By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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The Shadow of the Past

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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.