Anya spent the next few weeks peacefully busy talking to assorted Elven crafters. Many of them used what they termed small magics in almost everything – to keep threads tight in spinning and weaving, to help dyes take evenly, to tan leather, to monitor the performance of herds and crops and baking. There were bits of magic to read the weather or the water currents, to know if the birds were scattering before something that could be a threat to an elf or human woman or just fleeing a falling rock or a falcon. Hints of magic to read trails and tell if a friend had passed this way recently. The magic as most used it wouldn't make the items, but it was another tool in the Elven arsenal for making their things glorious. For example, in addition to chisels and polishing cloths, magic had been used to help shape and polish the table and benches where she'd had her first meal in Rivendell.

Even the elves who just sought to lead ordinary lives – farmers, bakers, home-makers – used magic in almost everything they did. In some ways, it reminded her of life in Arashmahod. Very few of the bits they used took even as much magical strength as using magic to flip a light switch back in Sunnydale. With her mortal powers instead of demonic might, she would never be able to craft a ring that radiated power like the one Elrond wore, or a weapon that could harness the lightning. But keeping her threads tight, the dyes even, and knowing when the bread was done were all well within her ability, once she learned the little trick to it. Those little tricks weren't even difficult to learn, assuming you could use even a little bit of magic, which Anya was quite pleased to say she could do. Not a great deal of magic, and certainly not enough to be considered a mage or mage-crafter by elven standards, but enough magic for ordinary things. Maybe enough to become a healer who could use healing spells and enhance medicines.

Anya thought she could live here for a hundred years and still be learning new practical bits of magic. Anya had been wandering about, and asking questions, and so far every profession used small bits of magic to accomplish things. There were even tiny bits of magic to keep clothing from staining, make skirts and sleeves fall properly, and to lessen the tangles in hair! Elves here had actual look-pretty spells! And they were so easy to learn, once you accepted that you could do this, not just that it could be done. Anya had decided she would learn a reasonable selection of these spells as a priority. Looking like a frumpy drowned rat with frizzy hair next to all the perfectly pretty elves felt very old in short order, and she wanted to be done with those feelings.

The idea of making a life in Rivendell had serious appeal. Not just because all of the elves were so pretty. The whole place was pretty, and apparently the weather quite pleasant year round, with even the winters being rather mild. Not as mild as California, but far gentler than the winters of her own youth.

Should those other possibilities Lord Elrond had hinted at fall through, it was starting to look like Arwen and her scruffily handsome Ranger Strider were intending to become the King and Queen of a reunited Gondor and Arnor. They would then become King Aragorn and Queen Arwen, which made Anya wonder just how many names the man had, and why so many? Though King Aragorn did sound more dignified than King Strider. They'd both promised that once they were wed and ruled the reunited kingdoms, she would always be welcome there, and her advice would be heard, even if it wasn't heeded.

She'd been refreshing some of her practical skills, and between what she'd learned as a girl and her elven refresher-course, she should be able to make an acceptable living as a weaver or seamstress in any human community. She'd been studying herbs with a variety of elves as well, with the idea of moving into studying medicine and healing later. She would have been able to call herself a healer and midwife with what she knew now, based on how life had been in her youth, at least as long as she stayed within smaller human settlements. Not that she wanted to spend the rest of her life in a small human village, hoping they didn't get invaded by a more powerful rival, an enemy army, or hit by a vicious winter or nasty plague. It was a tolerable plan of last resort, but far from her first choice.

As she'd mentioned, it was good to have options.

"Do you play any instruments?"

The voice of Lord Elrond startled Anya from her thoughts. She was so startled that she flailed and the chair she'd been leaning and balancing on wobbled, nearly falling. Would have fallen, had Lord Elrond not caught her wrist in his hand. "Ahhh… I…" Anya could feel her face flushing, and wasn't sure if she was relieved to be spared the pain of landing on the floor or embarrassed that he'd had to catch her. She settled on yes to both. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here."

"My apologies for startling you," he helped her to her feet, his hand sliding from her wrist to cover her own hand.

For a long moment, Anya just looked at his beautiful eyes in his handsome elven face. It wasn't fair that he should be so handsome and powerful and seem nice. So perfect, so tempting… After a while, Anya realized she was staring, and blushed, looking from his face to their clasped hands. "I would forgive you a great deal more than startling me from my thoughts, Lord Elrond. As for music, I can keep a rhythm on a small drum, and sing as part of a general background. I'm afraid music isn't an area where I excel."

"But if you excelled in all ways, why would you need anyone else around?" Lord Elrond raised their hands, brushing what might have been a kiss against her fingers. "I find your company quite enjoyably refreshing."

Anya wasn't certain what to say, but she could feel herself blushing even more. Part of her mind was charging into vivid, steamy imaginary romps, with clothing discarded and a few ideas involving flexibility, good balance, and the support of a few bits of furniture. She wanted to inspect his body for battle-scars, since she'd learned he'd fought in a number of situations, most far less drastic than the long and terrible campaign against Sauron. She could have traced each callus on his elegant hand, identifying several from sword-work, one from archery, a hint of a quill callus from writing, and traces left from holding the reins of riding animals, most likely horses, though one of the books she'd read said the elves of a place called Greenwood rode on giant… she wasn't sure if the exact translation would be elk or deer, but the illustration firmly placed the creatures in that family.

Certainly not the hand of someone who did no more than rule from a luxurious home.

These were very interesting thoughts, Anya admitted. But they weren't likely to help her circumstances. He was handsome, and powerful, and capable, and charming and pretty – capable as a warrior and she'd bet with magic as well. She'd realized she was becoming more and more fascinated by the attractive Lord Elrond. But what could she do? She'd tried to learn more about him, hoping to discover some flaws, some obligation to render all her fanciful imaginings impossible instead of just unlikely and potentially rude.

While he certainly wasn't what everyone would want, even Buffy and Willow would have admitted he was very nice to look at, and had a delightful voice. Anya hadn't found anything to chase her away. Everything she learned just made him seem more interesting. And… why had he come looking for her anyhow?

"Since you probably didn't intend to startle me, what brings you here?" Anya hadn't let go of his hand.

"Several of the musicians were planning to perform after the evening meal. I thought you might enjoy the songs, there might even be dancing," his voice was soft, perhaps more inviting than normal. In fact, had the corner of his lips just twitched into something almost like a smile?

Anya felt as if everything inside her was focusing on this one attractive man… elf. "I think I'd like that."

"Perhaps you'd care to freshen up before the meal? I would not make demands, but perhaps the dress in the colors of cream and honey? I think the color goes well with your hair," he murmured, hand still holding hers.

Anya made a sound of agreement, her mind spinning. Dancing… he made it sound like he might be willing to dance with her. She wasn't sure she could resist the temptation.

It wasn't until she was in her own room, her hand feeling oddly cold that words flickered through her memory. Before D'Hoffryn had sent her away from Sunnydale, he'd given a fare-well. He'd said… oh. He'd said he wished her the best of luck in everything. Did that mean….

Strider finding her had been quite fortunate. The elves seemed to be nice as well as lovely to behold. She'd been treated as a welcome guest. It all seemed so pleasant, so good. And she'd been trying not to get too comfortable, trying to have plans for when things soured, when her welcome wore thin. But… D'Hoffryn was powerful, on a scale she wasn't sure she really understood even having been one of his Vengeance and Justice demons for a thousand years. Could his wish for good luck be responsible for all of this?

And if so, how far would that luck go?

End part 10.