?” she asked innocently.

Tindomiel rolled her eyes and switched to the California tongue.

“You’re supposed to be learning to fight better, Buffy. How is Glorfindel going to train you properly if he doesn’t know what you can do?”

To Elrond’s surprise, Anariel chose to reply in Sindarin. Usually if handed an excuse like this, she would speak California until reminded that her speech was much too fast for anyone other than her younger sister, mother, and the Scoobies to follow.

“I’m not holding back,” she protested. “I’m just protecting my sword.”

Elrond blinked. His youngest daughter gave her older sister a deeply skeptical look.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to protect the sword,” Tindomiel replied dubiously.

“But it’s so pretty!”

Elrond was about to protest that it was a perfectly normal training sword – which meant that though it was as carefully crafted as any other sword fashioned by elvish hands, it was blunter than those that would be used in earnest – but Glorfindel decided to expedite matters.

He launched himself at Anariel while she was distracted, forcing her to react without time to think.

The next few minutes were a dizzying blur of thrust, counter, and increasingly acrobatic movement as two warriors dropped any pretense of holding back and tried to gauge what the other could really do. Several times, it looked like the older elf had beaten the younger, but Anariel proved to be extremely adept at evading blows that would have prompted most Imladrim to yield.

The flurry of movement came to a halt only when Glorfindel abruptly stopped, and Elrond realized that his daughter had actually been nicked on the upper arm.

“Enough for today,” he declared, glancing at the trickle of blood on Anariel’s sleeve. Though he knew on some level that such training mishaps were inevitable, he wasn’t yet prepared to see his daughter bleeding.

To Elrond’s surprise, though that was clearly why Glorfindel had ceased his attack, his daughter didn’t even seem to notice her injury. Her face showed only pure delight.

“That was fun!” she exclaimed, turning to Glorfindel. “Why did you stop?”

Tindomiel looked at her father.

“That’s more like it,” she told him.

When Xander bounced into the library hangout, he was unsurprised to see he was the last one to arrive. The surprise was finding Buffy looking disgruntled, with Willow soothing her.

“Hey, party people, you will all be happy to hear that while we can’t have a white board, the glass dude said that making large panes of glass that we can mount on the walls is totally a thing that we can do,” he announced cheerfully. “Tara seemed pretty confident that they can work out some plant-based dyes that will wipe away clean, although we might need to settle for wet erase instead of dry erase. She’s working with Ivranil now to draw up a test plan for several different formulas that might suit.”

Willow smiled at the confidence placed in her betrothed. They’d decided to settle matters elven style, with a year-long engagement followed by a formal ceremony. The only real question was when Anya and Xander would follow suit.

“So,” Xander concluded, “In a week or so, we should have glass erase boards. And I think I’ve figured out a way we can mount maps and papers underneath so we can write over them- without having to take the glass down every time.”

The Scoobies had slowly been making the hangout room a working research room. Working by their standards, that was, meaning erasable writing surfaces among other things.

Besides the comfortable chairs, sofa, and cushions strewn around the room – which, with the exception of the fairly constant grouping around the fireplace, were frequently rearranged to meet the demands of whoever happened to be in the room at the time – they had a table large enough for all of them, plus Buffy’s brothers and sisters, to sit around comfortably. The cork board Xander made to pin things up on had come with a caution from both Lindir and Erestor about not pinning up old maps, new copies only.

Without copy machines, and none of them having developed the incredibly accurate hand copying skills the archivists of Imladris seemed to possess, Willow had rigged up a light box that would let them trace copies of maps and diagrams. She had occasionally remarked wistfully that she should have brought a printer to go with her laptop, but in general they were coping fairly well with the lack of technology.

Xander had taken charge of project Dry Erase when no one liked the idea of a chalk board, Middle Earth's current cutting edge in erasable writing surfaces. (“I miss chalk dust… said nobody ever,” had been Anya’s comment, which had pretty much closed that discussion.) Whiteboards were not a feature of Middle Earth, but they were willing to settle for something reasonably close.

“Why the less than cheerful Buff?” Xander asked.

Buffy’s look of frustration increased, and Willow shot him a reproving look.

“Glorfindel asked me what I’ve been trying to work up to researching, and when I told him, he dragged me off to Ada, and I am not allowed to do anything about it,” she told him morosely.

“Did they at least leave you any loopholes?” Xander asked wisely.

Buffy shook her head glumly.

“I’m not allowed to touch the ring,” she muttered.

Before Xander could suggest anything, she started ticking off restrictions.

“I’m not allowed to ask Bilbo about the ring, I’m not allowed to borrow the ring, I’m not allowed to take the ring anywhere, I’m not allowed to accompany the ring anywhere, I’m not allowed to get any of you to do any of that for me, and I’m not even allowed to talk about rings outside of Imladris or Lorien, or even those places if there are outsiders other than Mithrandir or Cirdan around, because we don’t want anyone else thinking about rings. In fact, the word ‘ring’ officially does not exist in my vocabulary in any language, even ‘California’.”

Xander let out an impressed whistle.

“Really covered all the bases, didn’t they?”

Willow nodded.

“It’s almost like the twins have tried the ‘loophole’ angle before,” she said with a barely suppressed giggle.

“Oh, I’m sure they have,” Buffy grumbled. “I didn’t recognize the advantages of being the oldest while I still had them! I always thought Dawn got away with everything, but I didn’t realize that when you’re the younger one, someone else has already demonstrated how to work the angles.”

In fact, it had been made explicit by her father that the twins had done just that on quite a few occasions, which was why he’d also added an all-encompassing ‘or any other way you think you’ve found to get around what we just discussed’ rider. She was well and truly stuck for it. She and Bilbo’s ring were pretty much banned from being in the same zip code. Or would be if elves had zip codes.

“Didn’t you explain how important you thought it was?” Willow asked sympathetically, judging that between her previous listening ear and Xander, Buffy had gotten the ranty part out of her system.

“I tried,” Buffy replied dejectedly. “Ada nodded, and said I raised some good points, and that he’d send word to Mithrandir that he should come to Imladris, but the way wizards are, who knows how long it’ll be before he gets the message, let alone gets here. And he’ll probably agree with Ada.”

“Didn’t they learn their lesson on giving the bad guy time to plan at Dol Guldur?” Xander wondered.

“Sort of,” Buffy said doubtfully.

“Sort of in the ‘not really’ way?” Willow clarified.

“Something like that,” Buffy sighed. “I mean, I get that elves aren’t mortal, so no rush on most things, but the Big Bad isn’t mortal either, so time’s not on anybody’s side here.”

“Actually, wouldn’t time be on the Big Bad’s side?” Anya asked, abruptly poking her head up from the couch by the fireplace, where she had been reading a volume of poetry. “Elves are leaving Middle Earth, while Men are scattered across several kingdoms and not exactly noted for acting together. So, forces of elvedom dwindling, forces of men dispersed, forces of darkness gathering and consolidating.”

“Which should make investigating Bilbo’s ring more urgent, not less,” Buffy agreed. “You’d think that, but I’ve been told that I’m still thinking like a mortal. Although, I did manage to winkle out of them that rings have bad mojo, and maybe even a will of their own. So not just anyone can carry them around.”

Anya frowned.

“Did they forbid you from keeping a watch to make sure Bilbo doesn’t suddenly run away to parts unknown?” she asked shrewdly. “That’s technically nothing to do with the ring, or investigating the ring. And if the ring really does have power, Hobbiton doesn’t sound like someplace it’s going to want to stay. Happy little farmers and local shopkeepers don’t offer much for it to work with.”

Buffy considered it. Anya had a point. It wasn’t exactly trying to get around what her father and cousin had discussed. And Bilbo had brought several chests of treasure back from his adventure besides the ring, so she could reasonably argue concern for his welfare, making sure that he wasn’t being robbed… especially since that excuse had already worked for her once.

She nodded.

“I think that might fly,” she said slowly. “The only question would be how to set the watch without it being us doing it. The Shire is too far for me to go until Mom decides I’m ungrounded.”

“I would think the Dunedain might be useful,” came a new voice, speaking Westron.

Buffy blinked. Up until now, her brothers had shown only polite interest in the alteration to the library workroom. Yet here they were.

“May we come in, little sister?” Elrohir asked, half mischief and half serious.

Buffy shrugged.

“Sure, why not? It’s not a top-secret clubhouse.”

“We overheard a certain former Lord of Gondolin explaining to our mother what crazy ideas her middle daughter gets, and it occurred to us that you might need some help,” Elladan continued, looking around curiously.

“Yes, and our help comes with the benefit that getting us to help you was not on adar’s list of ‘you may not’,” Elrohir pointed out with an impish grin. “I think he is not yet used to making those restrictions for anyone but us.”

“Do I owe you a favor or something?” Buffy asked cautiously.

Elrohir mimed being struck in the chest by an arrow, while Elladan shook his head in mock disappointment.

“Such suspicion in one so young, brother,” he sighed. “These are dark times indeed. Yes, you will owe us a favor. Though not a very large one. The Dunedain will soon be coming and going more often, and we share your concern about Master Baggins.”

Elrohir nodded.

“If you wish to repay us, we would like to be there for the meeting with Mithrandir. Though we do not doubt you would relay the proceedings to us afterward, it would be nice to hear things first hand.”

Buffy nodded. That should be doable. And if her brothers were on her side for this, they might be allies when she argued her case to the wizard. At the very least, they’d be good observers, and might catch details she missed.

“Fair enough.”

Her brothers grinned.

“We will just mention the little matter of the Shire needing eyes kept on it on our next trip,” Elladan said. “Which will be in a fortnight.”

With a cheerful wave and one last curious glance around the recently altered room, the twins departed.

Buffy glanced at the other three to find Anya smirking appreciatively, though it was a toss-up whether she was appreciating the exploitation of loopholes or the twins’ butts.

“As the other resident bad influence,” Xander spoke up, “I should just point out that you’re also not forbidden from researching. Somehow your dad overlooked that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Of course he did. Because as long as I want to research, I have to work on reading.”

She tossed another book Dawn had helpfully pointed out as being good for beginners at him – a Sindarin one with no Quenya words to trip them up– and picked up her own copy.

“Let’s go, study buddy o’ mine.”

The rest of the women laughed at Xander’s heartfelt groan.