Over the next few days, Anya tried to push away that seed of unwelcome emotion. To smother or drown it before it could grow from a tiny bit of emotional interest – as opposed to purely hormonal and passionate – into an emotionally strangling mess. She'd seen all too much of what that sort of intense passion could lead to, even setting aside her own experiences with Olaf and Xander. A thousand years of vengeance and pain spoke volumes for heartache.
Instead, she tried to learn more about Rivendell. To learn more stories about why people would be teased about berry pies or yellow flowers. She threw herself into relearning how to cook with wood-fire ovens, clay encasing before burying in hot coals, and in pots or spits over open flames.
"After all, I can't go back to where I was before. My future is in this world, perhaps in Rivendell, perhaps elsewhere. I need to be able to seize that future with both hands and survive it," Anya had explained.
Anya didn't limit herself to refreshing her memories of how to cook without the technological conveniences of Sunnydale, like gas stoves or electricity, refrigerators and microwaves. She would need to sew fabric into clothing, or at least mend things once she had them. She spent a bit of time helping some elven weavers, making the most of her time by using a few leading questions to get them to start talking about things. Weaving was always better with gossip, and if she were to stay in this area, she needed to know who had what skills, who didn't get along with who, what the local causes of arguments and friction might be. Perhaps no less important would be things about who was courting who, how well those possible matches would be received among the community…
A weaver gowned in pale greens snickered over the way that Arwen could get so dewy eyed about that handsome Ranger and still not realize that her affections were clear to anyone that beheld her.
A weaver in pale gold countered, "You should see the way she reacts when someone else smiles at him. Like a cloud blocking the sun, and then she gets quiet, as if she thinks that without speaking of it, nobody will know that she is not pleased.
"But her father does not approve. Not even with him being of the Dunedain instead of the more common, fleeting humans," offered a weaver in dark blue. "Arwen does not know if she will cross her father's will, or the desires of her heart."
"Either path offers sorrow," mused a woman clad in grey, embroidered with light blue and silver.
Anya took a breath, and then asked, "How many sorts of rude would it be to ask what Arwen's mother thinks about the situation?"
"Ohhh… that's a tragic tale in its own right," sighed the gold-clad weaver. "The fair Celebrain departed over the sea before the handsome Estel could be born. She never had the chance to meet the one her daughter has chosen."
Anya blinked, considering the elf-woman's words. Elves seemed to use the phrases 'departed over the sea' or 'passed through the Grey Havens' for those who weren't here anymore. It sounded remarkably like a way to refer to the dead, without using the word 'dead.' While she still didn't understand how Strider the handsome and very masculine Ranger could have found himself with such a feminine nick-name, she wasn't going to worry about that. The key point, Elrond's wife who had been Arwen's mother was gone, dead unless there was something entirely different about these elves. Likely dead, certainly gone where nobody returned from… meaning that if anything happened, it wouldn't result in a jealous wife.
Blast it all, she needed to stop hoping for things to happen. The fact that he was handsome, and rich, and powerful, and handsome, powerful, and somewhat available didn't mean that she had a chance. Listening to these women talk had made it clear that one of the obstacles for Arwen and her handsome ranger was the fact that Arwen was an elf, and Strider wasn't. Elrond was an elf, and Anya wasn't – wasn't even a highly respected and skilled member of their community the way Strider seemed to be. Why should she have any better chance than their relationship?
"As much as Lord Elrond does not seem to approve, has he forbidden their pledge?" asked the grey-clad weaver.
"When I was speaking to Arwen the other day," Anya hesitated, suddenly unsure if there should be some sort of respectful title for Arwen, "She said that her father refused to give his blessing until… let me make sure I remember this right… Until such time as the lands of Gondor and Arnor are united under the Line of Isildur."
"Ohhhh," the gold clad weaver sighed over her threads. "Such a sad thing. Those lands have been sundered for generations."
"Not encouraging, but hardly the same as an outright refusal," countered the weaver in dark blue. "It may well be that Lord Elrond has offered those words as a challenge, that our princeling prove himself worthy and devoted to Arwen before they might wed. How many legends and songs have quests to prove a handsome man worthy of his lady-love, or to win her family's blessing? If they want to be together enough to reshape the politics of the lands of men, then how could he deny them?"
"If they want to be together that much, would his refusing to give his blessing even matter?" Anya murmured.
"Things would certainly be easier with the support and approval of her family," sniffed the weaver in gold.
"But there have been those who pledged and wed without the support of their families. Those tales tend to have happier endings if the families don't object enough to feud or war over the couple," the grey weaver chuckled, "Of course, the ones that don't end with a happy couple being together and raising a family are so much more interesting to listen to…"
Anya couldn't argue with that idea. Stories about blood, anger, vengeance and desperate efforts to escape, destroy, or survive were always more interesting than 'and they lived happily ever after', though she supposed that 'and they lived happily ever after' might be more enjoyable to experience. She considered some of the many, many, many couples that she'd seen over her centuries. "Meaning no offense to either of them, but… Are they likely to try to reunite those lands, or are they likely to moon about, talking about their tragic love that is denied, and how wonderful things could be if only. I've seen some people who would far rather linger around talking about their tragic forbidden love rather than do something to make it happen."
The woman in blue chuckled, "I've seen more than a few of those as well. Sometimes it is a sign of youth, and they grow out of that in a hundred years or so."
"He isn't one for mooning about and talking about how tragic his life is, or looking sorrowful and mourning that which can never be. I think he's likely to do something, and as smitten as he is with the lovely Arwen, he'll go off to try to fix things," mused the weaver in the pale green dress.
Anya nodded, thinking that she really needed to figure out these women's names. "Any ideas how that will go?"
"It could become a tale of bravery, courage, love and devotion changing the world, with love triumphant and a happy ending. Or it could wind up with another love-struck would-be hero traveling out to win his fair lady and dying horribly," the woman in blue shook her head, dark hair twitching around her ankles. "I think that we've seen enough tragic endings that we'd prefer the sweet happily ever after."
Anya could understand that as well. Perhaps it was time to have a few words with this Strider the Ranger, a name that she preferred to Estel for the very manly man. And maybe a few more words with Arwen to meddle just a bit…
End part 7.
Anya wandered around the woods near Rivendell, searching for Strider. He was somewhere near the settlement, but everyone that she asked kept saying that they'd seen him just a bit ago, or that he should be by later. Frustrating man.
More frustrating was that after several hours of searching for him, and shooting an evil bunny to roast for lunch, he just sauntered right into the clearing where her bunny was roasting. As if there was nothing wrong. Smiling.
Anya gave him a small glare, "You can be a very frustrating man. And difficult to find."
"My heart and my pledge belong to the lady Arwen," his voice was calm as he settled across the fire from her. "Why have you been seeking me?"
"Despite your rugged manly appeal, I'm not planning to seduce you away from your elven lady," Anya hid a smile as he choked at her blunt words.
"Ahh… thank you?" he stammered.
Bewildered rangers, Anya decided, were rather cute – in a rugged and masculine way. The way that he clearly had no idea how to predict what she would do was amusing. Gesturing at the roasting rabbit, Anya spoke again, "Have some rabbit. I've been assured that even among the elves, sharing food is acceptable, polite and not sexually compromising between conspirators."
"Are we conspiring together?" he produced some bread from under his cloak, and offered her a portion. "What might we be conspiring to accomplish?"
"It seems that Lord Elrond will not give his blessing to the idea of you and Arwen marrying until such time as the lands of Gondor and Arnor are united under the appropriate leadership. Since only a small child or a fool would rely on currently independent nations combining to make their life easier, outside forces will need to make those lands reunite. As the ones who would most immediately benefit, I think part of those outside forces should be you and Arwen. Unless the pair of you have decided that making sweeping political changes to secure outside approval is too much work and have opted to either elope together in defiance of her father or to give up and select mates with less demanding relatives, you two have the most to gain from those changes. As a long-time meddler, I'm going to help you. You become an influential king, you have your beautiful wife, and the pair of you live happily after lives together." Anya nodded to herself, figuring that her explanation should make sense to him.
"How does this plan benefit you?" he asked, carving at the rabbit with a knife. He offered the first slice to Anya.
"Honestly, I can't be certain of a long-term welcome here in Rivendell. I need to plan ahead for if and when that welcome runs out. While I've had a few thoughts, none of them have enough support to be more substantial than pleasant dreams at the moment. Once you become a king, you'll have a lot that you're responsible for managing. Kings need advisors, and not all of those should have the same background and viewpoint. When you become king, your council should include a few sensible women, and a small child." Anya wondered which obvious question he'd ask first.
"And you think that you could become one of those sensible women," That wasn't a question. Carving off another slice of rabbit, he asked, "Why a small child?"
"A child old enough to listen through long meetings and young enough that they'll point out the glaringly obvious gaps in explanations. Things like… oh, who keeps track of the tax money, or what does this person do, or if all of the catapults are aimed at the front gate, who's watching the back door? The big obvious things that grown-ups don't always see, and even less often mention. Young enough not to be quiet because it's rude to point out the rich advisor or the powerful general's failings in public. Young enough not to care if it's the king's plan with a big gap in it." Anya wondered if anything else from the often-amusing and highly practical list of tips for evil overlords – and why was such a simple, obvious resource always ignored? – might be useful for her in this world.
"The blunt and occasionally unwelcome honesty of a child," he smiled, and looked at her. "I can see the wisdom of that."
"Arwen said that her father wants those lands reunited before he'll give his blessing. He didn't say that you had to do it alone." Anya felt quite pleased by the look of surprised pleasure on Strider's face. She didn't mention that meddling for good, or at least, not for vengeance, felt rather nice. Warm and fuzzy.
"Perhaps that is another example of pointing out the gaps in plans and assumptions," Strider mused. "When kinsmen set challenges to prove a suitor's worth, it is traditional for them to be challenges met alone. Of course, they are also normally such things as the slaying of a great beast, or the retrieval of long-lost heirlooms."
"If you had the power to reshape national politics on your own, would he dare oppose your relationship?" Anya resisted the urge to gloat and dance. There would be time for that later, when there would be no witnesses.
Strider chuckled, "Lord Elrond? I think he might. He is a very stubborn elf, and one used to being responsible in the face of grave opposition."
"Does this tie in to the very old and obviously unpleasant to Lord Elrond stories about the… Major Alliance of Men and Elves? Did I get the name right?" Anya frowned, trying to remember the phrasing.
"The Great Alliance, and yes." Strider paused, carving more slices of rabbit for them both. "What do you know of those times?"
"They were long ago, he was there, the memories are ugly, painful, and he doesn't want to talk about them. And whatever happened changed the political maps," Anya summarized.
"The Alliance came about due to a dreadful darkness that sought to take control of the fate of the world and all the races. Sauron, with his stronghold in the heart of Mordor, and his armies of goblins and orcs. I am not one of the great musicians, or the best student of history, but I can tell you some of the stories," Strider offered.
Yes," Anya looked at him, wondering just how much he knew, and if there were any other big connections that might be useful for her. "Please."
Storytime began, covering the Great Alliance of Men and Elves, the bloody battles, the slow desperate retreats, the feeling of near-hopelessness as it seemed that there was no way to defeat such a powerful enemy with so many powerful forces. Armies of goblins and orcs that never seemed to suffer the diminishment from the battle-casualties that plagued the men and elves – what did he do, keep a stock of dehydrated minions in a spare room in his evil fortress? Scary powerful undead sorcerers bound to his will by magic rings. Bravery, courage, valiant yet painful deaths…
"Wait a minute, what's this about him calling Isildur his kinsman? Wasn't Isildur the king of Gondor and Arnor? Your many generations great grandfather?" Anya blinked, trying to keep the tales straight in her head. "How is he connected to Elrond, other than a common foe in this great war?"
"Elrond and his brother Elros Tar-Minyatur were twins, and carried botht he blood of the elven-kind and of a line of respected mortal chieftains. The Valar gave them the choice to be counted among the men or among the elves. Elrond chose to be among the elves, and his brother among the men, and so Elros became the first king of the Númenor. Isildur, ruler of Gondor and Arnor, was one of the generals of the Alliance. While they defeated Sauron, Isildur was slain on his journey home, and eventually his kingdom was sundered," Strider explained.
"And there were a lot of generations between you and Isildur," Anya murmured.
"Quite a few," Strider agreed.
Anya didn't mention that Elrond having a bit of human ancestry made a few of her ideas for maybe-futures seem a little less impossible. They had gone from near-impossible for anything other than maybe an enjoyable affair to still highly unlikely to be possible, with even the passionate affair as not too plausible. The histories also suggested a few more possible motives for Elrond's difficult challenge. Ensuring that his daughter would be well-provided for if Arwen and Strider married – kings could provide all sorts of things. Having his many-many greats nephew restored to the power and prominence that his family had once held. Strengthening family ties – human history was full of cousins related far more closely than Arwen and Strider wedding for political ties and profit. It might even be that he wanted Strider to work for Arwen to make certain that they both appreciate things more, after all, how many appreciated the good things that just fell into their hands?
"This will give you and Arwen something to talk about before you have your restored kingdom and wedding to occupy your time," Anya grinned. "I'm sure that she can help with the planning and the details."
Strider grinned, ducking his head in an effort to hide the faint blush over his face.
Anya doubted he needed much encouragement to spend time with Arwen.
End part 8.