By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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Into The Woods

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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.

 

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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?”