A Far Distant Shore
Chapter Three

Rating: R
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, Angst, Language
Summary: Elrohir gets a scare, Gimli gets lost, and Erestor finds an unlikely admirer. And  just what IS the relationship between Celebrimbor and Narvi?
Notes: Meadbunny Rating: 4
Beta’d by Maeglin the Traitor.
For Master Erestor, of course!

Mauburz’s trek to see the Valar took five days. This  tale occurs during her absence.

Elrohir did not know what was wrong, but something was plainly not right with his children. Twice now he had tried to enter the tent, and twice Rabbit had rebuffed him, as well as Lord Elrond. Finally, the young Elf-Lord called upon Haldir, thinking surely Rabbit’s husband could get passed his formidable mate’s teeth. Haldir did not get snapped at, but it was plain that he would have no more luck getting by Rabbit than Elrohir.

“Rabbit,” Haldir said, his voice quiet, his tone intense. “You would tell me if anything was wrong with the babies, would you not?”

“Nothing is wrong,” said Rabbit.

“Then why can Elrohir not see them?”

Rabbit looked from Haldir to Elrohir, studying the frantic young Elf. Suddenly Elrohir had a horrible thought.

“They’re not mine,” he said. He began to collapse, but was caught by his father. “Rabbit! Tell me! They’re not mine, are they?”

Rabbit looked surprised, then smiled, an expression that looked odd on him. “Nay, aia-nen, do not make up fantasies. They are yours, and they are well. We await only the arrival of one who may tell us the answer to a riddle, for there is something strange here. Strange only, but of no cause for fear.”

“Then let me see them!”

“In time.”

Elrohir pulled away from his father and strode over to Rabbit, catching hold of the long black hair. “Listen, hell-Elf…”

The bite was fast and hard, a rapid slashing that came so quickly Elrohir felt no pain, though he knew it had happened. He pulled back, slowly reaching up one hand to touch his face, feeling the blood drip down. Elrond came to stand beside him, looking at the injury. It was deep, but considering the hellish damage Rabbit was capable of, it was a mere nip. A bit of salve and a few stitches would fix it, and it would likely leave no scar. Quietly, Elrohir backed up, subdued by the realization he had nearly gotten himself killed. He swallowed nervously, then said softly, “I am sorry.”

Rabbit shook his head. “There is no cause for apology, Aia-Nen. Likewise there is no cause for fear. You have been given a mighty gift, one that calls for the secrets only the Eldest of Elders can give us, for none but he has ever seen our home, the Faery Realm.”

“Eldest of Elders?” said Elrond. “One who has seen the Faery Realm? But that would make him older than any Elf alive, one who saw the very forming of Arda!”

“Indeed,” said Rabbit. “He is most ancient, and though the fell servant of Morgoth tried hard to change him, he did not succeed. Indeed, it would have been a most shameful end to the one who dared to bite the hand of he who made all Arda.”

“WHAT?” exclaimed Elrond.

Rabbit nodded in the direction of the Plains Elf walking slowly towards then. He was ancient, disfigured, scarred heavily by the whips of Balrogs and fell magicks that had tried and failed to change him. Elrohir felt his jaw drop.

“Fadai?” he said. “He is the Elf of the legend?”

“He is,” said Rabbit.

The old Elf approached, as cold and unpleasant as ever. He snapped at Rabbit, who backed up and went down to one knee in deference to him as he passed and went into the tent.

“He’ll eat my children!” said Elrohir.

Rabbit stood up, rising high above the heads of the Glaur-Iyre he stood with. He looked down at Elrohir, lowering his head until his brow touched the young Elf’s.

“He will not,” he growled affectionately. “Just taste them a little.”

It was the first time Elrohir had ever heard Rabbit make a joke. It rendered him speechless for well nigh an hour.

***---***

The sun set, shrouding the world in a cloak of starry indigo. A strange unrest settled over the encampment. The Plains Elves knew something was happening, and the evening air was full of eerie calls that made the hair stand on end. Periodic sharp whistles would be answered by hellish cackling sounds, or an occasional mournful howl, and other sounds so unnerving it rendered the birds and beasts of night silent for miles around. Fires were lit, and their soft rustling and snapping added to the tension of the night. Elrohir took his father’s arm and rested his head against his shoulder.

“Sounds like midnight in Barad-dûr,” said Elrohir.

“Aye,” said Elrond softly. “In a part that is supposed to be deserted.”

Elrohir shivered, and snuggled against his ada when he felt his arm go around him. Nearby, Rabbit lay on the grass, waiting patiently, Haldir seated beside him, stroking his hand over his lover’s black hair.

Fadai suddenly emerged from the tent, prowling past Elrohir. He raised his head to the evening sky, sniffing, sensing, tracking something in the wind. Then he cast a look at Elrohir before walking away. Elrohir swallowed nervously, but followed after the huge and ancient Elf. They walked to the cliff edge, looking down at the crashing sea, frothing white in the darkness. Then Fadai spoke.

“There is a prophecy. I do not suppose Frost has told you of it. No, unlikely. Frost’s teaching has been inadequate.”

Elrohir shivered in the night air, his small hands clutching his silver tipped spear. “Prophecy?” he asked quietly, half afraid to speak.

Fadai watched the waves, as though he were paying no heed to Elrohir. After a time, he spoke again.

“The children of the Shaman and Healer, born on a far distant shore, shall be as those who still run with the Faery Queen. And such is their appearance; it is as we looked in the Green Realm. They are yours, and yet not yours, aia-nen. You did not father them. These two are straight from the Faery Realm. A gift you must care for most carefully.”

Elrohir felt a strange pain begin to worm its way into his guts. “Not… not mine? Then…?”

Fadai may have been wise, but he was short on sympathy for the Glaur-Iy. He snapped at him, causing Elrohir to back up. The young Elf-Lord wiped at one eye with the back of his hand, looking like a child.

“What must I do?” he asked.

“They can see no daylight for three days. NONE. They cannot eat anything that has been slain. Milk, cheese, eggs, these they can have, for they can be obtained without bloodshed.”

“No crayfish?” asked Elrohir.

Fadai snapped at him again. “Do you not hear? Nothing that has been slain! These are creatures of exquisite peace and gentleness, they know of only kindness. To feed them that which has been murdered is a desecration that will have most dire consequences. Shield them from the light. On the sunset of the third day, you may then bring them forth. Not before. Take no chances. They have come to ensure that we who dwell here on Arda do not lose the old ways. When grown, they shall be Shaman, Healers, teachers to the Thrayre-Iyre. Harm them, and they shall become the doom of all of us.”

Elrohir listened, paying close attention, but still with one horrid burning question.

“But you said, they are mine and yet not mine, so…?”

Fadai plainly had little use for Elrohir, and was certainly not concerned with his feelings. Seeing the hurt in his eyes seemed to anger the old Elf.

“They came from your therlu, what does it matter who put them inside of him?”

Rabbit appeared then, and Elrohir had never been so glad to see him in his life. He pressed against the great Plains Elf, and was comforted to feel a protective arm go around him. Rabbit gave him a gentle hug, then gazed coldly at Fadai.

“It matters to the child,” said Rabbit, “and it most certainly matters to me. Speak in riddles if it pleases you, but you speak of causing no harm to his children, yet you plant doubts and fears in his mind that will surely lead to harm. And I will not have you say my Frost lays with whom he pleases and bears offspring like an untended dog. Begone, Elder. Tend to your bitterness alone, do not spread it here.”

Fadai growled, stalking slowly passed Elrohir. He bared his teeth at him, his expression becoming demonic, and Elrohir flinched. Rabbit snarled back at Fadai. A truce was called, and Fadai walked back to his campsite. Elrohir watched him go, huddling against Rabbit.

“So much anger in him,” said Elrohir.

“Yes,” said Rabbit softly. “He has lost much, but then so have we all. He is old enough to know that is no reason to treat others badly.”

Rabbit began walking towards the tent, Elrohir going with him. “But what did he mean?”

Rabbit snapped at him, but Elrohir smiled as he felt the teeth close softly around his upper face. He knew Rabbit well enough that he understood the gesture was one of simple exasperation, as one may feel with a chatty youngster.

“The children are not yours. But do not think that means Frost has conceived from another. They are not his, either. These two are a gift, and Frost was simply used as a vessel to bring them here. Your babies sleep yet inside of him. In nine months, they shall make themselves known.”

Elrohir sighed with relief. “I am glad to hear this. Though, I am not certain Frost will be. I do seem to recall him asking me a few times why I did this to him.”

Rabbit made a quiet rumbling sound that may have been a laugh. “And I suppose you held him down and forced yourself upon him. The cycle of fertility makes fools of us all. But Fadai’s words simply confirmed what I thought as well. Fadai is not the only one versed in the ways of the Realm, I am as well. But it does not hurt to have another opinion. Feed them no meat, no fish. Milk, cheese, eggs only. I shall bring the things for you they may have. A candle you may light, but keep the sun from striking them for three days. I shall send Warrior Moon to bring the incense, fragrant herbs and oils that you must use. Many rituals await you, and must be begun tonight. I shall help, Frost will too. I daresay even Fadai shall help if the old bastard is properly chewed into it. You are not alone, Aia-Nen. You are beloved to my child, and that makes you my child as well. And Ta’Na Yar does not abandon his children.”

“I should like another name,” grumbled Elrohir quietly.

Rabbit grinned broadly, though it was fleeting. “It is perfect. It is you. You are indeed our little Aia-Nen, and so shall your name be.”

“’Little Smart-Ass’,” said Elrohir. “What does ‘Fadai’ mean?”

“’Old Bastard’.”

Elrohir nearly collapsed. “You are joking! TELL me you are joking!”

Rabbit lightly bumped into Elrohir. “Names are given according to whom we are. And he is what he is. But you got off lightly. At least your name is spoken with affection amongst the Thrayre-Iyre. Come, let us see your babies.”

“Must I wait three days to show them to Ada?”

“No. Nor will I wait three days. Those are MY grandbabies, and I have waited quite long enough!”

“Thank you, Sia.”

Rabbit smiled. “You are welcome, Aia-Nen. But I warn you, the children will look strange.”

“I don’t care, after all this tension I just wish to see them! AND Frost!”

“Then let us see them.”

They made their way to where Elrond and Haldir were standing. Elrohir quietly explained the situation, then led them into the dark, silent tent. Frost raised his head, then lowered it again, weakened by what had been a very long and difficult birth. The first of the twins had come easily and quickly enough. The second had been harder to bear.

Elrohir walked over to him, hearing Rabbit hop quietly onto the bed, purring at his child. Frost made a soft sound back, but closed his eyes, letting Elrohir stroke his long white hair. It was damp with sweat, and the bedding needed changing. Elrohir kissed his face softly, then looked about. He did not see the babies, but given their parentage they could have been halfway to Túna by now.

Elrond seemed to be thinking the same thing. He glanced about, then noticed a blanket draped over the daybed move slightly. He smiled and lifted a corner, peering under. He was greeting by miniature growls, like something from a pair of kittens.

“Found you,” he said softly. There was a pause as he studied the babies, then slowly withdrew his head. He stood up and looked at Rabbit. “Well we won’t lose them in a crowd,” he said.

“Ada!” said Elrohir. He moved over to the daybed and lifted the blanket, slowly revealing the two children.

They were lean and long, and there was little babyish about them. They were large, a little too large for having just been born. It was small wonder Frost had such difficulty bringing them forth. Their hair was long and silken, and it, like all the rest of them, was perfect ink black, the colour of the depths of Moria. All save their eyes, which were huge and round, like glowing golden discs that stared out of the night as if lit by embers. They huddled together, frightened and frightening in their unique appearance. They seemed almost shade-like, as though not quite a part of the corporeal world, shadows that could be dispelled with a strong light.

Frost made a sound of pain, and Elrohir turned from the children to his husband. He quickly glanced at his father. “Ada? Can you help me move him?”

“I will,” said Rabbit. He looked at Elrond. “Go for your healing satchel, I will help Aia-Nen.”

Elrond nodded and quickly departed, leaving Rabbit and Elrohir to carefully lift Frost’s limp body off of the bed. They moved him to a couch, then proceeded to change the bedding. Moments later Haldir entered with a basin of hot water. He glanced about, hoping for a glimpse of the twins, but saw only a moving quilt and heard tiny growls. He stood by quietly as the bedding was changed, then held watch by the doorway as Lord Elrond entered.

Elrond moved quickly to Frost’s side, helping Elrohir to clean him up, then carefully pouring a draught down his throat to make him sleep and ease his pain.

“He will be fine,” Elrond whispered to his son. “It was a hard birth, but not greatly so. He will need peace, and rest. You will stay here with him. I will have Haldir and Orophin attach a porch to the front of this tent, to ensure no daylight hits our fragile children. Rabbit and I will look after you, and Frost.”

“Thank you, Ada,” said Elrohir.

They moved Frost back to the bed, covering him over. They watched as the two little spectral black forms darted under the covers with their Sia, peeking out at their relatives with unnerving gold discs for eyes. Elrohir crouched beside the bed, smiling as the tiny beings retreated under the quilt, only their eyes now visible.

“No need to fear me,” said Elrohir softly. “I am your ada. This is grand-ada, and this is grand-Sia. I’m afraid you’re related to us.”

Tiny sputtering growls greeted this statement. Elrohir smiled.

“For creatures of exquisite peace and gentleness, who know of only kindness, you certainly are growlie.”

More teeny growls, like petulant week-old kittens. Elrohir carefully reached out to touch them, but they retreated further.

“Very well,” he said softly. “Sleep for now. I will watch over you.”

***---***

Gimli awoke and looked around. It was not yet dawn, and the world was quiet. The Plains Elves had ceased their eerie calls, reassured that their shaman was well. They slept now, settled by the fires and in their lightweight shelters. A few kept a half-hearted watch, certain they were safe, but reluctant to break the habit of centuries.

Gimli turned his head and looked at the Elf snuggled against him. Legolas’ long hair fell in strands over his face, and his eyes were closed in sleep. He had been sleeping a lot lately; actual sleep as opposed to reverie. The voyage seemed to have drained him, though Gimli did not think he was unwell. He stroked the gold hair, then gently kissed his brow.

Time passed, and Gimli began to suspect that he was not going to get any more sleep that night. Legolas may have been feeling weary, but Gimli was so excited at the prospect of helping to build a new Imladris he could not wait to commence work. However, he would not be cutting stone today. Large communal houses took proper and careful planning. So he would wait. But, in the meantime, he could do something else.

Carefully he slid out of bed, dressing quietly. Then he walked over to the bed and looked down at the sleeping Elf once more. He stroked his hair, then bent to kiss him. Legolas woke up just enough to return the kiss.

“I’m going fishing,” said Gimli.

Legolas muttered something in Sindarin that ended with a squeak, then buried his face in his pillow. Gimli smiled affectionately at him, kissed the top of his head, then quietly left the tent.

He greeted the three Elves by the main fire, and had tea and sausage with them before making his way down to where the ‘Tablero’ was moored, retrieving a pole and a few other things. Then he made his way down the beach to a secluded place.

He had only just set up his pole and cast his line into the surf when he heard a voice call his name. It was Crysalin.

“Gimli! Fancy seeing you here! I was just coming to see if I could find some oysters. Nasty, ugly things, but mama likes them.”

Gimli smiled. “I thought since I couldn’t sleep I would do something useful. I don’t care for boats, but I can still cast a line.”

She smiled. “Well have you had breakfast? I brought a few things.”

Gimli thought it odd that a woman who came to find oysters for her mother would have the only basket she had brought with her full of food. He suspected that, rather than seeking shellfish, she had spied him coming to the shore and followed him.

They sat on the sand and ate rolls with butter and jam, watching the waves in the light of the rising sun. Crysalin sighed. “Lovely isn’t it?”

Gimli nodded. “It is.”

“Romantic, even.”

“I suppose it could be.” Gimli had never been much for sunrises, and Legolas preferred to witness them through closed eyelids. They preferred sunsets to rises, and had taken many an evening stroll, watching the stars come out. He tried to think if Legolas liked fish.

“You seem distracted,” said Crysalin.

“Oh, just thinking,” he said. He stood up to take the rod, noticing something tugging on the line. He hauled in a large crab, which vehemently refused to relinquish the bait. Gimli put it into a weighted basket in the water, still clutching the chunk of bait. He managed to remove the hook and left the crab to eat while he put fresh bait on his hook.

“He’d be lovely steamed with garlic and butter,” said Crysalin.

“Would he?” said Gimli. “I dinnae know nothing about crabs, I was going to give him to Rabbit. His Frost and young Lord Elrohir became parents last night, I thought the family could use extra food.”

“Rabbit? Frost? Are those Elvish names? They’re not Dwarven.”

Gimli cast his line, set the rod, and sat back down. “They are a type of Elvish, I suppose.”

“Well, you and I could eat him,” said Crysalin, smiling.

Gimli knew he was not the brightest Dwarf that walked Arda, but he finally realized that Crysalin was flirting with him. Though in truth, for a Dwarf, she had been flirting very subtly. He smiled at her.

“My lady I must decline your invitation. I am wed.”

She blushed, looking flustered. “Oh my! Oh my, I am very sorry, please forgive me. But… I looked! I looked for the band around your arm, the love knot about your neck! I did not see them!”

“Aye, well, there’s a reason for that.” He showed her his hand, revealing a breathtaking band of red gold and Mithril, wound with spells of love.

“Oh it’s lovely!” said Crysalin. “But why a ring? That is the Elven way.”

“I married an Elf.”

Crysalin did not need to actually say, “What?”, her expression said it for her. “An Elf,” she finally said.

“Yes, an Elf.”

Shock was being replaced by Dwarfish outrage. “An Elf! Well, it’s a fine thing when a perfectly good Dwarf man goes off and marries an Elf! And what does the skinny snip give you that I could not? I’ll wager she’s a good three feet taller than you, with no breasts to feed a babe even if she had enough of a middle to put one in!”

Gimli nodded. “Yes I would say that sums up my Elf rather accurately.”

“But WHY?!”

“Well, I love him.”

“Him? You mean her.”

“No, I mean him. Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, former King of Mirkwood.”

“You’ re joking. You’re making fun.”

Now Gimli was outraged. “I most certainly am not! I would nae lie about such a thing!”

“An Elf! A MALE Elf! That’s…. wrong! It’s unhealthy!”

“I don’t think so,” said Gimli. “Elves pair off in strange ways all the time. Ladies with ladies, men with men, doesn’t seem to do them any harm. Aulë knows there’s no shortage of Elves.”

“And what of your Da’, and your ancestors? All the work they did to build a fine Dwarven clan and you’re going to waste it because you’ve picked up some sick Elvish vice!”

“All right, enough out of you lassie. Begone. Go shake your skirts at some other Dwarf. I’m wed, and not only am I wed, I have more joy, more contentment, and more beauty than any other Dwarf alive.”

She began gathering up the dishes. “I ought to report you to the council before your behavior harms some youngster.”

“Oh report away, woman! Even on the chance that your council cares what some strange outside Dwarf gets up to, need I remind you that I dwell in the house of Elrond, and claim as friends Glorfindel of Gondolin and Ecthelion of the Fountain, and I’m sure even YOU have heard of them. Do you want to explain to your kin that your little outraged morals have brought Elves such as they down upon your house? Now begone with you. And one more thing. Your jam was bitter, the butter was off, and the rolls may well have been made of lead.”

“You’ll be wishing you were eating my rolls three times a day before I’m done with you!”

“My lady, I have had Dwarf rolls and Elvish sausage, and of the two I prefer the sausage.”

She stared at him, outraged past the point of speaking. Gimli waved her off. She grabbed up her basket and stormed off down the beach. He watched her go, then sighed and lay back on the sand, waiting for a fish to bite.

***---***

Erestor opened his eyes, and looked around, then tried to breathe.

Very little happened.

He inhaled again, hearing a loud rasping, whistling noise that almost resembled breathing, then coughed heavily. He reached up and felt his brow. It was hot, and his long black hair was wringing wet, as were the bedclothes. He sucked in air again, and coughed. Finally he managed to rasp, “Fiiiiiinnnn…..”

No response. Erestor noticed Fin’s distinctive white longbow and matching quiver were missing.

“Ada go hunting,” said Silivren.

“Ada picked a fine bloody day for it,” grumbled Erestor, slowly sitting up. He coughed heavily, then reached for his robe. Picking it up, he noticed someone had stuck brightly coloured candies all over it. His eyes shifted to the two angelic faces blinking innocently at him.

“I was eating candy and I coughed,” said Estorel.

“Eyewwwwwwwwwww…” said Erestor. He dropped the robe, then flopped to the bed, pulling the covers over himself. He coughed. “I think I’m sick.”

“I go get Ewond,” said Estorel. He hopped to his feet and ran out of the tent, followed by his sister. Erestor ran his hand over his face.

“Nooooo… don’t go get Ewond,” he groaned.

From a few feet away, he heard Estorel fill his admirable lungs and bellow “WORD EWOND!”

Erestor groaned again, shaking his head. “Wars I have survived, illness, homelessness. These children will put an end to me.”

The tent flap was pulled back, and in stepped a tall Elf. Not Elrond, but Orophin, and he came to kneel by the bed.

“Master Erestor?”

“I think I’m sick,” rasped the advisor.

“I think you are right. Lord Elrond is with Frost right now.” He looked Erestor over. “It would seem to me that what you require right now is juice, soup, and a child minder.”

“Where’s Fin?”

“Provisions are running low. He set off with Ecthelion and a few warriors to hunt. He will be back ere nightfall.”

Erestor groaned. “Oh of course, his timing is impeccable that way.”

Orophin smiled briefly, then rose and stepped back. “I shall return in a moment.” He turned to the children. “Come along, little ones, Sia is sick. You can visit with Elladan and me.”

Erestor listened to them leave, pulling the covers over himself. He fell into a doze, feeling leaden and hazy. He was startled when Orophin returned, bearing a tray laden with fresh juice in a silver jug and a bowl of steaming hot soup. The Galadhel sat down on the edge of the bed and began setting everything up.

“Estorel and Silivren are with Elladan,” he said. “He asked me to make sure you drink this, it will make you feel better.” He passed Erestor a cup of very dubious-looking juice.

“What is this?” croaked Erestor, pouting at the juice and swirling the contents in the silver cup.

“Bloody awful,” said Orophin cheerfully. “But, if you are good and drink it all up, I’ll let you play with the shiny tassels on my uniform jacket.”

Erestor stared at him, plainly not amused. “Orophin, I realize that young Lord Elladan has an inexplicable fondness for you, but if you speak to me like that again, then I assure you, that I will indeed do something with tassels, but not the ones you were talking about.”

“Now, now, that is no way to speak to the nice Galadhel. Drink your juice.”

Erestor did. Orophin had not been lying; it was bloody awful. But it did seem to ease the congestion in his chest. “Disgusting.”

“Yes it is. But I brought you something to wash away the taste. The last of Khazâd-Ada Glóin’s pepper and beef soup.”

“Oh, thank you, I love his pepper soup.” Erestor smiled, a little shyly. “Thank you, Orophin.”

“My pleasure, Master Erestor.” He passed him the bowl of soup and a spoon.

“You really did not have to do this.”

Orophin smiled, and actually blushed slightly. He then glanced around. Leaning forward, he said softly, “Truth to tell, I did. I’ve had a terrible crush on you since I first saw you passing through the Golden Wood years ago on your way to Imladris.”

Erestor laughed, then coughed. “Do you?”

“Yes. And now I have you all to myself. I am most despicable, aren’t I?”

Erestor smiled and shook his head. “Yes. Most despicable. So this shall be our little affair, and Fin and Elladan need never know.”

He leaned forward and kissed Orophin gently on one fine arched cheekbone, then began eating his soup. Once finished, he eased his pained and ill body down to the bed. He smiled as he felt Orophin cover him over and kiss his cheek, then sighed and snuggled into the bed. Soon he was deep asleep.

***---***

Celebrimbor held the delicate Mithril hand and examined it. “Let me see if I understand this. Fingon bent your hand.”

Maedhros stared back at Celebrimbor, every inch the intimidating Elf-Lord of the old tales. “Yes.”

“Fingon.”

“Yes.”

“Bent your hand.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask HOW?”

“No.”

“Ah.” Celebrimbor turned the prosthesis over in his hands. “Wellll, I can fix it, your Lordship, but it may take a few days.”

“Thank you, Celebrimbor. I shall return in three day’s time. Is that sufficient?”

“Yes Lord Maedhros.”

“Very well,” said Maedhros. “I shall see you in three days.”

Celebrimbor bowed as Maedhros quietly departed his blacksmith shop, then turned his attention back to the hand. The middle finger, by some great force, had been bent straight up into a permanent salute.

“I confess I always knew they had a most… spirited… relationship, but really, this is the second time this year.”

He turned to speak to Narvi, but stopped as a strange rumbling sound began emanating from the chair where the Dwarf was seated. It went on for an astonishing length of time, then Narvi sat back with a smile of profound satisfaction on his face.

“Been holding that in for twenty minutes.”

“NARVI!”

“Well you didn’t want me to do that in front of Maedhros, did you?”

“You could not have taken that outside?! You had to set it loose in here? Where we have to breathe?”

Narvi reached for his pipe and tobacco. “Nope. Had I stood up, it would have escaped. Without a buffer, there could have been casualties.”

“I am going to burn that chair.”

“You’re not burning this chair! I’ve had this chair three hundred and fifty years!”

Celebrimbor paused. “You are right, I cannot burn that chair. Think of the centuries’ worth of Dwarf-farts caught in the padding, awaiting a chance to go forth and cover Valinor in darkness.”

“Good lad. No one needs that.” He lit his pipe, then took the hand from Celebrimbor and looked at it. “Do you suppose this happened while fighting or f…”

“Ah, the latter, I suspect.”

“Fu…?”

“NARVI! Must you use that word? Especially when speaking of the relationship between my uncle and his lover?”

Narvi snorted. “Big deal. Almost High King Pointy-Ear. He fucks like the rest of us.”

Celebrimbor threw his hands up. “Narvi, I swear you shall be the death of me. ‘Here lies Celebrimbor, Elf-Smith, Ring-Maker. Found dead of extreme embarrassment and asphyxia caused by Dwarf-farts’.”

“And lack of sex.” said Narvi. He picked up a small tool and began carefully removing tiny screws from the Mithril hand.

Celebrimbor removed his shirt and began firing the forge, his large body powerful from centuries of wielding a blacksmith’s hammer. “And whose fault is that, may I ask? What Elf would endure living in a forge with you and your… expulsions.”

“You, for one.”

“If I left, you would soon be buried in soiled undergarments and soot. Someone has to clean.”

“You love me.”

“If I do then it must be some spell of Morgoth,” muttered the Elven smith.

Narvi smiled and chuckled quietly, continuing to work on the hand. In the distance, he heard an unsettling rising, hoarse cry that ended in a questioning sound. He shuddered.

“Hate that noise,” said Celebrimbor. “I do not care if they are Elves, they frighten me.”

“They were certainly upset about something last night,” said Narvi. He looked up as another cry rose, then several more. He lowered the hand and looked towards the window. “They seem to be getting worked up again.”

Celebrimbor walked to the outer edge of the forge and looked down to the encampment that was Elrond’s household. “There looks to be some commotion.”

Narvi set the hand down and rose from his chair. He walked to the landing to stand by Celebrimbor, looking down at the camp. There was indeed some chaos occurring.

“I wonder what they are upset about?” he asked.

***---***

Veet and Liritar sat side by side on a rock, munching nuts, and watching their younger brother. He was pacing the camp, and had been for nearly an hour, seeming to become more and more frantic as he criss-crossed the area

“What do you suppose he’s looking for?” said Veet.

“Could be anything,” said Liritar. “His bow, his mind, his masculinity, his…”

Legolas suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the camp and cried out; “GIMLI!”

Both women stood up abruptly. “Gimli?” said Veet. “You lost Gimli?”

Legolas looked around. “He woke me up just before dawn to say he was going fishing, but that was hours ago! I went to the beach, but he was not there!”

Veet scanned the area, hoping Gimli would pick that moment to show up. Liritar rolled her eyes.

“Well he cannot have gone far!”

Legolas began to shake, as though a horrible, unthinkable idea came to him. “What if something unspeakable has happened to him?”

“Nothing has happened to him, we simply do not know where he is,” said Veet. “Go get Ada Glóin, and I will go get Firespark. We will find him.”

Legolas nodded, then ran off to find Glóin. Once he was gone, Veet turned to look at her sister.

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“That if one Plains Elf is good, then a dozen are better?”

Veet’s eyes glazed over. “Oh yeah, I could find a use for a dozen Plains Elves.”

Liritar smacked her. Veet shook her head. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop dreaming. But yes. And not just Plains-Elves.”

The two both hopped onto a near by table and screamed; “WE CAN’T FIND GIMLI!”

It was truly astonishing how fast the camp began to mobilize. The noise could be heard all the way to Celebrimbor and Narvi’s forge, and roused Maeglin and Maglor from their afternoon tea. Even Maedhros and Fingon, out for a pleasant ride, paused at the cacophony of howling and shouting that broke out. The two Elf-Lords exchanged glances, then began making their way to Elrond’s encampment.

Unfortunately, there was one who did not hear the cries.