This is the end, beautiful friend.
This is the end, my only friend,
the end,
of our elaborate plans,
the end,
of everything that stands,
the end,
no safety or surprise,
the end.
I’ll never look into your eyes again…
- Jim Morrison.
Gimli was dozing in the sun, enjoying Berhin’s hospitality. Not far away, Loss sparred with Brenin. The tall Elf was an aggressive sparring partner, and more than few times he heard the young Dwarf call hold, though Loss was not always quick to pull back. It seemed he was still a little mad. Or perhaps he simply did not much care for Brenin. Gimli was not concerned either way; he was still groggy from his head injury.
He was awakened abruptly as something landed on him, straddling him and wrapping slender arms around his neck. He found himself being kissed passionately, and as he opened his eyes, long, pale gold hair veiled his sight. He smiled.
“Well hello,” he said, his voice soft and rough.
Legolas kissed him again, and Gimli put his arm around the Elf’s neck. He smiled as he felt his husband lie down beside him, cuddling up, his arm across Gimli’s broad chest.
“So you know this Elf, then?” said Berhin, his voice amused.
“A little,” said Gimli, stroking Legolas’ silken hair. He looked at his husband. “Did you miss me?”
“I was out of my mind with worry,” said Legolas. “I did not know what had befallen you.” He touched the bandage across Gimli’s head. “What happened?”
“The lassie decided she was nae pleased with the idea that I loved you and dinnae want her. She bounced a rock off my skull.”
Gimli watched with fascination as Legolas’ eyes began to positively glow with wrath. “She what?!”
“It has been dealt with, my love.”
“SHE WHAT?!” Legolas leapt up, blazing golden-white light. “WHERE IS THIS DAUGHTER OF SAURON?!”
Berhin stood up, looking concerned. “She is my daughter, and Master Gimli and I have arranged a suitable punishment….”
Crysalin was led into the room just then by her elder sister, Pearl, and flanked by a pair of guards. She looked sullen and annoyed, as though all of this was a tedious bore. She fixed her father with an angry stare, as though questioning his right to discipline her.
“Can we please get this over with?” she spat. “I do have things to do.”
Legolas lunged at her, fully intent on killing the arrogant brat. Brenin tried to catch him, but the Elf darted around him and was making his way straight towards her, when Lossenaur caught him. Legolas raged and foamed, intent on getting his hands on the one who dared harm his husband. Crysalin curled her lip at Legolas, then looked at her father.
“Can I go?”
Berhin looked at Legolas and shook his head. This Elf meant to kill her, and fought his captor like a wild cat. But so confident was she that nothing would come of his rage, and so little concern had she for the consequences of her actions, that Berhin was sore tempted to tell Loss to let Legolas go. He made a motion with his hand, and Loss nodded. He picked up Legolas and carried him into another room, closing the door after them.
Gimli wished to rise and go after Legolas, but first there was the matter before him. He heard his Elven lover raging in the next room, then heard him land a blow to the door that made them all jump. The ire of Elves was naught to trifle with. He looked towards Crysalin, who still looked bored and inconvenienced.
“May I go?” she snapped.
“NO!” bellowed Berhin at her, and she actually looked surprised. Gimli suspected he had never before raised his voice to her. The large Dwarf stormed over to her, angry at last with his child.
“No you may NOT go! You stand here accused of attempting to murder kin!”
“But he tried to violate me!” she wailed, suddenly moved to sobbing. Berhin was unmoved; another first, Gimli suspected.
“That is a load of shit and YOU KNOW IT! He made no move to assault you, any more than any of the others you tried to ruin with your lies! All of your young life I have tried to make up for the loss of your mother, and you repay my love and caring with hate and arrogance. No more! Had I more courage, I would sentence you to death, as is fitting, but I will not. Instead, you will go to the far side of Valinor. I have made arrangements for you to serve the Elf-Lord who dwells there. Much he knows about antics such as yours, and he is willing to set you straight, and he has my permission to punish you as he sees fit should you attempt to do unto him as you have your own family. For if you will dare to thrash your siblings and spit at your own father, I can but imagine what you will do to a stranger!”
Crysalin gasped. It seemed, at last, Berhin had her attention. Her eyes were large, and filled with true fear. “The Lord of the Far Shore? But Da’ he’s…!”
“You have no need to tell me of him, I know him well enough, and much he has to repent. And part of that penance is you. Your bags are packed. The wagon leaves in a few minutes. You will be in his service for ten years, and when you return, I can but hope you have learned not to treat gentleness with scorn, nor mistake kindness for weakness.”
“But Da’!”
“Go.”
Da’!” she cried, her voice genuinely afraid. “Da’ you can’t!”
Berhin looked to his guards. “Take her now to the wagon, and drive her to the home of the Lord of the Far Shore. Do not let her out of your sight, nor fall for her tears, for though she is my child and I love her, plainly she is treacherous.”
The two guards bowed, then took Crysalin by the arms and led her away.
***---***
Loss tossed Legolas onto the bed, then sat his long frame down in a large, padded chair of Dwarven make. Legolas was off the bed in a second and across the room, pulling at the door handle, and screaming like a mad thing. Loss let him spend himself on the door, knowing he could not open it, for long ago it had been designed to hold himself.
Legolas leapt up and kicked the door with all his force, causing it to shudder. Then, as he finally began to flag, Lossenaur poured them each a glass of miruvor. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, ruined from the torture and violence of another age.
“The punishment has already been decided,” he said. He smiled slightly. “Much as I would like to see you kill her. I have long held my silence while she tormented and abused my husband.”
Legolas gave the door a last kick before finally wandering over to Lossenaur and accepting a glass. “Your husband?”
“Berhin, Dwarf-Lord.”
“You bound to a Dwarf also? Then we are family.”
Loss nodded his head, and raised his glass. “To you, brother.”
“And you.”
They drank, then Legolas sat heavily on the bed. “Few have brought me to such wrath.”
“She is not worth your ire. And she will suffer. Attempting to murder another is not to be taken lightly, though I grieve it had to come to this to move Berhin to action. Still, she is his youngest daughter. I am not sure I would do better. Or different.”
***---***
Maeglin slept.
It was early afternoon, hardly a respectable time for a Noldo to be awake. They had come forth in the time of darkness, and that was when Maeglin preferred to rise – when it was dark. His beloved Maglor, however, had not the luxury of sleeping the day away. Maeglin was rolled up into a blue velvet knot in the middle of the bed, and had somehow claimed all five pillows. After attempting to take, at the very least, a sheet for his own, and failing, Maglor arose from the bed and sought refuge in the bath. He was there now, asleep with a book of poetry across his face, his once dense covering of bubbles now withered away to a few thin wisps.
Maeglin stirred as he heard a rush of wings, and felt something land on his shoulder. It was a bird, but he was accustomed to the creatures seeking his company. He ignored it as it picked at his hair, muttering quietly to itself in a raspy voice. He felt a hooked beak nibble him gently, then heard a ruffle of feathers. Suddenly the creature bellowed at the top of its lungs:
“AHOY, COME OVER HERE YOU #%@& WARF-SLUT, AND I’LL GIVE YOU A PENNY IF YOU FIND WHERE I PUT ME %#@&^%$!!!”
Maeglin opened his eyes, trying to think if he had heard this bird correctly. He turned his head and looked at the great blue Macaw, gazing back at him with beady black eyes.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“%#@^%$ ^#@&*%!” replied the parrot.
Maeglin heard the gentle splash of someone sitting up in the bathtub. “Narvi, I thought I told you not to say that,” said Maglor.
“It is not Narvi,” said Maeglin, sitting up. “It is a large bird of some kind. What is your name, friend?”
“&%#@*&%@^%@!”
“I am NOT calling you that.”
“CRACKERS WANTS A POLLY! HAR HAR HAR!”
“Crackers. All right, I can call you that. Where did you come from?”
“%&%$#@!”
“I’ve been there,” remarked Maglor dryly. “Ah, my fairest fair, you are not planning on keeping that thing, are you?”
“He’s so cute!” said Maeglin.
“Lovely, I am certain he will make a charming pillow.”
“&*^*$@*&!”
“He says he doesn’t like you, dear.”
“The feeling is mutual. Is he at least large enough to roast?”
“#$^^$#$@@%$^*(&^%^$**((*^%$!!!!!”
“He says he finds your humor distasteful.”
“Well so nice he has you to translate for him. Tell the little feathered outhouse I said &^%&%^$*@&(&*(^.”
“MAGLOR! Crackers he did not mean that.”
“Yes I did.”
Maeglin glared in the direction of where Maglor was soaking in the tub. “I do believe that offense could get you thrown out of Valinor.”
“What is the loss of Valinor to me, when my own beloved bonded husband makes me sleep on the floor to warm the hindquarters of his vast collection of peep-frogs?”
“The frogs appreciated it, I am sure.” Maeglin untangled himself from the velvet covers, and rose from the bed, naked. He stepped carefully around the tiny green frogs that were scattered across the floor, Crackers perched on his fist. He walked to the bathing chamber and watched as Maglor drained the cold water.
“If you refill that, I could join you,” said Maeglin.
“%#$@%!” said Crackers.
Maeglin looked at the blue bird. “Well, that was the general idea,” he said.
***---***
Orophin dragged the Elfling, kicking, screaming, spitting and biting, to the yurt where they had the bathing area set up. He walked in just in time to see Faramir about to disrobe and step into a freshly drawn bath. The mortal paused as he saw the tall Elf enter the pavilion, carrying a very thin and dirty child.
“Lord Faramir, may I commandeer your bath for a noble purpose?”
Faramir raised an eyebrow. “I should not have thought so much dirt would fit on a small child. Take my bath, I shall draw another later.”
Orophin noted that Faramir had not yet succeeded in getting his Elf ears off as he sat Brennon down on a chair. The child promptly kicked him in the shin and attempted to race off, but was caught by the arm and sat down forcefully once more. Orophin pulled off the filthy shirt. The pants were half-rotted, and did not pull off so much as give in to decomposition. Before Brennon could utter a word, he was up to his chin in hot water and bubbles. He immediately tried to lunge out of the bath and flee, but a large hand shoved him underwater briefly. As he came up, sputtering and swearing, a washcloth mopped the grime from his face.
“I HATE YOU!” bellowed Brennon.
“You, and scores of other Elflings I have been forced to bathe,” said Orophin blithely.
“LET ME GO! YOU’RE NOT MY ADA!”
“No, I am not. Nor do I think he sent you forth this morning in filthy decaying clothes. Look, I shall make a deal with you,” he said as the Elfling once more tried to escape, biting the hand that restrained him. Brennon could bite all he liked – Orophin had lost much of the feeling in that hand years ago trying to wash baby Arwen.
Brennon crunched on the hand, finally letting go when he realized it did not seem to be causing Orophin any discomfort. “What deal?”
“I shall wash you, give you clean clothes, and feed you, if you tell me why you are out here alone in this condition. After that, if you still want to go, you may.”
Brennon thought about that. This Elf did not seem bad, though he certainly was a big meanie. He caught a glimpse of Puppy on the chair nearby, filthy and torn, his tail dangling by a few threads.
“Well, I do think Puppy needs a healer…”
Orophin passed the child the toy and a small scrub brush. “You wash Puppy, and after your bath I will get him a… healer.”
Brennon took his puppy and the scrub brush, then scowled suspiciously at Orophin. “Why you being so nice?”
“I’m not. I’m just a nosy Elf who has an insatiable desire to scrub random children. So have we a deal?”
Brennon did not trust this Elf, but the hot bubble bath felt wonderful on his cold, aching little body, and his stomach was burning he was so hungry. Rations on the ship had not nearly been adequate enough for a growing Elfling, and it had been over 24 hours since last he ate. He glanced at Faramir, who was valiantly attempting to pull his ears off.
“What’s wrong with him?” the Elfling asked.
“That is a mortal, who made the sad mistake of eating fifty pounds of lembas in one evening. As a result, he has turned into an Elf.”
Faramir muttered something, then yelped in pain. The putty ears still held.
“He is?!! I never knew you could turn a mortal into an Elf!”
“I dare say neither did he.”
Brennon began to relax. He had been cold to the bone, and while he had never worried much about dirt, it was good to be out of those clothes. They had been so loaded with filth they had been slimy. He carefully scrubbed Puppy, then looked at Orophin.
“Who are you?”
“I am Orophin, a Galadhel of Lothlórien.” He smiled slightly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Brennon, and this is Puppy. What’s for lunch?”
Orophin reached over to a small tray, loaded with tiny bite-sized cakes. Their presence on a tray beside a book entitled “I’m Okay, You’re a Mortal – Living Among The Firstborn” indicated Faramir had planned a long soak. He popped a cake into the child’s mouth.
“What would you like?”
“I like chicken! And chocolate, but not carrots – Ada says they grow in your ears. An’ Maxie taught me to like fish but I only like Maxie’s fish. But…” Brennon’s voice became soft, “he’s dead.”
“Why do you think he is dead, child?” Orophin asked softly.
Brennon looked at the water, so Orophin could not see his eyes grow wet. “Because the ship washed up on the reef in the storm and was smashed to pieces.”
“Was your Ada on the ship too?”
“No, he went to the deep place, and mama said he did fall an’ then the Orcses come to Gondor an’ mama an’ my baby sister got eaten an’ I had to live with Aunty. But she tried to sell me but the men didn’t want me, they said I was ugly an’ not an Elf but I AM an Elf. I just don’t got pointy ears, ‘cause mama was a mortal.”
“How did you get on the ship?”
“Aunty left me on the warf. I stayed there all night, an’ in the morning I met Maxie an’ he gived me a job on the “Jolly Wench” in th’ crow’s nest. But now Maxie is dead.”
“Perhaps not,” said Orophin. “You are alive. How about you have lunch, and then you and I shall go search the wreckage.”
“Okay,” said Brennon quietly. He looked at Orophin. “I don’t hate you,” he admitted sheepishly.
Orophin smiled. “It will be late when we are done. Perhaps you could spend the night with myself and my husband. We have a spare bed.”
Bed sounded good – a real bed, not a cold hammock in a damp drafty ship, and real food, not cold stale rations tasting of mold and salt.
“Okay,” said Brennon. He held up Puppy, and pouted at the state of his dearest friend. “Poor Puppy, I think he’s not feeling well.”
“He is in a rather bad way.”
“But I can’t afford no healer for him!”
“Well, I did hear Lord Elrond say he needed someone to help him….” Orophin and Brennon both pulled up short as a voice screamed out across the compound.
“ADA! ADA!”
The voice was high pitched and frantic, a shriek of terror and despair. It took some time before Orophin realized he knew who was screaming. It was Elrohir.
“ADA COME QUICK!”
Orophin bolted out of the tent, leaving Brennon in the bath. Faramir was close behind him, and the two ran over to the pavilion where Frost had borne his children. Elrohir was down on his knees before the dark-draped entranceway, his long brown hair loose over his bare shoulders, and he was screaming. Orophin had nearly reached him when Elladan appeared, dropping down before his brother and putting his arms around him.
“Elrohir what is wrong?”
Elrohir shook his head, then drew a deep breath and screamed for his father once more. Lord Elrond arrived moments later, Rúmil close behind him. Elrond gently moved Elladan aside and knelt before Elrohir.
“Penneth what is wrong?”
Elrohir could not speak. He pointed towards the pavilion, then rose and dragged his father towards it. They disappeared inside. Seconds later Rabbit tore past, darting into the tent after them. Elladan moved close to Orophin, taking his arm.
“Do you think it has something to do with the babies?” asked Elladan.
Orophin shook his head. “The babies or Frost, and I do not like to think it is either. Should we go inside?”
Elladan looked uncertain, then kissed his husband. “Let me go inside, we don’t want to crowd Ada.”
Orophin nodded, then watched Haldir race past and into the tent. He and Elladan both flinched as a horrific scream of agony emanated from the tent. Elladan kissed Orophin again, then went into the tent. Orophin watched and waited, deeply concerned. Finally, he turned and made his way back to the tent, where Brennon was quietly watching the scene with large eyes.
***---***
Fade walked across the lichen-coved the cliff top, to where his Sia now lounged, soaking up the remains of the day’s warmth. The sun was low in the sky, and in but a few hours would have set. Fade seated himself by Fadai and watched the great ocean. His sensitive Plains Elf hearing could pick up the faded traces of an ancient song as the waves washed onto the jeweled beach. He shook his head, then tossed back his long black hair.
“What is all the shrieking?” muttered Fadai.
“’Tis Aia-Nen. The Shaman has died.”
Fadai sat up. “He has? When? How?”
“He was struck by the birthing-ailment. His womb filled with pus, and he passed to the faery realm.”
Fadai looked stunned, slowly shaking his head. “A loss, he was so young. Who now shall be Shaman?”
Fade shrugged. “I have no objection if Aia-Nen wishes the position. If he refuses it, Warrior Moon can take over it. He knows as much as the other Shamans who went before.”
Fadai stretched out once more on the warm lichen. “This clan is cursed. We hang on by a thread, and now our blood mingles with these Glaur-Iyre. Wrong I was to come here, and more wrong to bear you here.”
Fade looked at his Sia. “I did not know I was conceived here.”
“You were not. But, you were born here.”
“Ah, I am disgraced. My pregnant mother flees his therlu and bites a god.”
“I did not flee him, I simply went for a walk for a few hundred years. Your Aie is so dull that he could easily live among the Nyah-nau.”
“I do wish you would stop calling them that. They prefer to be called Hobbits.”
Fadai snorted. “’Nyah-nau’ is what they are.”
“Sia I am impressed, you have a bad name for everyone.”
Fadai snorted with amusement, then watched as a young Plains Elf roamed into view, attracted by Elrohir’s grief. Fadai nipped his child, and Fade sat up. He did not know why his Sia was so taken with Mari-Ton Cksu, nor why he was so interested in seeing them pair up, but Mari-Ton was far too young for his tastes, and Fade bored Mari-Ton to fits. One only need see the reversed hare leaping among the dandelions tattooed in the pit of his throat to know he was mad.
“What ails the young Aia-Nen?” he asked.
“Frost has passed,” said Fade.
Mari-Ton gasped. “No! That cannot be, he was so young! Who now shall lead us? Aia-Nen?”
Fade shook his head. “Warrior, I think.”
Fadai snorted. “The Nyah-nau,” he said.
Mari-Ton looked at Fadai and raised an eyebrow. “My compliments, Old Bastard, thou hast a bad name for all, even the wee bringers of the blessed hot chocolate.”
Warrior Moon walked up then, as did Mouse, followed by his triplets. Fade noted that at least with Moon and Mouse, this clan was in no great danger of fading away. Fade showed Moon his teeth, letting him know he was in no mood to hear more remarks about Aia-Nen, not even from the second Plains Elf to have followed his Sia into the new lands. Moon was unimpressed.
“Aia-Nen bays like a wounded dog,” said Moon.
Fade looked at Mari-Ton, and the two exchanged glances. Fade got to his feet, and together they walked down the cliff path to Elrohir’s tent, leaving the others behind.
“They have no cause to be so bitter,” said Fade. “No matter what darkness has befallen them here.”
“They see the blackness of storms, when they should delight in the Faery Queen’s lightning-play and the healing rain,” said Mari-Ton. “Let thee and I at least go to this place of grief and chant the old prayers.”
“We need a third,” said Fade. “I will not dishonour Ta’Na Yar’s grief, nor Frost’s death, with only two singers.”
Mari-Ton nodded. “Look, there is the January Hare, we will ask him to sing.” Mari-Ton grinned at Fade. “Unless you would prefer another?”
“The January Hare will do, he sings well enough.”
“And you do not object to his company.”
“No. I do not. And, I thank you for not telling my Sia I have decided to court him.”
Mari-Ton shook his head. “I see no reason for you not to court him. The Elders place too much emphasis upon how he hunts. I say there is no disgrace. He feeds himself, what is it to us if he uses the crossbow? His weakness is not in his soul, it is in his body. The Council granted him the right to use it. There is no dishonour here. But I warn thee, Fade, should Fadai ask, you know I cannot lie.”
Fade nodded. “I know. You are a good friend Mari-Ton, even if we often do not agree.”
“I bear you no ill will. But I would like my toy snake back.”
“When you return my bunny, you knave.”
Mari-Ton laughed. “Done. Now let us go pray for poor Frost.” He shook his head. “Such a waste of what was good.”
Fade waved to a young Plains Elf, who limped towards him. He was small and thin, and his long hair was tied back into an untidy ponytail. “Hare, come with us. We require a third to sing the Old Prayers.”
Hare nodded, and the two Elves paused as he caught up. He moved with a limp, and was marked by many tattoos. Some were for healing, some protection. The one that disturbed Fade the most however was the one across his flat stomach – a triangle containing the curled skeleton of a wolf puppy: a dire warning to all suitors that this Plains Elf was not permitted children, for fear of passing his ailments on to them.
Fade held his hand out to Hare, and together they walked, moving silently to the tent. The Golden Elves stepped back, making room for them, watching in respectful quiet as they began to sing.
“Who hath stopped this life, and taken from us he who showed us many paths?
What cold hand stopped this young heart at his moment of joy?”
“’Twas I, And I, And I.
For we are Fate, and Choice, and Destiny, and ever do we lead Elves to their final day.”
***---***
Elrond ran into the darkness of the tent, watched by the golden glowing eyes of Frost’s children. He made his way quickly to the shaman, but before he even reached the bed, Elrond knew there was naught he could do. Frost lay on his back, covers drawn high, one hand across his chest, his half-open green eyes dull and glassy. He was dead.
Rabbit charged into the room, running to the side of his child and taking his cold, stiffening hand in between his own. Elrond shook his head, tears burning his eyes, and a wave of sorrow and frustration washing over him.
“Ada?” said Elrohir quietly, his eyes running with tears.
“Peritonitis, child,” he said softly. “Perhaps if Frost had let us know something was wrong… but no, he has ever hidden his own pain.”
Elrohir was shaking; he looked ill. “I took a nap with him, I was so tired. I dreamed of a white tiger, and it spoke to me. But the words were not clear…”
Haldir ran into the tent, stopping short as Rabbit threw his head back and set forth a hellish scream of pain and grief. Moments later, Elladan came into the tent, walking over to his brother and putting his arms around him.
Haldir quietly walked to Rabbit’s side, sitting beside him on the bed and putting an arm around him. Rabbit turned to his husband and threw his arms around him, then broke down sobbing. Haldir gasped in surprise. Rabbit was so private with his emotions, never giving in to them before anyone. But this time there was no containing the grief. He collapsed against his lover and wept.
Haldir held Rabbit tightly, trying to comfort him, but he was inconsolable. Elrond drew the cover over Frost, speaking a few soft words in Elvish over him before turning to his own child. Elrohir was hanging off of his brother, sobbing. Elrond stroked his long hair, then walked over to the two inky shadows that were Frost’s children. He knelt before him, and looked into their gold eyes. They were concerned, he could see, but did not understand what was happening. Frightened, they slid off the daybed they were on and into his lap, huddling close to their Grandfather.
“There is nothing to fear, little ones,” he said quietly.
He very much wished to take them away from this place of grief, but did not dare take them into the sunlight. The day was growing late, and night would fall soon, but Elrond would risk no hurt to the children. Rabbit had been most specific about the length of time they must stay inside.
One of the children took the edge of his sleeve and began to chew it. Elrond smiled without humour, a dry, tired smile. He reached into a basket and pulled out a bit of lembas, which was eagerly snapped up and devoured. He offered them more, then turned to look at Elrohir. He had his arm around his brother’s neck, his face buried in his long hair. He slowly sat back, drying his eyes, and looking from his children to the door of the tent.
“What is the hour?” he asked, his breath hitching.
“Three hours before sunset,” said Elladan.
Elrohir sniffed, trying to dry his eyes. “I have to get the little nightshades ready for their naming ritual.”
Elladan took his brother’s hand. “I think that can wait.”
Elrohir shook his head. “No, it’s important.”
Rabbit raised his head, fighting hard to hide the grief that had poured from him just minutes before. “It must be done before they can emerge into the light.”
Elladan nodded, then asked his brother “Can I help?”
Elrohir nodded, and sniffed. “I need hot water, and some herbs for a ritual bath. And… things for Frost. I guess this makes me Shaman.” He drew a deep, steadying breath, then recited a list of things for his brother to fetch for him. Elladan nodded, then departed to bring the things his brother required.
Elrond watched his child, thinking how young he looked, and how very small, unprepared for all he now had to face. Elrohir shoved his long hair out of his face, then turned to look at his husband of but a year. He took his hand, then reached forward to stroke back the white hair.
“I wish Nana was here,” he said in a small voice.
Elrond sat back as though he had been struck, and blinked in surprise. “Your Nana?” he said softly.
Elrohir nodded, then slowly rest his head on Frost’s cold breast, bursting into tears. Elrond stared at him, then looked towards Rabbit. For the first time, both Thrayre-Iy and Glaur-Iy understood each other perfectly.
“Then you shall have her,” said Elrond. He turned and departed the tent.
Rabbit turned and gently kissed Haldir, touching his face. “Again I leave you, but only for a brief time. The child cries for his Sia. I will not see him denied.”
Haldir nodded, and watched as Rabbit made his way after Elrond. |
