A Far Distant Shore
Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13
Category: Humour, Drama, AU
Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit, Orophin/Elladan, Elrond/Rumil, Legolas/Gimli, Elrohir/Frost, Mauburz/Rhimlan, Amaris/Ilinuil, and others
Warnings: Slash (means: two male Elves in love), Mpreg, Violence
Summary: Frost remembers the past, Mauburz gets a gift, and Gimli learns that Elves are sweet with a nasty green center.
Notes: Meadbunny Rating: 4

Frost was dreaming, remembering his past.

He had walked for weeks after escaping the great nameless fortress of horror, where he had seen his family torn apart. He was not sure how he escaped, only that he had awoken on a pile of discarded bodies; Elves he had once known, now half-transformed into hideous monsters, or starved to death.

He was only a small Elfling, and more than anything his little heart cried out for the warmth and safety of his Sia. But somewhere inside of himself, he understood he could not wait there for him. He had to run away, as fast as his weakened little frame would take him. He staggered across the dead plains, choking on the poisonous air, making his way steadily south. The little Elf traveled as his Sia did, loping along, covering astonishingly long distances for one so small. But he was Thrayre-Iy, and though he lacked the grace and beauty of other Elves, he had great stamina, and a long, rangy frame to carry him far.

He was glad when the dirty air and dead ground gave away to grass and blue sky, though it was weeks before he saw another living being. He found small streams in which to fish, and hunted mice in the long grass. He had, in fact, just caught a mouse when he suddenly realized he was not alone. He looked up, yellow-green eyes blazing. He was thin and naked and dirty, with a small rodent clenched in his teeth. Staring back at him was a tall, fair being, long gold hair falling down his back, clad in green and grey. He was holding a dead pheasant, and was staring at the little wild thing with a look of astonishment on his face. Frost tossed his head back and snapped down the mouse, then dropped playfully to his left shoulder, greeting his elder as he had been taught.

The Glaur-Iy stared back at him, not certain if he was amused or disgusted or just plain puzzled. He walked over to the dirty little white thing, crouching before him and reaching out a hand. Frost then did what all good Plains-Elves do when approached by overly familiar strangers; he bit him. The Elf yanked his hand back and sighed.

“And whose little waif are you? Are you an Elf?”

Frost stared back, uncomprehending. He looked from the Glaur-Iy to the dead plains from whence he had come. Sia was not coming, he realized. Sia would never come. Nor would Aie, or his two siblings. He looked at the Golden Elf and pointed back the way he had come.

“Sia,” he said, and started to cry.

The Elf had no idea who or what Sia was. All he knew was he had a skinny child who was out eating rodents, apparently without a mother. He picked him up gently.

“Come along, little dirty one. I am Finglas, I shall take you home. You shall keep my wife Leofalin and I company.”

‘Home’ was up a tree. Not a good place for an Elf built for running vast distances. Frost never did get the hang of living in a talan. But his new Nana and Ada did what they could to accommodate their child. They had no children of their own, and showered him with toys and love. They taught him their language, their ways, and raised him. However at night, when the small Elfling they named Mir was asleep, they held lengthy discussions about just what exactly he was. He looked like an Elf, though he could not climb at all. His bones were inordinately long, and his eyes the most fearsome and un-Elvish shade of hell-yellow they had ever seen. His habit of biting was truly unspeakable. The child bit anyone, regardless of station. And his behavior towards the ladies of the village was enough to make one fade of embarrassment. It was as though he had never seen a female. The first thing they had to do, both Finglas and Leofalin agreed, was to get him to stop putting his head down the bodice of every lady he met.

“You could not have found a normal child?” queried the Lady of their small village, her tone icy as the odd little waif shoved himself headfirst down her best gown.

“Sorry m’Lady,” said Finglas, retrieving his adopted child. “But this is the one the Valar saw fit to grace us with. He means no harm.”

The Lady Ithilmirial was neither amused nor convinced. “I dare say Yavanna was into her cups one day.”

Yavanna was sore tempted to correct the Lady on this point, but felt it was worth the insult to see Manwë roll on the ground, howling with laughter.

“I will not be blamed for this!” she said, trying to look stern through her amusement. But by now, with Lórien and Tulkas joining Manwë in his hilarity, she could only give into laughter herself.

As time went on, Mir was finally convinced that this was not the proper behavior for a young Elf. His behavior remained strange, but it did not seem to keep him from making friends with many of the Elves in the village, young and old. The Elders appreciated his ability to pay heed to what they taught him, and the children delighted in how he never wearied of joining in their mischief. Still, all were in agreement that Mir was a different sort of Elf.

The dream shifted, and Frost recalled moving through the grass with Finglas, seeking pheasant. His Ada was armed with a bow and arrow, and that bothered him a great deal. He recalled prowling alongside his Sia, watching him hunt boar, and the words he had spoken.

“Only poor hunters use weapons to feed themselves,” said Sia. “Weapons are to protect oneself. To hunt, we use only what weapons the Faery Queen gifted us, and we use them well.”

Frost did not want Ada Finglas to dishonour himself, so when he took aim at a goose, Frost tugged his shirt.

“I catch it for you, Ada. Sia show me. Let me hunt for you.”

Finglas was taken aback, but smiled. There was game aplenty in these lands; he could afford to let Mir chase off a goose. “Very well, penneth. Go catch him.”

Frost slunk off into the tall grass, edging around the pond towards the unsuspecting goose. He could feel the grass scrape over his bare flesh, occasionally lashing his face, but Sia had taught him to ignore that. Sia taught him to focus, and pay no heed to any other distractions. Then the goose came into view, and he hunkered down into the long grass, watching, waiting. Then he leapt.

The goose had no time to react before Frost was on it, pinning in to the ground and snapping its neck. He could smell the damp feathers; feel the soft, warm body. Then he launched himself forward once more, lunging straight forward to capture a second bird. He fell heavily into the water, plunging beneath the surface with the goose, getting his teeth around its neck and breaking it. Then he surfaced and swam to shore, dragging himself out and shaking himself off. Proudly, he gathered up the pair of geese and pranced back to his Ada, showing them.

“See Ada? I hunt for you! You not have to use weapons and be disgraced! I hunt for you!”

Finglas stared at the child, then slowly sat down in the grass, his expression strange. For the first time in his life, but sadly not the last time, an Elf looked at Frost with trepidation.

“What are you?” Finglas whispered.

Frost could still hear those words, centuries later, could still feel their sting in his young heart. He felt the tears burn his eyes, not sure why his adopted father was not proud of him. “I hunted for you,” he said, his voice quavering.

“Who showed you how to do that?”

“Sia showed me.”

“Who is Sia, Mir?”

Frost was very little, and had no way to explain it to Finglas. “Sia,” he said, thinking that should be obvious enough. “I live with Sia and Aie, in the village. Before we went to the bad place.” He wiped his eyes with one little white hand. “I got away but Sia never came.”

Finglas reached out and hugged the little Elfling, comforting him. Perhaps Mir was one of the Avari, and his little clan met an ill fate. A strange child, but an Elf nonetheless.

“I am very proud of you, Mir. Let us go show Nana what you did.”

Frost nodded, but was unconvinced. Ada was not proud, he was afraid, though the child had no idea why. They brought the geese home and said nothing about how they caught them. Frost never hunted for his Ada again.

The years rolled past, and he grew, becoming larger and more powerful than the Elves around him. He was tall and rangy, his long bones inefficient for climbing trees. He moved out of the family talan and dug himself something of a den under an ancient oak. By now tales abounded about what he was, that he was a cross between an Elf and some feral creature, or some strange creature of Morgoth, led from his evil ways by the love of his Elven parents, but still feral. Frost had heard all of the tales, but paid little heed to them. His memory of his life with his true parents out on the ruined plains of Hathil-Loth-Mahr was distant and unclear. He did not know what he was, and as he finished digging out his home and lining it with furs, branches and woven mats, he decided he did not care. He was no Glaur-Iyre, that was a given. But he had a home, and friends, and was content to be the local oddball.

Gaelemir was his closest friend, but lately he had been off courting a young Elf-Lord named Ilinuil, so he rarely saw him anymore. His other friends, for the most part, had bonded, started families, and had little time for the strange and wild creature under the tree. He did not work, but would hunt for any who were in need, and so contributed in his own strange way The Elves still wondered about him, but as he was plainly not dangerous, and indeed seemed quite kind, they let Mir be.

Frost was not sure how or why Hannilgil first approached him. The dream fogged over, skipping rapidly through their brief relationship. His Nana tried to warn him against Hannilgil, saying something about how Hannilgil’s Nana would lead him to the same fate as Maeglin the Traitor’s had. Frost did not understand the reference, but Hannilgil did seem to be controlled by his cold, intense Nana. She had allegedly come on the ships with Fëanor, and while he did not know if that was true, there was something fierce and fey about her. She did not approve of Frost, or of his being with her son, but she tolerated him. Barely.

Then Frost got pregnant.

The news was all through the village within hours after the Healer discovered his condition. By nightfall Frost was driven out of the village where he had lived all his life. His Nana tried to protect him, but she was locked into her house along with Ada, who simply seemed relieved to not be blamed for this witchcraft. Only Orcs bore children in such a manner, male and yet not male, laying maggots on rotting corpses to feed and grow into yet more Orcs. This fair white creature was plainly another of Morgoth’s deceptions, and they would not have it. However, before he was dragged out of the village, Hannilgil’s nana showed him some kindness at least. She gave him a small bag of herbs to make into a tea, to ease his nausea.

The dream faded, and Frost became slowly aware of his surroundings. It sounded like all Mordor had broken loose. He could hear Gaelemir screaming bloody oaths. He was restrained by Thranduil, who was shouting that they must not spill the blood of kin on this sacred shore; that the Valar would make them atone for their ill deeds. Worse still was the horrid roaring noise of a Plains Elf, enraged beyond reason by the sight of one who had dared harm his child in such a way, and by the Dwarfs and Elves restraining him.

***---***

Rabbit shrieked and bayed like a mad thing, slavering with rage. Haldir had him around the neck, and it was all he, Gimli, Glóin, Celebrimbor, Narvi, Glorfindel and Ecthelion could do to hold him back. Faramir had used a rope to pull Rabbit’s feet out from under him and get him on the ground, which only made it slightly easier to restrain him.

There was the sound of haughty female laughter. “Let the beast loose, I am certain the Valar would ask a heavy price for letting one such as that slay one of the First Born.”

“I would pay it and gladly!” yelled Haldir, “so tempt me not!”

Rabbit lay on the ground, foaming from the jaws, snarling. Haldir stroked his hand over the heavy black hair, then lowered his head, burying his face against Rabbit’s neck.

“Calm, my love, calm. I know she deserves slaying for what she has done, but I cannot allow you to do this.”

Rabbit growled and relaxed slightly, understanding that Haldir was trying to save him. He did not know the ways of these folk, but knew that they were acting in his best interest. Just as he also knew that, should he get half a chance, he would kill Hannilgil and his mother anyway.

Haldir looked up, and felt his stomach turn at the sight of the rest of Rabbit’s clan coming to the hilltop, gathering in an ominous silent pack. He felt a terror clutch him such as he had never felt before at the thought of the blood letting that may ensue.

“Where is Elrohir?” he asked.

***---***

Frost slowly sat up, knowing something was terribly wrong. He was dazed, his thoughts clouded. A pain shot through him, and felt a gentle hand push him back down to the soft surface of the bed, covering him over.

“Be at peace,” said Rúmil softly. “Lord Elrond will be here soon.”

“Rúmil?”

“Yes it is I. Rest, I will watch over you.”

“Sia?”

“Sia is fine, just… terribly angry.”

Frost nodded, then faded into unconsciousness. Rúmil rose from the chair beside the bed and looked outside, fear eating at him. This was a bad situation, a very bad one indeed. It would take little to set off the Plains Elves, and the mess that would surely ensue would be of monstrous proportions. In the midst of it stood Hannilgil and his mother, fair and dark Alinuia, taunting these wild beings. They did not know what carnage they were encouraging.

“Oh great Valar, if you see this then I beg of you to stop it!” whispered Rúmil, “For we do not wish to spill the blood of kin, even ones such as these.”

He drew his breath sharply as suddenly a great shining figure on a horse of blazing white rode up, as though in answer to his humble prayer. It was none other than Oromë, the Huntsman. The Elves bowed to him, save for the ones holding down Rabbit.

“What goes on here?” asked the shining being atop his great steed. “Why do you pin the feral one to the earth so?”

Thranduil bowed formally to the Vala. “We do it so that we may not spill the blood of our kin, Lord Oromë.”

“Indeed?” said Oromë, and laughed. “It would seem to me that it is not kin against kin here, but a wild thing of river and plain defending that which he bore.” He smiled, and there was a fierce gleam in his eye. “All good hunters know that one must not interfere with a wild creature and its offspring, or a Rabbit and its kit.”

Alinuia and Hannilgil exchanged glances, and suddenly they did not seem so smug. Rabbit lunged, nearly spilling those who restrained him. Oromë laughed, then turned to face the pair.

“You have done acts of unspeakable cruelty against our wild friends, while they have not, in all the time they roamed the lands of Ilúvatar, ever once done such things against Elf-kind. Though they may be strange to us, they are beings of peace and honour. Mark my words, Hannilgil and Alinuia, they have more right to walk these shores than thee, and should you taunt or harm them again then no Vala will come to your aid.”

“But Lord...!” began Hannilgil. Oromë, however, was in no humour to hear anything that he might say.

“Begone from this camp, and travel not to the House of Elrond again.”

Alinuia held her ground, looking angry. “You take the part of a beast of Morgoth over one of the Firstborn?”

Oromë was in no mood to bandy words with this woman. He turned instead to face Haldir. “Your lover has a just grievance with these two, as does his child. Though I will not command the spilling of their blood, I say this to you. Should they come to taunt you and your family again, then they have none to blame for the consequences but themselves. If one torments the wolf, one gets bit. I will likewise not see this poor creature of the pagan realms baited in his own home before his family. If these two do not depart immediately and with all haste, then release him, and let him have his just vengeance.”

Rabbit bayed and lunged, his eyes rolling back in his head, snapping his jaws with a sound like sword-blades crossing. Hannilgil took his mother’s arm.

“Let us go, Nana. Oromë has spoken, and I for one will not go against the Valar.”

Alinuia pulled her arm free. “Then run, coward. I do not flee animals.”

Whatever acts of cruelty Hannilgil may have performed, he was no fool, and knew that Oromë was giving him his life. He turned and fled.

Haldir kept his hold around Rabbit’s neck. He did not want to see his lover kill an Elf, no matter how just the slaying may be. Tears came to his eyes, and he hoped the fool woman would just go. Glóin momentarily lost his grip, and Rabbit lunged forward, dragging Elves and Dwarfs alike with him a brief distance.

“My Lady we cannot hold him forever!” shouted Glorfindel, plainly angered by her arrogance. “Haldir does not wish for Rabbit to have your blood, Námo alone knows why, and while I care little enough for your fate, I do care for his. Begone, or I swear I shall do the Huntsman’s bidding and let him go!”

Alinuia just stood and stared at him, a smug expression on her face. Haldir felt his arms begin to weaken, and he gasped, feeling the tears run down his face. Then the attention of all was drawn by the short, petulant cry of a newborn babe.

Rabbit swung his head towards Elrond’s tent, knocking Haldir off balance, He fell back, and the Elves and Dwarfs released Rabbit. He leapt to his feet and loped towards the tent, forgetting Alinuia in his concern for his child. He disappeared into the tent, and moments later Rúmil was abruptly shooed out. He did not seem terribly displeased over this, and sighed heavily in relief.

Haldir rose to his feet, slowly dusting himself off, exhausted and aching. He then glanced up at Alinuia, who slowly turned from him, a smirk on her features, and sashayed slowly away. Glorfindel came to stand beside Haldir.

“Why did you not let him eat her?”

Haldir shook his head. “He is no murderer. To do such a thing would eat away at his heart and spirit. Should I give him a moment of gratification, only to have him slowly fade of torment? Nay. I will not kill my lover and the Sia of my children for the likes of her.”

***---***

Rúmil stood by the pavilion, listening to Frost and Rabbit. He had no idea what they were saying, he only knew he was afraid, and desperately glad to be out of there. He put his arms about himself, shivering, then was startled when he felt someone gently embrace him. It was Orophin.

Rúmil held him tightly, shaking with fear and emotion. He said nothing, allowing his older brother to lead him to his own tent. Once there, Orophin dropped into a chair, pulling his brother onto his lap and cradling him.

“There, there, little Rummi, tell big brother Ory-bin what the trouble is.”

Rúmil smiled at the sound of the name he called Orophin when he was small. He placed his head on his shoulder. “Orophin, as odd as this may sound, and as much as I never thought I would be saying it, I do not wish to get pregnant. It frightens me more than I can say.”

“Frost is all right, isn’t he?”

“I’m not sure, in truth I think my mind had left my body to fend for itself.”

Orophin smiled. “Rúmil, if the Plains Elves can conceive, then doubtless they know of ways to prevent it. Certainly the ladies of our household do, and so does your loving husband. If this frightens you so very much, then you need never go through it.” Orophin stroked the back of his hand over Rúmil’s cheek. “I dare say Elrond could even remove the uterus.”

Rúmil nodded. “Yes I suppose he could. Then I could go back to just being a Wood-Elf. Except the matter is more complicated than one extra organ in my body, isn’t it?”

Orophin nodded. “Yes, it is. Have you spoken to Nana yet?”

“No. I… I wish to speak to Rabbit first. He is after all my father. AI! Orophin! My life is a mess. My half-brother is bound to my father, making him my step-ada. Making Frost and all the other little Rabbit-kits siblings as well. On the upside, I am now distantly related to Master Erestor.”

“Well there, it’s not all bad, is it?” Orophin kissed his nose, then hugged him. “Ah my little Rummi. I know it seems hard, but things will improve. And, if I may say, think hard on having this removed.” He placed his hand on Rúmil’s stomach. “You may some day wish to use it.”

Rúmil nodded. “I shall. But if I die in childbirth I shall haunt you.”

Elrond rushed into the tent, making his way swiftly over to Rúmil. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine, my love. How is Frost?”

“I do not know yet. Rabbit is in an absolute state over something and will not permit me entry. Now do I truly miss Rosie.”

“I am sure Haldir could gain you entry,” said Orophin. “Or Rúmil.”

Rúmil shook his head. “I am not going there. I cannot.”

Elrond smiled, leaning forward to gently kiss him. “You stay. Orophin shall look after you. I will return as soon as I am able.”

Rúmil watched Elrond go, then snuggled against his brother, lost in thought. Finally he shook his head and stood up.

“As comfortable as your lap is, brother dear, I cannot hide there. I must face this. They are my kin.”

“Shall I go with you?”

Rúmil again shook his head. “Nay, stay here. I have Elrond in there, as well as, I daresay, Haldir.” He squeezed Orophin’s hand. “I will be fine.”

Orophin studied his younger brother, uncertain if he believed him. Lately Rúmil had been trying to master his new position as Lord of Imladris, and doing rather well. At the moment however, with his green eyes large with fear and countless other nameless emotions, he looked like nothing more than a naughty Elfling playing dress-up in his lord’s velvet robes. Adding to the illusion was the rather disheveled hair and askew circlet. Orophin stood up and straightened the circlet, then adjusted the robes for him. At last he kissed his nose.

“Scream if you need me.”

“Loudly, I assure you.” Then, with the mien of one who marches to his doom, Rúmil walked to the pavilion where Frost now bore his first child.

***---***

“Twins,” said Glóin, sitting down beside Narvi and passing him a tankard.

“Twins!” exclaimed Gimli, puffing on his pipe. “That will keep young Lord Elrohir hopping, and Lord Elrond. Have you seen them yet?”

Glóin snorted. “I cannae get past their grandmother’s teeth. Grandfather. Grand-Sia. Whatever. Be a week before he’s calm.”

Gimli smiled, watching Legolas and Ecthelion spar. It was tense viewing for the Dwarf. The Elves moved so fast that he was not always certain what he was seeing, and both were skilled combatants. He felt his entire body clench as Ecthelion took a spinning slash at his slender lover, and saw a wisp of pale gold hair flutter to the ground. Legolas picked it up.

“That shall cost you dearly!”

“Not more than the price of a cheap wig I am sure,” said Ecthelion.

“Cheap! I shall have it made out of that black wire you call hair.” Legolas darted out with his sword so fast Gimli wasn’t sure he saw him move. A tress of black hair joined the golden one on the ground.

“Ai! It took me an age to get that back after the Balrog burned it off, I will have you know!”

“You have much in common with such a beast. Both of you blow hot air.”

Ecthelion pointed his sword at him. “I will have your skin for my new jerkin for that, youngster!”

“Nonsense, all of my skin would not go around your great middle.”

The two Elves sparred, fast, light, deadly. Gimli looked away, dreading the one slip that would tear open the fine white throat. Narvi and Glóin watched with interest.

“Odd that something so pretty could be so dangerous,” said Glóin.

“Dangerous, nasty, underhanded, vicious,” said Narvi.

Gimli looked up. “Elves? Underhanded? You must be thinking of some other race.”

“Elves are like dog-plums. You recall the dog-plums that grew near Khazad-dûm?”

Gimli did. He recalled picking them and showing Legolas how to eat them. They had a firm, outer flesh, which was sweet and fragrant. But near the center there was a small pocket of bitter, bile-tasting fluid, meant to discourage animals from eating the seed.

“Dog-plums,” said Narvi. “Sweet on the outside with a green nasty center.”

“Oh they are not!” said Gimli. “Elves are wise and beautiful and gentle.”

“’Til you piss them off and they toss you over the balcony into the ocean,” grumbled Narvi. “You mark my words, that fair dainty love of yours would gut someone like a trout and dance in the entrails if you gave him proper motivation.”

“Well if you tried to hurt him,” said Gimli.

Narvi roared with laughter. “Who raised you to be such an innocent? I have lived with Elves a good many years, my laddie. They get up to nonsense the likes of which we Dwarfs only dream of. There was that slaughter over the white ships, then that fellow Eöl pegged his wife with a poisoned dart before they tossed him off of a cliff. Oh they tossed Maeglin off of a wall as well. Then I heard King Thranduil offering up thanks that if his son had to choose between a Dwarf and a Noldor, at least he chose a Dwarf.”

“Well my Legolas is different.”

Narvi chuckled. “If you say so, laddie.” He looked up as he saw a large grey goose come into view, followed by a Dwarf-maiden.

“Where did she come from?” asked Gimli.

“Her? Oh that’s Crysalin, she lives down in the village a few miles from here. There are a few Dwarfs other than us here. Oi! Crys! Need a hand?”

She smiled and waved. “Head him off for me, would you? I don’t wish to chase him all over Valinor, which is where he will surely go. He’s a wandering gander and no mistake.”

The Dwarfs stood up and helped to herd the goose to an area where they could catch him. Finally Gimli caught the feathery fugitive and picked him up, stroking the soft feathers.

“Here you go, lassie, here’s your goose.”

Crysalin took him, smiling. “Thank ye. I’ve not seen you before.”

“I just arrived yesterday. Gimli, son of Glóin at your service.”

She smiled and curtseyed. “Crysalin, daughter of Emerald at yours.” She gave him a ‘come hither’ look. “And such a handsome Dwarf as well!”

Gimli blushed and grumbled. “Nonsense.”

Glóin and Narvi smiled and exchanged glances, stepping back and letting the youngsters flirt. Crysalin patted her goose’s soft feathers.

“Perhaps I could reward your kindness with supper tomorrow?”

“Nay my lady. Thank you, but nay.”

She raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “Well, perhaps something else then, since you are as shy as you are handsome. But I must be away, my Da’ is calling me.”

With a last little smile, she turned and walked slowly away, skirts swishing as she swung her hips. Gimli picked feathers from his tunic, and felt Narvi gently tap his shoulder. He whispered into Gimli’s ear.

“Take a quick look at your fair and sweet Elf, who never had a dark thought a day in his life.”

Gimli glanced up, and felt himself go cold as he watched Legolas stare after the young Dwarf woman. He was well nigh blazing with white light, and his small hand was clutched around his sword. In his normally soft blue eyes was pure, seething and unabashed hate.

“Dog-plums,” said Narvi.

Gimli waved him off, then called; “Legolas.”

The tall Elf turned to look at him, the white light vanishing. Gimli held his hand out to him.

“What say we go home for supper?”

Legolas bowed farewell to Ecthelion, moving lightly and gracefully over to his lover. Together they walked towards their pavilion, Gimli feeling shaken to his boots. For a while they moved in silence, save for the creak of Legolas’ leather bow harness. Finally Gimli cleared his throat.

“You have no need to be jealous of the wee lassie,” he said softly.

Legolas looked at him, then lowered his gaze to the ground. “Yes, I do.”

They entered their pavilion, Legolas tossing his quiver onto a table then dropping down into a fur-covered chair, his long legs stretched out before him. Gimli pulled a stool up beside Legolas and sat on it, looking into the Elf’s blue eyes.

“Why? What can she possibly give me that you do not?”

“Children. A traditional Dwarf family and clan house. These things I cannot give you.”

Gimli looked surprised. “Well I know we’re not going to have children. But I’ve got you, and I’ve got me Da’, what more do I need?”

“Gimli, I know how important it is for one of your kind to have a large family, and to pass on the ways and teachings of your clan. Elves place less emphasis on this, for we are immortal.”

“Well, say you were a Dwarf woman. There is still no certainty we would have children. I had a cousin who was married well and happily all his long life, who had not a single child. But he did not love his wife any less, nor his family him. Nor I you. You are my gift, the vault in which my heart lies. I will not throw you aside, not for a pretty lassie or anything else the Valar may show me in this life, no matter how fair it may seem. I have more than any Dwarf dares hope for in his lifetime. I and my love belong to you.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “So you remain faithful to the Elf? Even at the risk of him stabbing you with a poison dart and tossing you off of a cliff?”

“You heard that, did you?”

Legolas smiled and leaned forward, kissing Gimli. “I heard dear Narvi warning you against Elven treachery. The tales are true, I fear. And Ada would split if he knew I had lain with a Noldo.”

Gimli choked. “When?”

“Years before I met you, my love, so you need not fear. And don’t you dare tell him or I shall well and truly toss you off a cliff!”

“Was he worth it?”

Legolas thought. “No. Like most Noldo he thought too much and had a temper. I find Dwarfs much sweeter.” He nipped Gimli’s nose, then slid into his lap. “And I am sorry for my anger. But I too hold fears close to my heart. And one is that I shall seem lacking in your eyes.”

Gimli stroked his hand over the Elf’s silken hair. “Never,” he said softly, and kissed him.

***---***

Mauburz ran for days, loping over the fair terrain of Valinor, finally reaching Oiolossë. The mountain was high and steep, and its peak was bitter cold, lashed by winds and snow. The climb was harsh, and many times she cut herself on the sharp rocks, and when at last she reached the peak, she was torn and battered, bleeding from many small cuts. She stood up, slowly, painfully, and looked around.

The peak of Oiolossë was not cold. Indeed it was warm and fair, ringed by gardens and strange, beautiful birds that delighted her. A warm breeze blew the scent of lilac and lavender to her, and the grass beneath her feet was soft. She walked slowly across the wide lawn, gazing around at a place no Orc and few Elves had ever seen.

She turned a corner, and stopped dead, interrupting what looked to be a tea party. It was the Valar, in a guise that Mauburz would recognize, that of Elven Lords and Ladies. Slowly, quietly, the huge Uruk-Hai approached, then went down on one knee, bowing to them. It was Manwë who spoke first.

“We have watched your approach, though I confess I do not know what drove you to make so difficult a journey. Speak, and tell us what you require.”

Mauburz slowly stood up, scratching her heavy coarse black hair. “Require? Mauburz require nothing.”

The Valar stared back at her. Tulkas cocked his head. “Pardon?”

“Mauburz not need nothing.”

“You… climbed this mountain… to tell us you need nothing?”

“Yes. Well, no, not quite need nothing. Bring gift.”

By now the deities were exchanging glances and smiling. “A gift?” said Yavanna.

Mauburz nodded. “Me make something. Me make perfumes, scented oils for nice Elves. Orcs smell good, make good perfumers.”

Lórien was about to contradict her, but realized that she did not mean Orcs themselves smelled pleasant, but rather they had an excellent sense of smell, which certainly was true. He watched as she took a little gold and glass phial out of a little bag around her neck and placed it on a small table. She carefully removed the stopper.

“This best perfume Mauburz ever make,” she said as the delicate and complex fragrance wafted through the warm, spring-like air. “Me spend years making it, finding right ingredients. Me make it just for great Valar, in case me ever get chance to give it to you. To say thank you.”

Lórien hopped up, moving lightly and gracefully over to the tiny phial, picking it up and breathing deeply. “My lady your gift is most fair.” He touched a small amount to the pit of his throat, then playfully dabbed a tiny bit on the end of Námo’s nose. The Vala rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“To thank us?” said Yavanna, taking the phial from Lórien to sniff the enchanting fragrance. “For what?”

Mauburz shifted, looking like an extremely large child. “Mauburz have nice home. Have nice friends. Now have beautiful Elf to love, babies to love. Not need act like stoopid Orc no more. Have much to be thankful for, so wanted to thank great Valar for all nice things she have.”

Tulkas leaned forward. “You scaled the highest mountain on Arda just to give us a phial of perfume and thank us?!”

Mauburz nodded, eyes large and worried. “Yes. Me hope me not do wrong thing?”

The gods of Middle-Earth exchanged glances. Like all gods, they were used to being called upon and beseeched, occasionally hearing their names uttered as oaths and curses, but rarely hearing thanks offered.

“No,” said Lórien, “You did not do wrong. You did a most lovely thing, Lady Straggler, and we should like to offer you a gift in return.”

“Gift for Mauburz? Mauburz have everything she need. Maybe ask for gift for someone else?”

Yavanna smiled. “If you like.”

She shifted from foot to foot. “Me like Rhimlan to not hurt no more. Him good Elf, very brave. But him hurt. Him hurt so bad. Some days him get up, me see in his eyes, him so tired of hurting. Mauburz think sometimes he fade of it. If me can have one gift, then me want him to no hurt no more.”

“Rhimlan,” said Námo. “He was badly injured at Helm’s Deep. His wife left him for his disfigurement, and told his children he was dead.”

Mauburz nodded. “Yes.”

Manwë rose from his seat and walked towards her, looking into her yellow-green eyes. “Then this shall be done. Rhimlan will be in pain no more.”

She smiled broadly. “Really? Thank you!” She nearly grabbed and hugged him, but quickly thought better of it, instead dropping to one knee and bowing. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Me must depart now, long run home.”

Manwë smiled. “Please, let us help you with that, my lady. And thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

Mauburz opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly found herself less than a mile from the encampment. She looked around, as though uncertain what happened. Finally she shrugged, and began loping back to the tent she shared with Rhimlan and his children. It was just morning, and all would be awake soon. From their lofty mountain home, the Valar watched her go.

“My Lord if I may make a suggestion,” said Lórien.

Manwë smiled. “I have already thought of it, my dear Lórien.”

***---***

Rhimlan awoke, and lay on his back, mentally searching his body, trying to determine how bad the pain would be that day. Sometimes there was not much, just a bit in his crippled leg. Some days everything hurt, and he could use the pain to map every single bite of the warg’s teeth, every break caused by the mighty blast. But today there was a surprise in store for him.

Nothing hurt. Nothing at all.

He slowly, carefully pushed himself into a seated position, waiting for something to complain, but nothing did. He glanced about for Mauburz, but she was not back yet. He hoped she returned soon, he was not comfortable without her. When she was not close at hand, he felt nervous, cast adrift. But he was certain she would be home soon. In the meantime, he would take advantage of her absence to remove his face patch and check the huge scar for signs of infection.

The scar on his face was the worst of all his many injuries, and he showed it to no one. Not even Lord Elrond had seen it; though he often gave Rhimlan creams for the sores his patch gave him. The warg had ripped away most of the flesh, and the wound had not healed well. His eye was gone, as well as the flesh of his cheek, and the skin had mended in a hideous snarl, exposing his teeth and some of the bone. A great patch of his flaming red hair was gone, a round graying scar where it once was. It made Rhimlan himself sick to look at the mess, and there was nothing on Arda that would convince him to ever show it to anyone.

He stood up carefully, waiting for his knee to scream in pain, but there was none. In fact it felt surprisingly good, good enough to remove his leg brace, though he did not. He was not interested in falling on his face. He moved over to the mirror and picked up a pot of medicated cream. He drew breath and steadied himself, then forced himself to look in the mirror and remove the patch. Slowly he pulled it back, and stared at what he saw in utter shock.

The scar was gone. Not faded, not somewhat better, but gone. He checked over his face, searching for any sign of it, but the scar was simply no longer there.

He took off his leg brace and looked down at his knee. It too was fully healed and functioning, as was his arm. All traces of the horrendous injuries were erased, and he was well and whole. He looked into the mirror, and once more saw the strikingly fair red-haired Elf that had once graced Lady Galadriel’s personal guard.

“How in all Arda did this happen?” he asked, blinking his large green eyes, both now present and working. He was still staring when he heard footsteps approaching, and the flap of the tent being pulled back.

“Hi honey, me home. Me sorry be gone so long, me had to do something.”

Rhimlan turned to look at Mauburz, to ask if she had somehow done this. But as he caught sight of her, his voice failed and he sat down abruptly, jaw hanging, eyes huge. Mauburz stopped and looked at him.

“What? Hey! Hey Valar fix you! Fix you better even than Mauburz ask!”

He slowly shook his head, still unable to speak, and pointed to the mirror. She gave him a puzzled look, then walked over to the mirror. She almost collapsed at the sight of her reflection.

She was, in essence, still very much herself. She was heavily muscular, still about six feet eight inches in height, broad-shouldered and buxom. Her hair was black and thick and heavy, her eyes luminous green, and her skin black as ink. But that was all that was left of the old Mauburz. Instead of Orcish fangs and a blunt muzzle, she had a strong Elven face. Her great clumsy paws were now powerful but gracefully made hands, and the leathery, creased skin was now soft and shining.

“ME ELF!” she yelled in surprise.

“You always said you were,” said Rhimlan.

“Yeah but…. Now me look like Elf! Me great big beautiful kick-butt pretty Elf lady! And you! You even more beautiful than before!”

“You too,” said Rhimlan.

“And naked,” she noted approvingly.

The two sat on the floor, shocked and giggling, just looking at each other. Then Mauburz growled and pounced on him.

Meanwhile, a few miles away, while Mauburz and Rhimlan made love on the floor of their tent, Alinuia awoke and began her day. She got out of her broad and comfortable bed, and walked in a graceful swirl of pearl-grey silk and lace to her vanity. She seated herself, then stared at her reflection in horror. Suddenly she uttered a blood-curdling shriek of horror and despair.

“I love a punishment with a moral,” said Lórien. “Don’t you?”

Námo snorted, and muttered, “And what do you know about morals?”

Lórien stuck his tongue out at Námo, then sighed contentedly. All was well once more in Valinor.