By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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Home Again

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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.