A Far Distant Shore
Chapter Six

Rating: NC-17
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, ceremonial drug use, strange erotic dreams involving wildlife.
Summary: Elrond learns a bitter truth, Elrohir dreams, Bramble gets a puppy, Lindir gets a hard lesson, legends rise from the grass, Rúmil is forced to resort to the soft pillow, and Mauburz returns home.
Notes: Meadbunny Rating: 7
Beta’d by Luthi.

This chapter has an accompanying illustration done by the wonderful Sildil, and one by the lovely Lazra

It was twilight, and as they stood on the jeweled beach of Valinor, the setting sun turned all to red and gold, while overhead, the sky softly faded to indigo and orange. The gems in the sand glittered with a thousand colours, and the sea softly washed onto the shore.

Frost lay on his pyre, long white hair falling back from his face, his body covered in a white blanket trimmed with woven images that told the tale of his life. Elrohir could not look at them, could barely stand the sight of his husband of so short a time lying upon a byre of wood and green branches.

Elrohir didn’t want to be there, but as Shaman it was his duty. Behind him stood most of Frost’s clan, Rabbit included, letting the young interloper know they were with him. Fadai and Warrior Moon were the only ones absent, but these days their opinions mattered little. Rabbit was clan warrior, where he stood was what counted.

Elrohir accepted the torch Rabbit passed him. He felt all of five years old, lost and befuddled. He was grateful the ceremony was a simple one; he had not the strength to perform a complex one. In a moment of confusion he looked to Frost for assistance, and remembered it was Frost for whom they were gathered.

He drew a deep breath and turned, facing the setting sun, as did the rest of the clan. They gazed out to the sea in silence, awaiting the perfect moment between day and night. When it came, all Valinor was shrouded in mystic half-light, and Elrohir stepped forward to touch the flame to the pyre. It went up with disconcerting ease, much the way Frost’s life had fled. He placed the torch in the flames to burn with everything else, then turned to face Rabbit once more, accepting from him a polished translucent cup made of turtle shell. Their eyes met, and Elrohir managed a small smile at this wildest of all wild things who had taken him into his family. He was so glad Rabbit did not blame him for this.

Elrohir took the cup and drank the contents, then picked up his spear and walked alone down the beach, waiting for the narcotic contents to overwhelm him, and show him the dream-visions that would tell him what next he must do as Shaman. The flames of the pyre lit his way as he walked.

***---***

Fade slowly prowled back to the village, making his way to his Sia’s hut. The night was promising to be an especially dark one, as clouds gathered in the faded light of the day. He wondered dispiritedly if it would rain.

From the top of the cliff, he stopped and peered down at the pyre burning on the beach. He felt saddened beyond tears at the loss of Frost. It was a grief that took hold in the soul, sapping energy from his body. It was not right to lose their Shaman, and as willing as Aia-Nen was, he knew even less of their ways than Frost had. Fade sighed heavily.

“We are a dying race, and behold, down on the beach, our ways are now wreathed in flame.”

He watched the pyre a while, then turned to continue his way towards Fadai’s hut, but paused once more, looking towards a little hut, only half-built, standing dark and silent. He walked towards it, then crouched before the low doorway, peering into the empty structure.

Hunting Fox’s scent still hung in the air, and Fade crawled into the hut. He dropped shoulder-first into the earth, covering himself in the scent of his former lover, reveling in his memory. Filthy now, he sat up and uttered a mournful, questioning bay, but knew there would be no answer. Hunting Fox had left.

He had departed the day after they arrived in Valinor. Fade knew he was not the most sensitive individual, but he had always assumed that his therlu was happy with him, even with their vast age differences. Hunting Fox was barely past his age of majority when they became lovers, and had become pregnant mere days later. Fade had been so in love with his young husband that he became the object of much teasing in their clan, but he did not care. Fox was everything to him.

Fade had no idea Fox was utterly miserable, and had paired with him because he seemed the least offensive of the meager pickings within the clan. Once they had reached Valinor, however, and Hunting Fox knew that the doorway opened by Melkor so many centuries ago was within a few day’s walking distance, he turned on his husband, savaging the back of his neck with his cutting teeth, then telling him his true feelings. Fade disgusted him, and the children he fathered disgusted him. He was returning to the Faery Realm, away from this land of sunlight and blonde Elves. Then he departed.

Fade shook the dust off his long body, and crawled out of the hut. A spot of rain hit him on the nose, and he knew he had to get to his Sia’s tent. His babies would be waiting for their supper. He stood up and shook again, then checked the bag that dangled from his belt, filled with no less than five large lobsters; four for his family, and one for the January Hare.

Fade was not certain what he felt towards Hare. He liked him well enough, and admired his strength and inner grace. It was hard to overlook the tattoos emblazoned all over his body, proclaiming to one and all that he was not to breed, but Fade had always felt drawn to Hare, and his wit. Hare would have made an excellent Shaman, as well as a loving mother, had he been given the chance. And though his body was weak, there was nothing wrong with his mind, a fact made clear by his adult name. It sprang from a saying among the Plains Elves; any hunter could catch the Spring Hare, for he was young and naïve. But it took a crafty hunter indeed to fell the January Hare.

Fade smiled self-depreciatingly at himself. He liked Hare, and wanted Hare to like him, just as he knew it was far too soon after Fox’s departure to be thinking of romance. He did not want romance. He wanted a friend. He hoped Hare felt the same. He went to his hut, and sat before the open doorway.

“Hare?” he said quietly into the dark.

Something stirred, and a pair of green eyes glowed back at him, blinking sleepily. “Fade! Oh I fell asleep, I missed the Shaman’s funeral, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” said Fade softly, “I fear you did. I am on my way to my Sia’s hut, but I…I brought you a gift. I know it is not appropriate, but… I did not really hunt for you. I could not say this constituted much of a hunt.”

Hare sat up, sleepy and puzzled. “You..?”

“I found this,” he said hastily, “I found five actually, and since I had a spare I thought… you would like it.” He pulled out a lobster and stared at the annoyed leggy beast. “They certainly grow large crayfish here.”

Hare laughed quietly. “It is called a lobster.”

“Is it? Well mind the claws, it is alive and not amused. I will leave you now.”

Hare smiled. “Sleep well Fade, and thank you.”

Fade smiled, and backed out of the hut, making his way to Fadai’s hut. His children pounced on him as soon as he entered, each snapping up their lobster and tearing them to bits before devouring them. Fadai ate his more slowly, as did Fade, both munching quietly in the candle-lit hut, while outside the rain began to fall. Then the four went to their beds, Fadai alone in his, Fade with his two small children snuggled against him. It had been a long day.

***---***

Elrohir staggered down the beach, alone, dazed, the heavy narcotic effect of the potion he had drunk taking hold. He was no longer sure where he was, and the landscape seemed to be doing unnatural things. Finally he dropped to the cold wet sand, and wished he had paid closer heed to how to use the vision potion when Frost showed him.

He lay, blinking, watching the world get darker and darker, until finally it was like the entire world had faded away, and he was alone in perfect nothingness, floating in silence. For a while he drifted, letting the wind push him around, then, growing tired of that, he sprouted wings, turning into a great crow. He broke out of the blackness, rising high over Valinor, sweeping across the island, forgetting his grief in the unexpected joy of flight. His wings grew longer, more powerful, and he was a dragon, spewing flame as he banked and rolled, heading higher and higher, until he came face to face with the moon, and both he and Ithil stared at each other in surprise. Then he dove down, down, down, until he nearly hit the ground and abruptly changed course, leveling out and shooting over the plain like a great golden spear of fire and light. He saw an Elf on horseback, and had to barrel roll to avoid slamming into him, then noticed belatedly it was his father.

“Sorry, Ada!” he called, and kept flying.

He did a few turns around the island, and then his attention was drawn by a flash of red on the beach. He leveled his flight, slowing down, and headed for it, finally landing on the sand. He felt his body return to its usual Elven form, and watched as the red spark before him flickered, and then grew into a red flame. The flame spread, and began to twine in the air, forming into something as the world around him once more became black and silent.

The fire spread slowly, and became a gate. Slowly, silently, the gate opened, and grey smoke rolled out. He could smell it, like the ash of a funeral pyre, and as he watched, a great form prowled out, sleek and stealthy, moving with perfect silence, eyes large and gold. It was a great white tiger.

The cat bounded up, knocking him onto the ground, but Elrohir was not afraid. He laughed as he felt the tongue move, wet and rough over his face, the great broad paws holding his shoulders.

“Do I know you?” he asked the cat as it nipped his chin, purring. “You seem very familiar.”

The cat purred, pinning him to the ground, laying flat over his body, between his long legs. He gasped in surprise as it roughly mounted him, penetrating him, growling. Then the long body changed beneath his hands, and it was Frost. Elrohir closed his eyes, holding his husband, enjoying the rough, unanticipated love-making, each thrust of his hard penis inside of him.

“You’re back!” he breathed, tears sliding down his face.

“We cannot be together yet, Aia-Nen,” whispered Frost, “nor do I know how long we shall be apart. When you awake, you will be in the surf, and remember little of this, but your heart will be lighter. Trust in yourself, you are stronger than you know.”

“I’m a fool, I have not the faintest idea what I am doing, and Warrior hates me.”

Frost kissed him. “He hates everyone. Let us not waste this moment. But might I say, the next time you use a vision potion, use a little less of it. It’s supposed to make you SEE things, not turn into them, and it’s certainly not supposed to grant you access to the Realm of the Dead.”

“Duly noted.”

Frost kissed him hard, thrusting into him, his movements slow, intense, and passionate, his breath rough. Elrohir tangled his hands into Frost’s heavy white hair and kissed him, wrapping his legs around his waist, his short, leather kilt pushed up to his hips. He cried out in pleasure as Frost reached one hand between their sandy, wet bodies, grasping Elrohir’s stiff penis. His fingers gently massaged the head, then clasped it, slowly stroking it as he thrust into him. He grinned as Elrohir began making his characteristic ‘rusty puppy’ noise, suddenly shrieking as he came, his hot semen spilling over Frost’s hand. Frost kissed him hard, moving his hand, sliding it under Elrohir’s body, holding him as he continued to thrust, his movements becoming more intense as his passion rose. Then he cried out, and Elrohir felt his husband’s seed spill inside of him, his hard penis pulsing as it spewed fluid inside of him. Frost kissed Elrohir hard. They lay together in the sand, a tangle of limbs, their bodies gently explored by the quiet waves. Then Frost slowly faded away, and Elrohir was alone, dreaming on the beach.

***---***

It was late when Elrond returned, despondent, angry and quiet. Rúmil jumped as his husband angrily threw back the flap to their pavilion and strode in, crossing the floor to the small table that held the miruvor. He said nothing as he poured himself a drink.

Rúmil pushed back the covers and sat up, a little afraid of Elrond’s wrath. Never before had he seen him this angry, and he was at a loss. He sat on the bed in silence, and waited for Elrond to speak.

Elrond tossed back his first glass, and second. The third he sipped, and took with him as he went to a chair, dropping into it. He stretched out one long leg and stared at the wall.

“She will not come,” he said, his voice quiet and strained with barely-contained rage. “Her child cries for her, and she will not come. The Grand-Sia of her grandchildren chastises her, and still, she will not come.”

Rúmil looked down at the white linen nightshirt he wore. Normally he slept naked, but since he had learned of his true heritage, he had been wearing the nightshirt. “Why will she not?” he asked softly. “Elladan and Elrohir are her children!”

Elrond stared at the wall. “They are not. Neither hers, nor mine, though I did not know that until this eve. They are Noldorian orphans. She cannot bear children, but to please me, she sent forth riders to find orphan infant Half-Elflings for me. ‘Tis no coincidence that both times she gave ‘birth’, I was not at home. Then when these children caused her to be attacked by Orcs, she turned her back on them, utterly and fully. And me. Celebrian and I are now truly unbound, in all ways.”

Rúmil sat, shocked and saddened for his husband, unable to say anything at first. He swallowed. “Will you tell them?”

“No. They may not be hers but they are mine, even if I did not sire them. I raised them, loved them, and they have all been good children. Why should I disrupt their lives with this garbage?”

A slight smile crossed Rúmil’s face. “You are a good Ada.”

Elrond smiled, but without humour. He looked at Rúmil. “And a dreadful husband to come stomping in and say not a word to my beloved. I am sorry I was gone so long, and to have returned in such a manner.”

“It is all right. I sat with Elrohir a while, and assisted him with the naming ceremony.”

“I should have been here for that.” Elrond shook his head, then sighed. “I thought Valinor was where one came to ease one’s mind an heart.”

“You remember that this is also a place that has seen great woe,” said Rúmil softly.

Elrond sighed, then nodded. “Aye, you are right.” He drained his glass, then got up to refill it. He poured a glass for Rúmil as well, then walked over to his husband, sitting beside him on the bed and passing him the miruvor.

“To happier times,” said Elrond.

Rúmil smiled slightly, and sipped the liquor. Rarely were the archers of Lothlórien treated to such things as miruvor, and he found he had little head for it. But the rich scent and warmth were most welcome. He smiled.

“I remember the first time you gave me this. I downed it like cheap barracks brew and woke up five hours later on my face. I’m surprised you put up with me.”

“I believe that, at the time, you were my catamite, and it was your job to amuse me. And I was most amused.”

“Then it was worth the bent nose.”

Elrond kissed the end of Rúmil’s nose. “A most elegant nose it is.”

He reached up and touched Rúmil’s face, half afraid his young husband would pull back. He and Rúmil had not made love since the news that Rabbit was his father, and Rúmil had scarcely let Elrond touch him. They had not even been sharing a bed, though none knew it. But this time he did not pull back, though his green eyes were distracted. He sipped his wine.

“What troubles you?” asked Elrond softly.

“Many things,” said Rúmil, “the news you brought most of all. I am sorry such a foul trick was played upon you.”

Elrond shook his head. “She did what she thought a good wife should do; she gave her Lord heirs in the only way she could, and I bear her no ill will. Though I wonder now whether t’was she or I who could not make children.”

Rúmil nodded, then looked at Elrond. “I have not been kind either, too wrapped up was I in my own fear.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do not believe that, but I would welcome you back in my bed, if you would share it.”

He laughed as he saw Elrond’s eyebrow raise, and a smile cross his face. “Not, I think for that, at least not yet! But I miss you beside me.”

Elrond kissed him. “As I have missed you. Very well, let us sleep together again, and make that choice when it… arises.”

“And it hasn’t already?” Rúmil teased.

“You know me too well. But I think you are right, and tonight is not a night for such things. We shall sleep together, and keep each other safe. Now we must be strong for Elrohir.”

Rúmil nodded, and finished his miruvor. Elrond drained his own glass, then stood up to undress. The Lord of Imladris was lean and strong, his body sinewy. It was the body of a warrior, and though Rúmil was not certain when he would once more let that body claim his own, he was not unaware of the attraction it held for him. He settled under the covers, still in his nightshirt, and waited for his husband to join him. Soon the lamps were dimmed, and he felt Elrond get in beside him. They settled into each other’s arms.

“Funny thing,” mumbled Elrond as he drifted into sleep, “I do believe I was nearly run over by a dragon tonight.”

***---***

“This is no place for you, young Elf. My, we have had a lot to drink, haven’t we?”

Elrohir slowly became aware of someone half-lifting him, dragging him out of the waves washing onto the shore and placing him down on the soft sand. Elrohir sank down like a dead thing, and whimpered quietly, first at the pain in his head from the drugs wearing off, then at the memory of what had lead him to this place on the beach.

He slowly sat up, and turned to look at the stranger who had pulled him out of the surf. The night was black and starless, though Elrohir’s eyes could not have focused even were it mid-day.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He tried to stand, but his limbs would not hold him. He fell back to the beach.

“Careful now,” said the stranger. “You are in sorry shape. It took me well nigh an hour to wake you. Are you ill?”

“No,” said Elrohir as he carefully sat up. “Just… very, very intoxicated. Not that it did any good. Nothing I saw made any sense.” He flopped onto his back, waiting for the beach to stop tilting.

The stranger sat beside him. “What were you looking for? I know a great deal about searching.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I don’t know. I am such a mess. The Sia of my children just died, I have twin babies I don’t know what to do with, and I’m Shaman of a pack of crazy feral carnivorous Elves, most of whom are of such an age as to make Lord Glorfindel look like an embryo. I drank a vision potion to commune with the spirit realm and see what I am to do now, but all I did was have... a most unique dream about a white tiger.”

The stranger laughed quietly. “You have much on your plate, young friend, and if I guess correctly, you are with the Wild Elves that arrived with the House of Elrond. You have wandered far indeed, I cannot think how you came to be here.”

“I think I flew part of the way,” muttered Elrohir. He slowly shoved himself back into a sitting position. “Forgive my manners, I am Aia... I mean Elrohir, son of Lord Elrond of Imladris.”

The stranger smiled. “You may call me Mornaur.” He rose to his feet and helped Elrohir up.

The young Elf stumbled to his feet, his long hair damp and stringing. The short leather kilt he was wearing was wet and full of sand, clinging uncomfortably to his thighs, and his bare feet were cold, as was the rest of him.

“I’m sorry, I am such a mess,” said Elrohir, “forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, young one. Come with me, my home is this way.”

Mornaur helped Elrohir along. The young Elf was still heavily drugged and limp, and was unsure how he came to be in the large, imposing bedchamber, decorated in an ornate and gothic manner popular in some distant age. He thought there was something familiar about the heraldic banners upon the wall, but was too weary and drugged to think much about it. He removed his kilt, then used a towel to dust the sand from his slender body. Finally he collapsed into a great black bed, carved of polished wood, draped in black and red velvet and satin. Settling onto the embroidered satin feather pillows, he fell into a leaden sleep.

***---***

Elrohir awoke to the sound of the surf pounding against the base of the cliff, upon which the great, black stone house sat. He could not at first think where he was, but eventually it came to him. He was in the house of Mornaur.

He slowly sat up, feeling like a boned fish. He dragged one hand through his rumpled hair, feeling sand and bits of kelp. He tried to recall the previous night, but it was, for the most part, a blur: flying, then something about a tiger. He thought about Frost, and felt tears well up in his eyes, yet it was not the overwhelming agony it had been. He was sad, but now he knew he would survive. He had to, if for no other reason than his two children, who were currently with Elladan and Orophin.

He summoned a servant; a subdued Dwarven girl, who poured him a bath, and told him in a quiet voice he would breakfast with the Lord of the House that morning. He nodded, and took his aching self to the tub, sinking into it and sighing as the last few grains of sand fell from his body, and the salt washed away.

He washed his hair and bathed, and returned to his room, where clean clothes had been laid out for him: a pair of black leather boots, matching breeches, and a loose white cotton shirt. His kilt had been cleaned, but was so damaged by sea salt he doubted it could be repaired. He disposed of it, and the servant led him out of the room.

They walked down halls of carven black stone, cut and filigreed into delicate, gothic shapes. The walls were hung with ancient tapestries of past deeds, and Elves he had never heard of, from a time when his grandfather was but an Elfling. This was place of great age, and Elrohir knew he was walking through the past.

He paused to study the work upon one of the buttresses supporting the vaulted ceiling, their edges carved into black stone lace, reaching up to trace his fingers over the heraldic shield carved into it. “I have seen this emblem, though I cannot recall where or when.”

“This house has been since the First Age, and the time of the Trees of Yavanna,” said the servant. “Likely it belonged to one forgotten.”

“Perhaps the original Lord of this House,” said Elrohir. “This crest seems to be everywhere. Who’s House was this?”

“I could not say, my Lord.”

They continued walking down the hall, finally reaching a great dining hall, decorated in black, silver and crimson. It was as intimidating as the rest of the house, with its long, polished table and great black iron candelabras. The walls here were also hung with tapestries, and at the far end, standing tall and resplendent in black and indigo velvet, was Mornaur.

“Fair morn to you, young Elrohir. I trust you slept well? An Elf as far into his cups as you were must have slept as do the dead.” He toasted him with a crystal glass of miruvor, held in a black-gloved hand.

Elrohir winced at the word ‘dead’. “I slept well, but in my own defense I must say I was not drunk. I was heavily drugged.”

Mornaur smiled. “Sit. Crysalin, bring breakfast. And if you try the same stunt as yesterday I shall tie you naked to a tree and have you flogged.”

Elrohir snapped his gaze to Mornaur, gasping. The tall Elf seated himself, paying no heed to his servant as she sneered at him, then departed.

“Do you treat all your servants thusly?” asked Elrohir.

Mornaur drained his glass. “No. But the young lady is not here of her own accord. She was sent here by her father, for attempting to murder someone. It has fallen to me to teach her discipline, but she is hardly repentant. Just yesterday she loaded my sausage with enough hemlock to fell a troll.”

“How came you to discover her plot?”

“Well after the second helping I confess to feeling quite odd. Fortunately, more skilled assassins than she have tried, and failed. I’ve built up something of an immunity.”

“Poison you! That’s dreadful! Why ever for?”

Mornaur smiled, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Elrohir. He studied him for a brief time, then chuckled quietly. “Have some tea, young Elrohir. Never let it be said that hospitality was wanting at my table.”

Elrohir poured himself some tea, then looked around at the hall. “This house is ancient. To whom does the crest belong?”

“You really do not know?”

Elrohir shook his head. “No, but I know I have seen it.”

“In a history book, most likely, in your father’s House. I understand Lord Elrond has a taste for History.” Mornaur poured himself more miruvor. “You are in the House of Fëanor, my young friend.”

“Fëanor! You jest!”

“Indeed not. After breakfast I can show you the very stairs where, long ago, the fool made his oath that ended in kinslaying and death.”

“You sound as though you know much of the matter. Where you there?”

“Indeed I was. I stayed with the mad fool until the bitter, bitter end, when all had forsaken him, including his own mind. Know you, young Elrohir, his fate was not what is recorded in the history books. Fëanor lives yet, and on this island. Though his return here was dearly bought, and his punishment continues yet. But the Valar are kind, too kind, perhaps, to one who had caused so much evil and death. When at last he saw what foulness he had wrought, he made another oath. To serve the Valar in anyway they commanded, until such time as they held his debt repaid. And they accepted, for they are wise above all, and knew something that even Fëanor did not know. He was not evil, child. He was sick. He had been given a poison, made from the venom of the Ungoliath, and it had driven him mad.”

“Then Fëanor’s actions were not his own. He is blameless.”

Mornaur smiled, sloshing his miruvor about in his glass, then raised an eyebrow. “I would not go that far, child. Fëanor was a friend of mine. He was, and is, a bastard; a most driven, unpredictable bastard, with burning desires and ambitions. He is still quite dangerous, though these days he prefers breeding horses and creating fair things for the joy of Yavanna to burning ships and slaying kin.”

“But if he was poisoned….”

“Then that grants him some forgiveness, yes child,” said Mornaur softly. “But his actions were foul and dark, and even the poison of Morgoth could not have driven him to such acts were his heart not already tainted. He has earned a return to Valinor. But the Valar have decreed he must complete certain deeds ere the Halls of Mandos are open to him, before he can claim the love of another, or indeed he can even look forward to the dark comfort of fading, should he so desire. For those joys are forbidden to him, until he has truly earned the forgiveness of all the Valar. Yavanna has forgiven him, and serving her is indeed his greatest joy these days, though I confess the fair lady shakes her head nigh daily over his antics.”

“Where does he dwell? Is this not his house?”

“Oh indeed it is. He is around someplace, likely sleeping off a night of drunken revelry with someone’s goat.

“A goat?” said Elrohir, his tone bemused. “I think I have learned the reason his reformation is taking so long.”

Mornaur grinned, a devilish glint in his eye as he sipped his liquor. “Well one cannot be good all the time. Takes all the fun out of rehabilitation. Ah here is breakfast. I do hope you only poisoned me, not my guest? Eat up, young Elrohir, then we shall borrow a pair of Fëanor’s fine horses, and I will escort you home.”

***---***

Bramble had been difficult all morning, and Haldir had a feeling he knew why. There had been too many stresses and changes in her life recently, and being so very young, she was expressing her displeasure by being an angry brat. Currently, as Rabbit slept with baby Rivil, she was reminding her father of a promise she had been made. Arms crossed, stomping one little foot into the dust, she scowled at her father.

“Sia said I could have a puppy!”

Haldir was easily as weary and frazzled as the rest of his family, and wanted nothing more than to sleep himself, and his patience with Bramble was running thin. However, she needed his attention, and she was right, she had been promised a puppy. He sat on his chair and stared back at his small daughter.

“Bramble, if you hit me with that stuffed toy one more time, then I can promise you that all you will get is a very warm bottom.”

She stomped her foot, but at least did not wallop her father once more with Wargles. “So can we get my puppy today?”

He nodded wearily. “Get your cloak, we will see if the animal-dealer is in dock.”

Bramble put Wargles down on a chair, and grabbed up her blue cloak. “Ready Ada.”

Haldir nodded, and dragged his weary body out of the chair. He ached, and his back pained him as it had not in a long time. It was been a terrible night, full of grief and despair, and Rabbit had been more despondent than Haldir had ever seen him. Only now did he find rest, and Haldir would not disturb him. He left Rabbit to sleep with the baby, and took Bramble down to the docks, searching for the large grey ship of the animal-dealer.

Mostly the ship brought common creatures; horses, sheep, goats, cows, and other livestock, which the Elves would trade for in order to keep their own flocks from becoming interbred. But at times he would bring dogs and cats, and other, far more exotic, animals. Haldir knew his emotional strength was currently far too low to withstand any tantrum Bramble may throw, so he just brought all the gold he had and hoped it was enough to pay for whatever beast she may fall in love with.

“Just my luck, today is they day they will have a full cargo of baby Oliphants,” he grumbled.

“Ada?”

“Yes Bramble?” he said, yawning.

“Can I pick my own puppy?”

“Yes child. You may pick your own puppy.”

She nodded. He could see her energy was low as well, and she was puzzled as well as depressed over Frost’s sudden death.

“Ada?”

“Yes child?”

“I’m not going to have babies when I grow up.”

“No law says you must, Bramble. But remember, Frost would not have died had he told Lord Elrond he was ill.”

“But why didn’t he?”

“I do not know, Bramble. I wish I did.”

She reached up and took his hand, and together they walked to the large grey ship. Once there, Bramble broke away and ran on board. Haldir sighed heavily, then looked at the captain of the vessel, who was just now coming to greet him.

“Good day my Lord, and a fair warm day it is, is it not?”

Haldir glanced up. It was indeed a lovely day. He had not noticed. The Mortal seemed to sense Haldir’s mood was off, and became silent.

“Have you any puppies today, captain?” asked Haldir.

“Ah, the little lady has her heart set on one, has she?”

“Aye, most firmly set.”

The Man smiled, then shook his head. “No puppies today, sorry my Lord. Next shipment, perhaps. I do have some lovely soft kittens; a lady requested them to keep the mice out of her grain bins. I think she would not miss one.” He looked at Haldir, sensing the air of sadness about the Elf. “My Lord it is none of my business, and pardon my forwardness, but you do not seem well.”

Haldir drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “My step-son died yesterday, the older brother of my little daughter. She has been subjected to much change and hardship lately, I thought it would ease some of the strain for her to get the puppy she was promised.”

“I am most sorry to hear that,” said the Man softly. “Well we have no puppies, but we have some lovely exotics on board, I shall give you a fair price.”

“Tell me you have no Oliphants.”

The Man laughed. “Not a one!”

Haldir smiled faintly. He allowed the Man to take his arm and gently lead him up the gangplank, thinking it odd how many Mortals treated his kind as though they were of blown crystal. Often it annoyed Haldir, but today he appreciated the gentle handling.

They had only just reached the deck when Bramble ran out of the hold. “ADA! I FOUND A PUPPY! IT’S A BEAUTIFUL PUPPY, THE BESTEST PUPPY EVER!”

Haldir and the Captain both pulled to a stop, and looked at each other.

“I thought you said you had no puppies,” said Haldir.

“I don’t! I can’t think what she had found.”

“Ada can I have the puppy pleeeeeaaaaassssseeee? Can I get it?”

Haldir shook his head, trying to clear the dust from his mind.” Are you sure it’s a puppy?”

“Yes.”

“Well let me see, then.”

Bramble darted back into the hold. Moments later, she returned with her ‘puppy’.

The creature came up calmly, walking on a leash, well trained and unafraid, its short, fuzzy gold coat covered with spots. The paws were certainly dog-like, and it panted, but it was plain to Haldir that this was no dog, even though he did not quite know just what it was. It had a lean, almost emaciated look to it, with long slender legs, a small head, and a belly tucked up high. It switched its long tail and looked around.

“Bramble I do not think that is a puppy.”

“It IS a puppy! It barked!”

“Be that as it may, it is still not a puppy.”

She stamped her foot and got shrill. “It is TOO a puppy and I’m gonna call him Fang!”

Haldir looked at the Captain. “What is that thing?”

“She’s a cheetah my Lord.”

“Cheetah?”

“From the Sutherlands, a type of hunting cat. The Nobles of that land often keep them as pets, and use them for running down antelope.”

“So her male puppy is actually a female cat.”

“Er, yes Lord.”

Haldir felt overwhelmingly tired. “Bramble…”

“YOU AND SIA BOTH SAID I COULD HAVE A PUPPY AND THIS IS THE PUPPY I WANT!”

Haldir caved. He had no strength for this debate. “Fine. It’s a puppy Take your puppy down to the dock while I speak with the Captain.”

Bramble led Fang off the ship, while her father looked dispiritedly at the Man beside him. “What do I feed it?”

“Fresh kills, she won’t take meat that’s lain too long. Best to let her run down her own food, that’s what she’s trained to do. She still has some growing to do, but she won’t get much bigger.”

Haldir shook his head and reached for his coin purse, but the Man put his hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“Nay I can’t take your money, and she was abandoned by the Nobleman who was supposed to take her. It seems to me a fair enough trade that she and your daughter found each other.”

Haldir smiled. “Thank you, your kindness is appreciated.”

“Be well my Lord, may fortune smile more kindly on your family.”

“ADA! FANG POOPED ON THE WARF!”

“…. And may your daughter enjoy her puppy.”

Haldir smiled tiredly and shook his head. “I thank you.” Then he turned and walked down the gangplank.

***---***

Gimli awoke to the warmth of a slim Elven body next to his own, and the sensation of slim Elven hands stroking him. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, though his eyes were still closed.

“A Dwarf is not safe from Elves even in his own bed!”

Legolas kissed him softly. “Shall I leave?”

“Hmmmm…. I think not!” Gimli rolled over and pinned Legolas to the bed, and laughed as he was embraced most willingly by his beautiful lover.

“I missed you,” said Legolas. “I was afraid for you.”

“It will take more than a blow to the head to kill this Dwarf, as you should well know!”

“So you say,” said Legolas, his eyes bright with mischief and his hand lightly stroked Gimli’s penis. “But I have seen you brought to your knees by one often enough.”

“Depends on the head.”

Legolas smiled wickedly, then slid from under his husband, pushing him onto his back and reaching down to take his stiffening penis in his hand. He delicately trailed his fingers over the tip. “Well, I always did say you had a hard head.”

Gimli said nothing as Legolas lowered his head to take the hard shaft into his mouth, sliding his hand down to trail his finger tips over the Dwarf’s large testicles, fondling him. Gimli groaned in pleasure.

“Have I mentioned I love you?”

***---***

Legolas and Gimli made love for a few hours, slow and passionate, playfully loving. By the time they were finished, the morning was well under way, and it was time to prepare to leave Berhin’s fair hall.

“Do you think we were too harsh on Crysalin?” asked Gimli as he dressed.

Legolas curled his lip. “Not nearly harsh enough I dare say. She tried to kill you. And had she succeeded, I would not have rest until her head adorned my wall.”

“And what would you have done with me?” asked Gimli.

Legolas smiled. “Had you stuffed and mounted, of course.”

“We do that every evening - dinner then bed.”

“You never let me mount you.”

“If I let you do that, then I don’t get to do it to you.” Gimli finished dressing, then walked over to his husband. “Let us depart. Berhin’s hospitality is all very fine, but I long for my own bed.”

They had breakfast with Berhin and Lossenaur, then departed, walking away from the great Dwarven keep, which had been carved into the side of a cliff out of living rock. As they strolled along the ridge that followed the line of the beach, hand in hand, Gimli noticed two mounted figures riding along the sand.

“Is that young Elrohir?”

Legolas shaded his eyes with one long hand. “Yes, it is. And a most handsome Elf-Lord, in expensive garb, bearing the crest of a House upon the hem of his velvet sleeve. I cannot make it out. His hair is very long, and unbraided.”

“Do you know him?”

Legolas shook his head. “I have never seen him before in my life, yet he looks most familiar. I think I have seen his likeness upon a tapestry somewhere. Certainly the black hair is familiar. But we are in Valinor, and here legends rise from the grass. It is likely Elrohir has befriended one who fought long ago, and is recalled in song and illumination.”

“They are heading for our encampment,” said Gimli. “Let us make haste, I should like very much to meet an Elven legend.”

***---***

Lindir struggled to string the great longbow he held, the gut cutting into his fingers as he pulled. Finally he gave up.

“Mr. Faramir this is impossible!”

Faramir smiled, Elf-ears still in place. “No it is not Lindir, you just have to learn the proper method. Here, let me show you.”

Lindir passed him the longbow, then turned his attention to Lord Glorfindel, clowning on the field. He moved so lightly, carelessly, he made the swordplay look so easy.

“Think I’ll ever be that good, Mr. Faramir?”

“Well, Lord Glorfindel seems to think you have a lot of promise as a warrior, so, maybe, with a lot of practice. But you must remember, Lord Glorfindel has been fighting a very long time.” He strung the longbow, and passed it back to Lindir. The Elf accepted it.

“I know. I don’t know if I want to be a fighter, but… he’s so good!”

Faramir smiled, watching Glorfindel drink with one hand and spar with the other. He chuckled quietly. “He is that, and quite an entertaining rogue.”

Lindir plucked at the bowstring, wishing Faramir would call him an entertaining rogue. He picked up an arrow, smiling as Faramir came to show him how to hold it properly. Carefully the young Elf drew back the string, aimed at the target, and fired. The arrow slammed into the far edge of the target, but at least it hit.

“I did it!” said Lindir, “I hit the target!”

“Very good, Lindir! Now, let’s try…”

Faramir stopped talking as a beautiful figure, clad in pale grey silk, came onto the field. All attention focused on Ilinuil the Grey, followed as usual by Amaris, his most patient and favoured suitor. The Elves bowed and stepped back as Ilinuil approached Glorfindel. Lindir curled his lip slightly as he fitted another arrow to the bow. Ilinuil the beautiful, the Silmaril of Imladris, the Balrog-Slayer. One of three Elves who could put flight to a Nazgûl. Lindir would never say such a thing, but there were days he wished the lovely Elf would drop off of a cliff.

Glorfindel passed his drink to another Elf, and he and Ilinuil began circling each other, smiling, each anticipating the joy of sparring with a truly worthy opponent. Then, without a word, they lunged.

Lindir and Faramir watched in awe as the pair sparred, moving with amazing speed and grace, their blades ringing as they struck. They scarcely seemed to touch the ground, and when they paused to reassess each other, the Elves watching applauded. Ilinuil smiled shyly, but Glorfindel bowed and reached for his glass. He had a drink, then passed the wine to Ilinuil, who himself had a sip before passing it to Amaris. The two warriors bowed to each other, then lunged for each other again, moving with a savage beauty and skill that made those watching murmur with admiration.

“Amazing,” said Faramir softly, “that the skill of battle could be a thing of such artistry.”

“He’s not so hot,” muttered Lindir. He picked up his bow and took aim on the target.

Erestor stepped approached the field, Estorel holding one hand and Silivren the other. They paused at the edge of the field to watch Glorfindel in motion, and when the two combatants again paused, he called out to his husband.

“Slowing down, my love?”

Glorfindel’s hair was loose and wild, and he was sweating lightly as he panted. He grinned at his husband and pointed his sword at him. “I’d give you this to use against Ilinuil, but you already have your tongue.”

Erestor seated himself on the grass with his children, watching as Glorfindel and Ilinuil circled each other, then once more attacked.

“They’re not even touching the ground!” breathed Faramir, stepping forward to better watch the pair in their lethal dance, the sheer poetry of it making him heedless of all else.

“So what,” muttered Lindir. He raised his bow once more and took aim at the target, feeling angry and hurt that Faramir was so taken with Ilinuil.

Faramir shook his head slowly. “In all my days I have never seen such as this,” he whispered.

“I wish Mr. Fin would lop his face off,” pouted Lindir, trying to control the longbow.

“Lindir you know that is not nice,” said Faramir. “Do not say such terrible things.”

Lindir turned to speak, but in doing so lost his hold on the arrow. Horrified, he watched as the golden shaft flew straight at Ilinuil’s head. He tried to cry out, but was unable to make a sound, and he watched, transfixed, as Ilinuil spun and caught the arrow in mid-flight, mere inches from his head. But his concentration was now broken, and he was unprepared for Glorfindel’s next attack. The edge of Glorfindel’s blade caught his face, and Ilinuil cried out sharply, dropping to his knees and bringing his hands up to his face. Lindir dropped his bow.

“I didn’t mean it!” he said, shaking and sick, watching as the Elves that had gathered to watch now came to Ilinuil’s aid.

Glorfindel dropped to his knees before the beautiful silver Elf, carefully pulling his hands away, speaking softly, as though to a frightened child. Lindir felt his legs give out as he saw the horrible bleeding gash, the flap of white skin hanging from Ilinuil’s cheek, and the deflated eye dangling from the socket.

“My friend, you have a bit of a cut,” said Glorfindel softly. “Amaris, will you take our lovely warrior to his tent? I will get Lord Elrond.”

Amaris nodded and picked up Ilinuil, carrying him off as Master Erestor hustled his wee ones away from the carnage, gently assuring them that Ilinuil would be fine, it was just a small cut and he would be all right. Lindir meanwhile just stared, feeling the tears start down his face.

“I didn’t mean it!” he said again. “Mr. Faramir I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry I said it!”

Faramir looked at Lindir, and for the first time, his eyes were not warm and friendly. They were cold and angry. “Why did you shoot at him?”

“I didn’t! The bow slipped out of my hand, it’s too powerful for me!”

Faramir stared at him, angry. “Lindir, have I not told you time and again NOT to take your mind off the bow or accidents could happen? You could have killed him. Bad enough he is likely disfigured for life.”

“But… it really was an accident. I would never shoot at him,” said Lindir quietly, blue eyes wet with tears. “Please, don’t be angry.”

Faramir stared at him a while longer, gauging the truthfulness of his words. At last he nodded. “All right Lindir, I believe you. But come, you must apologize to Ilinuil for your carelessness.”

Lindir swallowed. He really did not wish to face Ilinuil, but knew he had to. He nodded, and carefully, slowly, put the bow away and gathered his arrows. Then they began following after Amaris and Ilinuil.

***---***

Amaris carried Ilinuil into his yurt, sitting him down in a chair before turning to dig through the mountain of treasures and fine clothing for a cloth.

“Tear up the blue silk shirt,” said Ilinuil softly, “It is old and has seen much use.”

Amaris did, then came to press it against Ilinuil’s face. It was such an ugly wound he felt his heart break. He gently kissed Ilinuil’s nose.

“You will be fine,” he said softly.

Ilinuil was quiet and subdued. “I suppose now I shall know truly who desires me only for my beauty.”

“This will not be enough to make you ugly,” said Amaris softly, stroking the long, silver hair. “Your beauty, my friend, goes well beyond your flesh, though I confess it is highly desirable.”

Ilinuil smiled, feeling the blood trickle through his fingers. “I need more cloth.”

Amaris nodded, then began digging once more through the clothing. He felt something like a string, grasped it, and pulled out a furry grey rat, clutching a cigar and wearing a pointed blue hat. Rat and Elf studied each other as Amaris held it by the tail.

“What is this?” asked Amaris.

“I’m not sure,” said Ilinuil. “I find it in my drawer sometimes, writing notes. No don’t toss it out!” cried Ilinuil, as Amaris made a move to throw the rodent out a window. “Master Erestor did that, and two days later Lord Elrond told him that he was pregnant.”

Amaris made a small sound of distress and abruptly ceased his actions, gently tossing the rat onto the bed instead. The grey rodent fluffed its fur and waddled away, muttering, cigar in its mouth, hat askew. Amaris let the strange animal go, and found a rumpled cotton shirt. He tore it into strips and brought it over to Ilinuil.

“Oh it is bleeding hard, I hope Lord Elrond arrives soon.”

Ilinuil pressed the cloth to his face. “I will be all right, Amaris.”

Amaris nodded, though he was still concerned. He stroked back Ilinuil’s silvery hair, then sighed. He glanced around, and chuckled at the riot of wealth in the yurt. “I had not realized your treasure had piled so high.”

“It is embarrassing,” said Ilinuil. “I surely have enough to fund my own city.”

“Wealth given out of love is not the worst way to accumulate it.”

“No, but this is wealth born of desire, and the only treasure I truly wish for is genuine love.”

“You will not have it until you are willing to let one love you.”

“And how do I manage that, my friend?”

Amaris smiled. “Well, you could try letting just one Elf court you for a while.”

“Just one?” Ilinuil smiled. “One in particular?”

“Well, I am the only worthy suitor.”

“Oh, and humble as well.”

“Yes, most humble. It matches well my grace and charm.”

Ilinuil laughed. “Then I accept your offer. You may be my only suitor, but only if you do not throw rats! I have no urge to become a mother! My waist is far too small.”

“Agreed.” Amaris got down on one knee before Ilinuil, taking his hand and kissing him. “You have no idea how happy you have made me.”

“I hope I continue to be a joy. I was a joy to Gaelemir once. I quickly became a torment.”

“I cannot speak for Gaelemir. I know not what troubles plagued him. But all I desire from you is your love, and friendship.”

“Not my treasure?” he asked, smiling.

“Well what Elf could refuse a fair love with a dowry?”

“You are terrible.”

“I thought that was what you liked about me.”

“It is one of many things.” Ilinuil kissed him gently.

The door to the yurt opened, and in came Elrond, followed as always by Rúmil. He shooed Amaris out of the yurt, then carefully pulled back the cloth.

“Oh, my…” said Elrond softly as he examined and cleaned the wound. “Well, let me get this sewn up.”

“What about my eye?” asked Ilinuil softly.

“I think the eye is not beyond my skill, but it will not mend quickly. For now, let me tend to your cheek.”

Elrond pulled out a small silver box. Opening it, he withdrew a needle of Mithril, and some silvery thread. He threaded the needle, then began carefully stitching together the injury. He gently motioned for Rúmil to leave them in peace, then smiled reassuringly at Ilinuil. “I have seen worse.”

“Will I still be pretty?”

“As soon as you heal, you will be. For a while, I am afraid you will look like you lost an argument with a brick.”

“Well, there are worse fates I suppose.” He looked at the Elf-Lord, studying his face briefly, then looked down to the bloodied cloth he held, saying nothing. Elrond smiled.

“And what is on your mind?”

“Oh many things, none of them any of my business. I always…well… wished I could ask you about things that happened when I was still small.”

“Such as?”

“You knew Gil-galad.”

Elrond smiled. “I did.”

“Tell me of him, please?”

Elrond sighed quietly, then smiled. “He was a difficult Elf to know well. In many ways, he was not unlike Lord Glorfindel. He seemed such a fool at times, but there was so much wisdom to him, and I daresay a dark intelligence. He was not a warrior to underestimate.”

“Is it true he was… oh, no, I shan’t ask that. Now I know I am overstepping my bounds.”

“ASK!” yelled the rat as it sat at the end of Ilinuil’s bed, smoking, notepad in paw.

Elrond slowly turned to look at the small, furry beast. “I thought that thing only appeared when I was drunk.” He looked back towards Ilinuil. “You may ask.”

“Was he your lover?”

Elrond rolled his eyes. “Why is it when you Elflings have a chance to ask your Elders anything, you go right to the sordid bits?”

“Sorry my Lord.”

“Well I did say you could ask. Yes, he was my lover. In fact, the morning of the day he died, we were bound.”

“I am most sorry to hear that, my Lord. It must have been most painful for you.”

Elrond fell silent, and continued to stitch Ilinuil’s face with the silver thread. Yes, it had indeed been most painful to lose his lover, to find his smashed and broken body on the battlefield not long after that fool Isildur refused to destroy the Ring. It made Gil-galad’s death all the more pointless.

Elrond thought about Gil-galad, and their long ‘secret’ love, that nearly every Elf in Middle-Earth knew about. They had been quiet about it, not wanting to make any commitments until after the war was decided. But in the cold hours before dawn and battle, Elrond awoke to find the High King in his bed, and quietly, in a tattered battlefield tent, they pledged their love, binding themselves in the traditional way of Elves. Then Gil-galad slipped away before the sun rose to prepare for war. Soon, he would be dead.

Elrond felt a sort of rage take him then. Gil-galad was dead. Celebrian had deceived and forsaken him, Rúmil was denying him his company, and, until last night, his own bed as well. His son currently grieved for the dead Sia of his children. Suddenly love just seemed like such a pointless, futile thing. He finished stitching Ilinuil’s face, then put some ointment on it. He carefully bandaged his eye, then, packing up his things, he left the tent without a word.

Rúmil walked over to his husband, sensing that something was not right with him. It had been a difficult two days, and he suspected they were having a toll on Elrond. He was unprepared for what came next.

“I am going to my tent,” Elrond snapped.

Rúmil stepped back, hurt and confused. “What would you have me do?” he asked, his tone uncertain.

“Frankly, Rúmil, I do not care what you do, nor where you do it.” Then he stalked off, heading for his pavilion, leaving Rúmil alone upon the field. For a long time, the former Galadhel stood, feeling his heart break as shock turned to agony. Then he headed after his husband.

***---***

Faramir took Lindir to Ilinuil’s yurt. He paused as he saw Rúmil moving quickly away, but as he did not know of his recent interaction with Elrond, he did not pursue him. Instead he knocked at the door. Moments later, Ilinuil himself answered, pausing as he saw Lindir.

“My young friend has something he would like to say to you,” said Faramir.

“Come in,” said Ilinuil tersely.

Lindir stepped into the yurt, sniffing, his large blue eyes wet with tears. The moment he heard the door close, he began to speak rapidly.

“I really am very sorry Mr. Ilinuil, the bow was too strong for me and I didn’t mean…”

Ilinuil turned sharply to face him, good eye blazing, the small trail of blood trickling down his cheek freezing with a quiet crackling noise. “Lindir I do not wish to hear a word from you. You will sit down, and you will listen to me.”

Lindir looked terrified, but he nodded, and sat down on a velvet-padded bench, piled with costly furs. Ilinuil seated himself on a carved chair, and faced the young Elf. The little grey rat poured a glass of mead and took notes.

“Lindir, I do not for one moment think your actions were intentional,” he said quietly. “But they were very careless.”

Lindir nodded, his breath hitching, tears running down his face. “I am very sorry Mr. Ilinuil.”

“LORD Ilinuil, Lindir, of the House of the Silver Rose. I have fought Balrogs, and hunted the dread Nazgûl. And until this day I have escaped unscathed.”

“I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry Mr… Lord Ilinuil.”

“You do understand that you nearly cost me my life, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Bad enough you cost me an eye. Fortunately Lord Elrond seems to think he has skill enough to mend it. Since your crime was against me, it falls to me to punish you.”

Lindir nodded, his breath hitching again. Faramir could not help but feel sad for the poor young Elf.

“Very well,” said Ilinuil softly. “Your punishment is this. You will be my pupil, and mine alone. Until my eye heals, you will be my servant, and I will teach you the bow and the sword. You will practice with me until you are skilled enough and wise enough that you do not repeat today’s performance. Do I make myself very clear?”

Lindir nodded. “Yes Lord.”

“Very well. Now go to your tent. I must rest. Be here at the first light of day tomorrow, with my breakfast. After I have eaten, we will begin.”

Lindir nodded. “Yes Lord Ilinuil.” He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic. “I am very sorry. I really did not want to see you hurt.”

“I understand. But wishing bad things upon those you are jealous of is a terrible offense, as is carelessness. I want you to think today about what your fate may have been had your actions resulted in my death.”

“I will.”

Ilinuil nodded. “Very well,” he said softly. “Now go. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yes Lord.”

Lindir rose and left the tent, shaken and tearful. His only solace was Faramir’s presence. He looked at the tall Man.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. Faramir smiled, and put his arm around the Elf’s shoulders.

“I know Lindir. Now let us get you home. It will be all right, I promise.”

Lindir nodded, drawing a deep breath that ended with a sob. He allowed Faramir to walk him to his tent.

***---***

Rúmil stormed into the tent after Elrond, opened his mouth to scream at him, and was silenced by an embrace. Puzzled and still hurt, Rúmil stood, carefully reaching up to touch his husband. Then he roughly shoved him back, confronting him.

“What was that all about? Since when have you been so cruel? If that is the way you treat your lovers on a whim then I am not surprised Celebrian left! Likely Gil-galad feared death less than your next tantrum!”

“Rúmil I am sorry.”

“NOT NEARLY SORRY ENOUGH!”

Elrond flinched, then sighed. “Rúmil,” he said, very softly. “I am sorry. I have never said such to a lover before, and I vow I will never say such again. I despaired. Ilinuil was asking me about Gil-galad. I began thinking about all the love I had lost, about my son, so young and now alone with two children, and you, afraid and alone in our bed, fearing you too would depart. And I despaired.”

“Well despair over this!” Rúmil snatched up a feather pillow and walloped him with it, sending the Elf-Lord stumbling backwards to fall onto the bed. As Elrond lay there, astonished that Rúmil would dare do such a thing, Rúmil snapped; “If you ever dare to vent your anger upon me in such a manner again, then you had best learn to do without reverie!”

Elrond slowly sat up, long hair askew, eyes narrowing. “Are you threatening me, ARCHER?!”

“Oh and NOW he pulls rank! So all this talk of love and equality is only that, talk!”

Elrond stood up. “Rúmil I said I was sorry, and I meant I was sorry, and I do love you. But thrashing me with a pillow and shouting at me is not aiding matters.”

“Well you know how we crass underlings are fond of resorting to violence.”

Elrond made an aggravated noise. “Do not force me to sink to similar tactics,” he warned quietly.

Rúmil walloped him again. Elrond caught the pillow and got it away from him, but before he could retaliate with it, Rúmil had another and caught him on the return swing.

“Rúmil!” shouted Elrond, “Stop that!”

“You hurt me you, you…. PEREDHIL!”

Elrond slammed Rúmil with the pillow, sending him spilling onto a day bed, the pillow exploding into a blizzard of down and feathers. The entire pavilion was suddenly silent, save for the sound of Elrond coughing as he waved feathers aside. He dropped the ruined pillow, and walked over to Rúmil, who was pushing himself into a seated position, and sat beside him. Both were covered in feathers, long hair wild and coming free from their braids. Elrond reached up and gently touched Rúmil’s face, then softly kissed him.

“I despaired,” he whispered. “I was wrong.”

Rúmil nodded. “I forgive you,” he said softly. “But I am not leaving you. I have much to work out, and I cannot take you back into my bed if now I must worry that you are tapping your foot in impatience. This has not been easy for me either. My family is not who I thought they were, I am not who I thought I was, and my true father… Aie… is the fellow I put an arrow into when I thought he was eating my brother.”

Elrond smiled, stroking Rúmil’s long hair, then pushing it back from his face. He kissed him again. “Take all the time you need, I shall do whatever I can to help. I think the time has come for you and Rabbit to speak of this matter, however.”

Rúmil nodded. “I agree,” he said softly. “But not today. Too much has happened recently. Let us give him time to heal. The loss of Frost has been a hard blow for him.”

Elrond nodded. “Very well. But I think he more than anyone could put your mind at ease. But I can say this to you.” He gently took Rúmil’s chin in his hand, raising his head up so he could look into his eyes. “Frost would not have died had I known he was ill. His death was his own silly fault.”

“So you are telling me that my fears of dying in childbirth are groundless.”

“I am saying that, with me at your side, it is most unlikely.”

Rúmil finally showed a faint trace of a smile. “All right.” He kissed Elrond gently. “And I am sorry I hit you with a pillow, and for implying you hold rank over me…”

“And for the peredhil nonsense?”

“I should think you would be more sorry about that than I,” said Rúmil cheekily.

“Brat.” Elrond kissed him, sliding his arms around his slender body, pulling him close. They kissed, holding each other, then broke off as they heard the sound of an approaching horse, and a voice announcing Lord Elrohir had returned with a companion.

Elrond kissed Rúmil again, then stroked his long hair. “Let us go see where he has been all evening.”

Rúmil nodded, then held his husband tightly, kissing him again. They stood, shaking off most of the feathers, then leaving the tent with as much dignity as they could muster, trailing small wafts of down.

***---***

Elrohir and Mornaur rode along the beach at a slow canter, enjoying the warmth of the day. Elrohir stroked the mane of the proud black horse he rode, enjoying the spirited beast.

“It has been so long since I have ridden. I had forgotten how much I enjoy it.”

Mornaur smiled. “You may come ride my horses whenever you like.”

“I thought they were Fëanor’s horses?”

“Well we share.”

Elrohir smiled, giving Mornaur a sidelong look. “Are you his lover?”

The tall Noldo laughed uproariously. “Ah, well, there have been times when I have… lent a hand and eased his tension. But his lover? No.”

“Just a hand?” teased Elrohir. Mornaur raised an eyebrow and grinned devilishly.

“Let us just say the rest was out of my reach.” He rose in his stirrups as something caught his attention. “We are close to your home. I shall leave you now.”

“Leave me?” Elrohir pulled his horse to a stop, but suddenly the fiery animal rebelled, rearing and spilling him into the sand, and racing away towards its home. Mornaur leapt from his own horse and went to Elrohir’s side.

“Are you injured?”

Elrohir slowly sat up. “No,” he pouted. “I think I just… ow!”

“What is it?”

“Oh just my knee. I think I twisted it when I fell.”

Mornaur looked concerned, but Elrohir suspected it was not about his knee. The tall Noldo looked towards the encampment, then seemed to reach a decision.

“Well I cannot leave you to limp home. Come along, I will put you on my horse and take you to the camp.”

“Thank you.”

Mornaur smiled, but his expression was worried. He picked Elrohir up and carefully placed him on his own horse, then swung up behind him. “Let us go.”

They cantered up the hill, and into the encampment. Mornaur was silent, and Elrohir sensed the roguish good humour had been replaced by watchfulness. They rode into the center of the encampment, and Elrohir laughed briefly at the sight of his father, covered in bits of fluff, walking towards him. Suddenly Elrond stopped, and Elrohir could tell something was not right with him. Mornaur took Elrohir to his father, and helped the young Elf carefully down from the saddle.

“I am sorry I was gone all night, Ada,” Elrohir said. “I collapsed on the beach, and was taken to a house at the far side of the island to rest. This is Mornaur, he found me. Mornaur, this is my father, Lord Elrond.”

Elrond and Mornaur stared at each other, and Elrohir wondered if his father had heard a word he had said. He looked from one to the other, wondering about the tension that seemed to fill the camp. He noticed Glorfindel and Ecthelion slowly drawing their swords, and Amaris, who had been waiting by Ilinuil’s tent, reached for a bow.

“Elrohir step away from him,” said Elrond, his voice cold and forceful.

Elrohir felt Orophin come to his side, supporting him, moving him away from the tall Elf with the long black hair. “But Ada why? Mornaur is my friend, he helped me!”

“That Elf is no one’s friend!” cried Glorfindel.

Mornaur looked at the gathering crowd. Suddenly the devilish glint returned to his eye, and he offered Elrohir a quirky smile.

“Remember all that I told you, child,” he said softly. Then he abruptly turned his horse and galloped away.

Elrohir felt his eyes well with tears, and he turned to his father. “Ada why were you so cruel to him? He was kind to me!”

Elrond turned to face his son. “Do you truly not know who that was?! You, who spent so much of your time studying the past?!”

“It was Mornaur!”

“It was Fëanor!” shouted Elrond.

“Fëanor!” exclaimed Elrohir. He snapped his gaze to the retreating form of the handsome Elf, skillfully controlling his great stallion. “Fëanor?” he whispered, stunned.

“What did he do to you?” asked Elrond, examining his son. “You are injured.”

“He did nothing to me, Ada! He was kind! He picked me out of the surf, gave me a warm bed to sleep in, fed me breakfast and escorted me home! My injury is my own fault, I curbed my horse too harshly!”

Overwhelmed by the emotion and stress of the last few days, Elrohir burst into tears and limped heavily to his own tent, wanting nothing more than peace. Elrond stood, rooted to the spot, uncertain what to do. He finally turned his head to look at Rúmil, seeing the same confusion mirrored in his husband’s eyes.

There was the sound of a tent flap rustling, and from Rhimlan’s small pavilion stepped a tall, strikingly beautiful Elven woman with black skin, long black hair, and large green eyes. From behind her stepped an equally beautiful red-haired male Elf with fair skin, and brilliant green eyes. They looked around at the gathering, and then the woman spoke.

“What Mauburz miss?” she asked.