By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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Pulling Back The Curtain

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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.”