Title: And Anya Makes Three, part 3
Disclaimer: I own nothing but an ’89 Cadillac Eldorado with a broken tape deck, and you’re welcome to it.
Rating: Hard R, perhaps even NC17 if you’re squeamish.
Pairing: Elladan/Anya/Elrohir. No slash.
Placement: Jossverse: Takes place not long after that episode where Spike and Anya boff each other for comfort from their misery. Ringverse: a few thousand years before the events of the Ring.
Summary: Broken-hearted by Xander’s leaving her at the altar, Anya is summoned to Imladris to wreak vengeance but can’t seem to focus—she’s too distracted by her own troubles to get the job done. Can her friends, the sons of Elrond, help get her back on track?
And Anya Makes Three, part 3
The next decade was a bit stressful for Anya. She was always being called away for vengeance, and as time went on she found herself more and more reluctant to leave the twins. She found her vengeance to be more and more lackadaisical as time wore on, only giving a boil or two to men for whom it had been specified a plague of such, and once she was so distracted by her need to return to Elrohir and Elladan that she’d inadvertently turned one fellow into a Frenchman when his ex-wife had specified he be made a frog.
“Oh, like there’s that much of a difference,” she griped when D’Hoffryn had sent her a very unhappy memo about that last one.
“Your work ethic just isn’t what it used to be,” scolded Halfrek during one of their lunches. “All you care about is getting back to those elves of yours.” She replaced her teacup on the saucer with an agitated clink. “And you won’t even share. I mean, do you really need two all the time? You could spare one of them for me once in a while. The uglier one, even… Elladan, isn’t he called?”
Anya rolled her eyes. Hallie was always trying to get her to lend one of the twins to her for the evening. The other demon simply couldn’t understand that not only were they not Anya’s pets, as she seemed to persist in believing, but that even if they wanted to be loaned out on a lonely-hearts mission of mercy Anya would be devastated.
She had grown to love them dearly, each for their own personality. Elrohir was sensitive and deep, always writing poetry and singing, especially when he tended his beloved horses. Elladan, on the other hand, was more practical-minded and kept his twin grounded. Together, all three were a mighty team. The twins were profoundly happy they had found a female to accept both of them together, and Anya was pleased as punch to have not only one incredibly sexy elf to give her orgasms, but two. For the first time in her lengthy existence, her sex life was perfectly satisfactory.
And there was something else, as well. Anya’s lips curved in a secret smile. She had told no one yet, not even the twins, but she was simply bursting with the news… whispering into Halfrek’s ear, she grinned to see her friend’s face slacken into an expression of sheer astonishment.
“Which one’s is it?” the other demon demanded when she had regained the power of speech.
Anya shrugged. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “And there’s no real way to tell, either. But it doesn’t seem to matter whose baby it is, they’ll both love it as their own.”
Hallie shook her head in amazement. “Good luck, Anyanka. When D’Hoffryn finds out, he’s going to be fit to be tied.”
She was right. That night they had just finished dinner and were about to commence with the usual dancing portion of the evening when D’Hoffryn himself appeared in the middle of the floor. “I wish,” he intoned in his impressive baritone, “to speak with Anyanka.”
Anya stood and darted toward him. “Out here,” she hissed, dragging him outside. “Are you trying to turn me into a pariah here?”
“Better you worry about becoming a pariah in demonic circles than elvish ones, Anyanka,” he warned, huffing a little as he tried to keep up with her rapid pace as she led him through the gardens to a remote spot. “Disturbing news has come to me.”
“Oh?” Anya asked, not really caring, as she squinted through the night to see if there were any elves lurking behind trees or bushes that might overhear their conversation.
“I have learned that you are breeding,” D’Hoffryn said flatly, red eyes fixed with cold intent on her face. “Is this true?”
“Fucking Hallie,” Anya breathed as realization and betrayal crashed over her. “It was Hallie, wasn’t it?” She crossed her arms over her chest and fumed. “I’ll kill her. I’ll turn her into a frog and have the Frenchman eat her legs while she watches. I’ll—“
“It was not Halfrek,” he replied, drawing his robes more closely around as he did when he wanted to look especially noble. “Do you think there are no quality control measures in place to ensure my agents are doing their jobs to my specifications? No, your little girl-talk this afternoon—“ he said the words as if they tasted bad “—was overheard and reported to me.”
He began to pace in a slow, stately circle around her. “You performance has slipped in the past few years, Anyanka. I had thought to cut you some slack since you were suffering from being slighted by that imbecilic human—oh, the irony—but it would seem that all that slack has resulted in your impregnation by elves.” He stopped and latched a beady glare on her. “Do you even know which one has done the deed?”
Anya threw up her hands and sighed. “Why is that so important to everyone? They’re freakin’ twins, and we’re all in this relationship together. It’s not as if they don’t know I’m doing the other one, after all. They’re there for it.” She frowned at her mentor and boss. “And since when did demons get so moralistic? Even Elrond accepted it after a few years; why is this so difficult for you?”
D’Hoffryn tilted his horned head to one side, studying her. “You were my best vengeance agent, Anyanka. It pains me to see you at such a pass.”
“Were your best agent?” Anya demanded. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what sort of pass am I at? I’m pregnant, so what? There’s lots of working mothers out there, why should I be any different?”
He gazed sadly at her. “Just the fact that you cannot see how ludicrous your situation is, that you see it as a desirable state, that you consider yourself a ‘working mother’—all these things point to your utter unsuitability to work in vengeance any longer.”
“What?” Her voice was shrill as she realized he meant to fire her. “You can’t mean—“
“You’ve gone soft, Anyanka,” D’Hoffryn told her. “You used to kill babies, and now you plan on bearing and nurturing one? No, no, no, no,” he continued, slashing his hand through the air. “This cannot be. I revoke my gift.” He reached out for her pendant of power, but halted just before he would touch it. “Your original form was human, yet now you stand before me as an elf. As a mark of respect for your many years of excellent service before you became mortal back in Sunnydale, I give you the choice: do you remain an elf, or will you return to being human?”
Anya, weeping, groped behind her for a seat and slumped onto a stone bench. “I—I’m too confused,” she whispered. “I can’t choose, not right now. Let me have a day or two to think about it.”
“I fear I cannot,” D’Hoffryn replied, the faint traces of warmth beginning to vanish from his voice. “You must decide now, or I will decide for you.”
Just as it had a decade earlier, an arm came around Anya and clasped her tightly. She dropped her hands from where they’d covered her face to find Elladan and Elrohir flanking her, Elrohir beside her on the bench and holding her, eyes soft, while Elladan placed himself between her and D’Hoffryn.
“You wish to be an elf, do you not?” Elrohir asked. “For if you are not, you shall live a mortal life and die, and Elladan and I shall pine for you when you are gone.”
“She shall not be made to do anything she does not want,” Elladan said grimly, silver gazed locked threateningly on D’Hoffryn.
“You think you can thwart me, elf?” the demon demanded, insulted that this creature thought to come between him and one of his agents of vengeance. “You would be vastly mistaken.”
“I would die to protect her,” Elladan declared. “As would my brother.” Elrohir stood, nodding, and his hand went to the long knife he wore at his side.
D’Hoffryn’s brow quirked, either in amusement or because he was impressed Anya could not be sure, and drew back his hand in the familiar posture of a demon about to strike.
“No!” she shrieked, and bolted forward to place herself between them. “Please, I’ve decided, I want to be an elf.”
D’Hoffryn continued to glare at the twins another moment before turning his gaze to Anya, and smiled coldly. “Glad I am you have come to a decision, but I have come to one as well.” Quick as a flash, he wrenched the amulet from around her neck, leaving a livid red mark where the chain scraped her. “There is no choice to be made. You are now human, and you shall die.” He smirked. “Go for the pain, I always say.”
Anya felt her knees buckle as the implication of his words set in, and was profoundly grateful for Elladan’s strong arm around her waist.
“Go now,” Elrohir commanded, his voice trembling with rage. “Go now.” D’Hoffryn smirked, and in a puff of smoke, was gone. The elf turned to his brother and the now-mortal woman he held, and pressed close. “Our love, there is aught you should now before you give in to despair,” he said, meeting his twin’s gaze over her head.
Elladan seemed to understand what his brother was asking, and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “You are not the only one given a choice.”
“What do you mean?” Anya said with a sniffle.
“We, as peredhil, are given the choice of the half-elven. Our father and uncle made it, our sister will have to make it. As will our children, I expect,” Elladan told her, and gave her a stern look as his hand covered the tiny mound of her belly.
Anya blushed with guilt. “I was going to tell you tonight,” she protested. “But all this happened first.” She waved a hand toward where D’Hoffryn had stood only moments before. “We can talk about that later, we have almost a year until the baby comes. But I want to hear more about this half-elven decision thing.”
Elrohir elaborated. “As we carry the blood of both elves and Men, we are given the choice to be counted as either race… we can live, immortal, eternally youthful, and join Mandos in his halls when we die, or as Men we can age and live short lives. When we perish, we shall travel on past this mortal coil to the limitless universe beyond.”
“You are now mortal,” he continued, “and I for one would be counted as a Man as well, so our souls would journey together after death. It is the choice made by our father’s brother, Elros, and one I would make as well.” He stared at his twin. “And you, Elladan? I know how dearly you prize being an elf. Would you give that up to be with Anya and I, even should it mean greeting your demise much sooner than you had anticipated?”
Elladan surveyed Elrohir, then Anya. Both their faces were apprehensive, and he knew neither wanted to push him to a choice in spite of how dearly they wished him to join them. “Yes,” he said at last. “for I love you both dearly, and life without you would be hollow for me. Best that I join you in death, rather than be separated from you in life.”
He slipped his arms around Anya and his brother, and Elrohir did the same from the other side. The elves began to speak, ancient words in Quenya that declared to the Valar that they had made their choice and would not be steered from it. Anya wept the entire time, tears of sorrow for their loss but also of immense joy—she might be out of a job, again, but this time she hadn’t been left at the altar again. They’d chosen her over eternal life—surely that meant they wouldn’t desert her?
“I pledge myself to you for the remainder of my life,” Elladan told her gravely, and Elrohir repeated the phrase. Anya wiped her face, refusing to be blubbering for this moment in her newly-shortened life, and said them as well.
“I love you,” she whispered. “And not just for the orgasms, but because you’re both wonderful. How could anyone ever choose between the two of you?” She hugged them both as tightly to her as she could. “I know I never could.”
Anya carried their child for eleven months in total, and when their daughter was born she had her fathers’ dark hair and her mother’s velvet-brown eyes. They named her Ataralassë, which meant ‘father’s joy’, and never did a name so suit a child: both twins doted on her, and on her brothers and sisters as well when they arrived in following years.
The twins went off to fight in the war of the Ring, and Anya was frantic the whole time they were away, but rejoiced in the passionate homecoming she lavished upon them for a full month upon their safe return. They laughingly accepted all her fervent ministrations and comforted her tenderly when she revealed how she’d feared for their lives, then proved to her in no uncertain terms how very hale and hearty they both were even after nearly ten years of marriage.
Just two years later, when their father and grandmother decided to heed the call of the Valar and travel West across the sea, it was Anya who soothed their despair at being separated from their beloved relatives. As they could no longer follow, having given up their elvenness, they would never again see their parents or grandparents once they stepped aboard Círdan’s great swan-ships.
For Elrond and Galadriel, it was an especially bittersweet parting, for Arwen as well had chosen to be counted among Men. “Please,” Elrohir entreated his father, “Please give this to Naneth, please let her know she lives in our hearts always.” He pressed a fat bundle of drawings of their children, of letters, of poems and songs, into Elrond’s hands.
Finally they were away. Not many years later, Celeborn wearied of Lórien without his wife, and joined his grandsons and their wife in Imladris. Anya was a little wary of the ancient silver-haired elf but soon came to enjoy his company, for unlike most other of the Eldar, he was impossible to embarrass or shock and even rather enjoyed her blunt comments. He delighted in his great-grandchildren and was very involved in their rearing and education.
Elladan was the first to die. Now that his body was aging, a pack of wargs had been able to overcome him, where in his prime he would have demolished them all without raising his pulse. Elrohir was able to kill the rest before they could tear his brother to pieces, and sobbing, he brought Elladan’s body back to Imladris.
Anya had collapsed at the sight of one of her husbands, limp and lifeless, in the arms of the other. Once she awoke, however, she bore the loss with a fortitude that surprised her. “The others need me,” she muttered to herself. “I can fall apart later.”
After his twin’s death, Elrohir was but a shadow of himself, and it wasn’t a decade before his tender, poetic soul was laid to rest beside his brother’s. Surrounded by her now-grown children and her grandfather-in-law, Anya said she thought she might go south to Gondor and visit Arwen. “It’s time for the kids to get jobs and fall in love and have kids of their own,” she said. “There’s nothing for them here; Imladris is just a memorial to a way of life that’s dead and gone.”
Celeborn could not dissuade her, nor could he convince her to let him accompany her. “No, you need to go to Valinor,” she insisted. “You were supposed to follow Galadriel there years ago, just think how pissed off she’ll be, waiting for you, and you’re this late.”
And so the Silver Lord went West to the Havens to join his wife, and Anya took her children and went south. There she found Lóthlorien silent as a tomb, utterly deserted and eery. She was very glad to leave it far behind, and gladder still when her old bones alit from her horse within the gates of Minas Tirith.
Her sister-in-law greeted her warmly, and her children went off to meet up with their cousins. Anya felt the sun on her face and allowed Arwen to link hands and draw her into the palace to greet Elessar. This was not home, but it would do.