A Far Distant Shore
Chapter Nineteen

Rating: R
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit, Orophin/Elladan, Elrond/Rumil, Legolas/Gimli, Elrohir/Frost, Mauburz/Rhimlan, Amaris/Ilinuil, and others
Warnings: Angst.
Summary: Estë gets a spanking, Rabbit gets a visit, Gaelemir gets a surprise, and Celegorm gets naughty.
Notes: Meadbunny Rating: 3

Dedicated to LK Beagleluvr. Hang in there hon, and know you are loved.

“Out here in the field, I fight for my meals.
I get my back into my living.
I don’t need to fight to prove I’m right.
I don’t need to be forgiven…”
-- The Who, ‘Baba O’Reilly’

Estë the Gentle sat, hands folded upon her lap, her long black gown glittering with the soft sparkle of ten thousand stars, and faced Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the Valar, and knew he was most displeased. Her lower lip quivered briefly.

“I meant no harm,” she said quietly, firmly.

“No,” said Manwë. “I am quite sure that you would harm not so much as a fly, my lady. But you see what this childish quarrel with your former husband has led to. I gave you his duties to fulfill while he grieved the unbinding you forced upon him, and so certain you were that his duties were frivolous that you performed none of them. And now look at the mess you have wrought! My children are going mad! Their minds cannot rest without dreams, and so the magic of the First Born is forming their nightmares into reality! Erestor fancies he sees Glorfindel playing him false! Maglor not only fancied he saw Maeglin burned by Ilinuil; he had an entire conversation with the spectre! Ilinuil vas very nearly raped by an imagining, and Tulkas’ chosen Elven knight, Gaelemir the White, was just SLAIN BY A BLOODY WOLF THAT HUAN KILLED CENTURIES AGO!!"

Estë’s lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “Had I known dreams were so important, I would have been more diligent in my duties, my Lord.”

Manwë’s eye twitched violently for a moment as he fought to regain his composure. He turned to face Námo, and his beloved wife Vairë the Weaver.

“What of Gaelemir’s fate? Can he be returned from the Halls?”

“Nay my Lord,” said Vairë softly. “The wolf ended his life only three days ere he would have died anyway. He was very ill, though he did not know that. Better to have him fall as a warrior, I deem, than wither quickly, as do the leaves in the frost.”

Gaelemir, who had been standing silently beside Tulkas, looked around, eyes large. “What? Wait, I was sick? I was terminal?! Well what did I have?”

Tulkas smiled faintly, reaching out to put a hand on Gaelemir’s head, silencing him. Manwë ignored the outburst.

“My lady Estë, this mess is of your doing. I’ll not command Lórien to clean it. Though I am most reluctant to hand the Lady of Rest the proverbial broom and dustpan to go clean up after herself, that is precisely what I am doing.” Manwë looked towards Lórien. “Are you up to resuming your duties?”

Lórien nodded. “I am, my Lord Manwë,” he said softly.

“Then do so, I pray, lest some over-wrought Elven mind fancy the lot of us out of existence!”

Lórien smiled and bowed. “Consider it done.”

Manwë nodded, then turned his attention to Estë. She looked very much as if she would like to melt into a puddle and slither away.

“And just what are you waiting for?” Manwë growled quietly.

She hopped off her seat and quickly left the chamber to put her misdeeds right. Manwë sighed heavily, then turned to look at a figure of night standing a respectful distance away, her naked body black as the midnight sky, her eyes like twin moons.

“And now, my Lady Titania, I believe thee and me have a Plains Elf to reprimand.”

She smiled. “My Lord Manwë enjoys wasting his time, I see.”

“Nay, I do not, but I suppose I should at least pretend I am in charge.”

The pair walked away, making their way across the dreamscape that was the Realm of the Valar, and into the dreams of one very old, very irreverent, and utterly unrepentant Plains Elf, whom the Men of Helm’s Deep had dubbed ‘Rabbit’.

Rabbit was enjoying his dream very much. He was dreaming of open fields, and rainstorms, and slow-moving rabbits and one-winged geese, and of Haldir. They roamed together across the plains, hunting the geese, and all was good and right with the world. Rabbit had felled an auroch, and he fully intended to eat every last bit of it. He was working towards this goal, gnawing happily, when Titania and Manwë showed up.

Rabbit completely failed to acknowledge either of them. They waited, expecting Rabbit would, at some point, look up, but all he did was growl softly and playfully as Haldir tried to take the prized meat of the loin away from him. Rabbit of course let him have it. The fact that Haldir would at no point in his life sit on a carcass and eat raw meat seemed to have been over looked.

“Ta’Na Yar,” said Titania, firmly but gently, “acknowledge your Queen.”

Rabbit used his blades to shear through the animal’s gigantic ribs. The noise was a loud, resounding ‘snap!’ that echoed loudly for miles in the empty plain. He then split the large flat bone to lick out the marrow.

“Ta’Na Yar,” said Titania, her tone a little more forceful. “Acknowledge me!”

Rabbit flicked his head, sending a shard of bone in her direction. It landed at her feet. Outraged, Manwë spoke up.

“I am Lord off the Valar, and this is your own Queen of Night! You will show respect!”

Rabbit tore off a long strip of meat, swallowing it whole, like a crocodile. “Why?” he finally said. “What are gods to me?”

Manwë’s jaw dropped, and for a brief time he was rendered speechless. “Have you no idea why we have come?” he finally demanded.

“I know why. You wish to reprimand me for breaking First Law and devouring the flesh of the Glaur-Iy woman. Do so and be on your way.”

Manwë was about to smite the insolent creature off the face of the planet, but Titania gently restrained him.

“Rabbit,” she said softly. “You have done wrong.”

“I defended my family. Damned if I shall apologize for it.”

“Rabbit, you must be punished. I am calling you back to the Faery Realm.”

Rabbit curled his lip slightly. “So very just, the world is, so very fair, and so wondrously compassionate are her gods. How many years did I linger in the dungeons, eating vermin? How many friends did I lose, how many kin? Two of my babies were devoured alive, and still their screams of pain haunt my dreams. My therlu, also, I lost. A third child was raised by Glaur-Iyre, who ran him off for the crime of becoming a Sia, and this… this woman… killed the baby. And she did not stop there, oh no. She killed four more. And then she shows up to taunt me, but still I saw no justice, though I hear rumours that she was cursed with ugliness. That is no curse, I hear daily how very ugly I am, how strange, and dangerous. And yet despite making her not pretty, which apparently is a bad thing, she comes back. One. More. Time! And she darts me. And drives me mad. I could have killed Haldir. Certainly had it been my babies who came into the room there would have been a death. Do you know how large I am? Lord Elrond took my measurements while I was unconscious. He’s a healer, you know. He likes to keep track of these things. I am eight feet and five inches tall, and I weigh four hundred and seventy pounds. My blade teeth can cut through the rib of this auroch as though it were old and brittle sticks. What do you think I could do to a small babe, just learning to walk? My weight alone could snap his bones, and my blades would have gone through his skull like a pastry. Who would have forgiven me such a deed? Certainly I would not have forgiven myself. So after all that, at last I am moved to vengeance, and what do you do? You come to tell me I have done wrong. So tell me, Queen of Night, when did the lives of dozens of your children come to mean less to you than one murdering bitch? Punish me if you like. Your laws mean as much to me as clearly I do to you.”

Titania stared, jaw clenched, unable to speak a word. Rabbit tore off one last strip of meat, and swallowed it down. Then he rose to his feet and turned, loping off into the storm, his back to her, utterly without any concern for any action she may choose to take.

“He is right,” said Titania.

“He is not right, he is angry,” said Manwë. “Not even I know what deeds Morgoth committed, what fell and sickening acts.”

“Perhaps not, but why must Rabbit be punished? He has endured more than he should have ever had to endure, and when your people mustered their troops to march on Sauron, he too came to answer the call. He has fought and struggled and defended, and the very first time he lashes out, we arrive to reprimand him.”

“We punished the lady as harshly as we were able,” said Manwë. “No treasure had she greater than her beauty.”

“And no treasure has Rabbit greater than his family. What means more, the babe or the beauty?”

“The babe, of course,” said Manwë. “Clearly we underestimated how vindictive the Lady Alinuia was. Make no mistake, she will not see the outside of the Halls ever again. But we still have the issue of Rabbit. He did break your law.”

Titania watched the distant shape, zig-zagging over the ground, following the scent of something interesting, a vague grey shadow behind a curtain of rain. “There is naught I can do to him. He has already been punished, and many times over. He knows what he did, and my heart tells me he would not commit such an act again. He is old, and he is powerful, and his heart is hard and filled with anger. If I take him from his family, I will have succeeded only in creating a savage foe, one who will not be swayed by the threat of death. Let him play in the grass and snub all who come nigh. There is no whip he fears. We are better off gaining his grudging respect.”

“Meagre as it is,” said Manwë dryly. He shook his head and sighed. “So. Has my lady Titania collected all her mixed-blood children from the shores of Arda? I must say, considering that at one point your wild Elves numbered in the hundreds of thousands in Middle Earth, there really are very few half-bloods. Apart from the Fëanorians, there are only Rúmil and Erestor. And it was no easy task for you and me to herd the little imps into one area. We are to be congratulated heartily!”

“We are,” said Titania. “But my Elves are less, shall we say, refined, than yours. They rarely meet at fancy parties.”

“No they seem to meet in rivers and on beaches. Still, I suppose a large, muscled frame and unkempt appearance is charming to some. I prefer grace and refinement to weeds and tangles. So have we collected them all?”

Titania nodded. “Nearly so. There is but one left, and he will be home soon enough.” She watched Rabbit chase Haldir across the grassy plains. “Returning to the subject of Elven law-breakers, you do realize that Fingon and Maedhros are openly conspiring to break a law themselves? I thought cousins were forbidden from being lovers. Those two are not only lovers, they are planning a child. What will you do with them?”

Manwë sighed. “Give them back what was taken from them, I suppose.”

***---***

Huan sat on his haunches, tongue lolling, making the small confused sounds only a dog can make as he looked back and forth, hopelessly puzzled. The scent trail had not become muddled, it had not been washed away, it had not doubled back. It had stopped. Simply, and absolutely, stopped. Ended. Vanished. It was as if the wolf had been suddenly yanked up to heaven by Eärendil with a fishing line. Frustrated, Huan put his head back and howled. Fingon walked over to the mighty beast to calm him.

“He has lost the trail,” he said.

“How could he have lost it?” Maedhros snapped. “He’s the Hound of Oromë, the Huntsman!”

“Well clearly he did,” said Fingon, “and there is nothing to be gained by upsetting the poor thing!”

Maedhros sighed. “You are right, my apologies, Huan. But this… this vexes me greatly. A gigantic wolf does not simply vanish, especially not with a fully grown Elf in his mouth!”

“There have been many strange things happening in Valinor as of late,” said Glorfindel. “All of us are seeing shadows that should not be, seeing our worst fears come to pass before our eyes.”

“Aye,” said Amaris. “Ilinuil was screaming that this was his nightmare, that he had foreseen this.”

“Strange you should use the word nightmare,” said Ecthelion. “Fin! Was that not what Erestor said of his vision? That it was a nightmare?”

“And so I said of that night on the beach,” said Maglor. “When I thought Maeglin had tried to do harm to Ilinuil.”

“Nightmares, all,” said Maedhros quietly. “I wonder if something is not very amiss with the Valar.”

“Or with that half-Elf, Ilinuil,” said Finarfin. “Strange it seems how often his name comes up in this matter.”

Amaris flinched, thinking on how he had chastised Ilinuil for not trusting him. It seemed to him that Ilinuil had every right and reason to be mistrustful.

“This is not Ilinuil’s doing,” said Amaris. “Let us not point fingers like frightened children! What we require is a tracker who can speak, and tell us what poor Huan cannot!”

“Tis said the Plains Elves have a gift for tracking,” said Finrod.

“Aye, that they do,” said Glorfindel. “Their prowess is most astonishing.”

“Then let us make for their village,” said Maedhros, “and see if we cannot convince one of them to aid us on this quest!”

The party of thirty Elves and one gigantic hound turned and headed back the way they had come, flowing down the hill like a sudden flood, tearing through the newly rebuilt encampment of two Hobbits, one Dwarf, one Elf, an elderly mage, and one utterly furious Man.

“That Mortal seems vexed to me,” said Ecthelion as Boromir proceeded to demonstrate a series of gestures, all of which would have started a fight in Gondor.

“Perhaps he objects to being run over,” said Glorfindel.

“Then he shouldn’t camp where we are riding.”

“That’s what I was thinking!”

The hunters were flying across the plain, making their way with all haste to the village of the Plains Elves, when, ahead in the distance, they saw the figure of a woman. She stood in a radiant blue light, and she was very tall, and her gown was like a blanket of stars. The hunters slowed, and finally stopped before her, recognizing Estë the Gentle. The Elves dismounted, and bowed before her in quiet respect.

“Rise up, First Born,” she said softly. “I have much to tell you.”

The Elves attended as Estë told them of what had occurred, and why. Then, as she at last faded away and returned to her mountain home, the Elves mounted their steeds once more, and silently went their separate ways.

***---***

Ilinuil looked up as the door to his little cottage opened, his eyes large and hopeful, and saw Amaris enter and quietly close the door behind himself. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face Ilinuil, trying to find the words to tell him what he knew. But Ilinuil had only to look into his eyes.

“He is dead?” Ilinuil asked in a quavering voice.

Amaris nodded. “Yes, Ilinuil. I am so very sorry.”

Ilinuil lowered his head, making strange animal sounds as he wept ice. He heard Amaris approach, but help up his hand.

“Do not draw nigh, lest I freeze you to the bone,” he said softly.

Ilinuil rose from the bed and dropped the half-frozen blanket he had draped about his shoulders. Naked, he walked into the fire, commanding it to warm him, then stood among the leaping flames, bathing in their heat. He listened as Amaris spoke of all that had happened, and what Estë had told them. By the time he was done, Ilinuil was stepping out of the fire and over to the bed, getting under the covers.

“So he is dead because Estë thought the duties of Lórien were but pretty pictures with which to amuse.”

“So it seems,” said Amaris.

Ilinuil snorted with cold humour. “This would be hilarious were it not so damned tragic.”

His eyes filled with tears, but this time they did not freeze when they reached his cheeks. Amaris came to sit on the bed, reaching out to wipe them away.

“I am so sorry for your pain.”

Ilinuil shook his head, the tears falling faster now. “How can you be? How can you forgive me and love me, after all I have put you through?”

“Because I do love you, though I confess at times it is a selfish love. But it is also a true love. I shall love you even when you grieve, and even when your heart misleads you, and your path seems uncertain. I know that now. And I still wish to be by your side, if you want me, be it here in this cottage, or on the road, travelling to far-off places.”

“Then let us travel,” said Ilinuil. “You and I, and Elentar, and our friend Dwarfy. The road calls. We will have this cottage as our home for when we are weary. Take me from all this grief, Amaris.”

Amaris leaned close, and gently kissed him, then stroked his long silver hair. “I will take you. We will begin preparations in the morning, and you shall choose our course.”

Ilinuil nodded, then suddenly began to weep in earnest for Gaelemir’s loss. Amaris slid under the covers beside him and pulled him close, and held him as he poured out his misery.

***---***

“So how long have you had this tradition?” asked Fingolfin, sitting on Fëanor’s immense bed.

There were, in total, fourteen bodies currently in Fëanor’s bed. Fëanor himself, then Fingolfin and Lindir, Maedhros, Maglor and his lover Maeglin, Amras, Amrod, Caranthir, Faramir, and Frost and Elrohir, as wells as their two children Moonshadow and Nocturne, who were busily burrowing around in the quilts. Mouse had recently departed to go look in on his children, or it would be fifteen. What Fingolfin found truly amazing was that there was easily room enough for at least eight more bodies. They were eating various snacks and treats, as well as drinking wine, and Huan himself lounged by the fire, a gigantic furry shape, chewing on a haunch of beef. Fingolfin was not certain what had prompted him to collect Lindir and make for his half-brother’s ancient home, but he was glad he had done so. His heart was heavy that they had not been able to save Gaelemir, so when Maedhros extended the invitation, he accepted.

“I believe this tradition began after the twins were born,” said Fëanor. “My wife moved into her own quarters, and suddenly I had seven very upset and worried little boys, all of whom, might I add, were most creative in their excuses to come sleep with Atar. Caranthir spied dragons under his bed nine days in a row.”

“It was the same dragon,” said Caranthir, his voice thin and breathy from his ailment.

“It was no dragon at all, it was the toe of a slipper,” Fëanor chastised affectionately. He pulled the tall Elf close in a loving embrace. “My baby. It is so good to see you again.”

“Atar! Not in front of the Mortal!”

“You be nice to my Mortal.”

Elrohir cast a glance at Faramir to see how he was felt about being referred to as ‘my Mortal’, but he seemed amused.

“Does that make you my Elf?” asked Faramir.

“Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I see. Well if I have no hold on you then perhaps I should not be in your bed.”

Fëanor reached out and caught hold of Faramir’s collar, drawing him close and kissing him. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

Faramir kissed him back, then settled beside his still-fragile lover, who seemed all too glad to be home. He stroked the black hair, then looked around, making an interesting observation. Fëanor had always seemed so tall to him, and had he been mortal he would have indeed been impressively tall. But settled among his own kin, Fëanor was the shortest Elf in the room, save for Elrohir, and Faramir was not certain which of the two was the shorter.

“I have a theory about why you love me,” said Faramir.

“Indeed? And what is that?” asked Fëanor.

“You wanted to be the tall one in the relationship for a change.”

There were howls of laughter. Fëanor gave Faramir a look that would have had most folk scampering for cover.

“Just for that I’m making you pour me some more wine.”

“I’ll pour you tea.”

“Vile knave.” Fëanor accepted his tea. Faramir did not miss the way his hands trembled slightly. Fëanor was still very ill, and still covered in huge oozing sores. Faramir vowed his lover would not be out of bed again until he was better.

“Yes I am a very vile knave, waiting on you hand and foot, cleaning your sores, letting your horse sleep in the bed…”

“He gets lonely without me.” Fëanor smiled, but then the smile faded, and the blue eyes became worried. “I wonder what it is Celegorm wishes to tell me? I fear for him. And what of this child? Something is amiss, here.”

“My Lord I could go find the answer to this mystery,” said Frost. “I have had more experience with vision quests than has my beloved Elrohir.”

“Then do so, I beg,” said Fëanor. “Caranthir was locked in the realm of shadow, I cannot bear thinking Celegorm is there also, with a child no less.”

Frost nodded. “Very well. I shall learn the answers to the questions you ask.”

“Can you do it here?”

Frost thought, then nodded, smiling. “I am unaccustomed to having an audience, but, yes, I could do it here.”

“Then do so, please. I should like to witness this.”

Frost set himself up before the fire, drinking the vision potion and settling himself on Elrohir’s prayer rug before the fire. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, and within a very brief time, he felt himself slide into another realm. The room about him did not change, but he knew his fëa had left his body, and he was standing in the twilight world of ghosts.

“Tell me that you see me.”

The voice that came from behind him was bored, tinged with annoyance, coloured by the regal mannerisms of one who could only have been born into royalty. Frost turned to look at the spectre, clad in damaged armour, streaked with blood and dirt, his golden hair lank and tangled. Frost nodded slowly.

“I see you. As well as hear you. Celegorm the Fair, I believe?”

The apparition snorted. “None call me that anymore. I lost that name years ago. And who are you, strange creature? Are you an Elf, or of some race I have not yet seen?”

“I am Frost, and I am an Elf, though of a race you have not encountered. Your father and brothers are worried for you, and asked that I come see to your needs.”

Celegorm smiled, without humour. “I have no needs anymore, save one, and when that is met I shall move on, at long last, to my place of rest, where my love awaits. And I will have peace, though none shall ever see me on the shores of Valinor again. I will miss my family, mad and fell as it is, but it is for the best.”

“Tell me what needs doing,” said Frost. “I will see it done.”

Celegorm turned and pointed, and as Frost looked, he saw the image Elrohir had described to him; a small Elfling in the ruins of a great keep, starving and dirty, currently asleep under rotting covers.

“There,” said Celegorm. “There you see Curufin, reborn, and forsaken. He is in what remains of the keep he and I once called home, in the bed where he bore Celebrimbor.” He glanced at Frost, as if daring him to speak ill of his brother, or to make comment on how he could have born a child, but when Frost did not, Celegorm became curious. “You do not seem puzzled by my words. Surely you are just the smallest bit interested in how a male could have born a child?”

“No, actually,” said Frost. “It is a common enough occurrence with my folk. Your grandfather, Finwë, was sired by one of my people, and that has been the cause of all the confusion in your family. Your blood comes in part from the Thrayre-Iyre, and we have no men and women, but rather we are one and the same in our bodies.”

Celegorm stared, shocked, putting one hand out to steady himself. “Then we are not monsters and freaks, as long we feared.”

Frost smiled. “Nay, you are Elves, born of bloodlines older than the Two Trees. You are no freak, nor is Curufin. Though… you must know the rumours in your family.”

Celegorm laughed. “That I sired Celebrimbor? Nay I did not, though I am not surprised they think as much. I am certain our relationship seemed questionable at best. But I am here to swear to you that never once did I touch him with desire, nor lay in a bed with him for any reason other than sleeping, and the occasional pillow fight. Nay if they wish to know who sired Celebrimbor, they need look no further than Beren. He was a rake and a thief and a bastard, and his only grace was his wit. A half-mad Elf who had never known love was easy prey for him. There was more to the tale of the hunt of Lúthien and Beren than is sung of in the lays, though bringing it up at this point would do as much good as shouting into a hurricane. He fucked my brother and stole my dog, I’ll wager they did not put THAT in the lay!”

Frost sucked back a smile. “It would make for an interesting variation, I am sure.”

“Aye, and one guaranteed to start a fight.” The blue eyes glittered with the sort of mischief only a son of Fëanor could muster. “Nay, it was not Curufin I coveted.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Celegorm waved him off. “But enough of the past. Curufin sits in the bed where once I helped him bring forth life. Do not let it be his deathbed, I pray.”

“How came he to be there?” said Frost, gazing at the tiny Elfling. “He is hardly old enough to walk!”

“His mother knew what he was, who he had been.” said Celegorm softly, “His fëa spoke to her in the womb, and after she bore him, she tried to raise him, though he disgusted her. At last she could bear the sight of him no more, and brought him here and left him to live or perish as fate decreed. I would care for him, and gladly, but I am a ghost. I have little effect on the material world. I have managed to bring him fruit, but he is a growing child. He needs more than apples and pears; he needs proper food, a clean, safe bed, and a family. Atar would welcome him back. And once he is safe, I may go forward, and leave all this death behind.”

Frost nodded. “I shall speak to Glorfindel on the matter. The Lady Syrdanna may be of great help.”

“Does she own a ship?”

“Nay, she is a sea dragon, and beloved by Glorfindel.”

Celegorm raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a joke. “Well, at least I only purportedly slept with my brother.”

Frost smiled. “I shall speak with him. With a winged steed he could be to your keep with great speed. Be at peace, Celegorm. Your task is nearly done.”

“I thank you, Frost, for many things, and the answers you brought me no less. It was a hard thing to be of the ruling family, and believe we were freakish monstrosities. My heart is lighter for the knowledge, though it has come late.”

“Perhaps not too late,” said Frost. “Maedhros and Fingon plan to bring forth a family of their own.”

“Indeed? Hmm.” He smiled, eyes glittering. “I wonder what our children would have looked like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long do you think it would take for Lord Glorfindel to arrive?”

Frost stared sourly at the tall, beautiful Elf, still glorious despite his condition. “I see. You are your own rumour mill, is that it?”

“Trust me, if you had to be trapped in the shadow realm as long as I, you would develop some very odd habits as well. Besides, I’ve never been one for discouraging a juicy rumour. But in all seriousness, how long until Glorfindel can be here? Curufin is very dear to me. He and I have always been the closest of all our brothers, and he needs me and I cannot help him!”

Frost stepped forward, placing his hands on Celegorm’s shoulders. “You did help him, though I am not certain how long it will take Glorfindel to arrive. I must depart now. Have you a message for me to bring to your family?”

Celegorm swallowed, and nodded, looking towards the gathering on the bed in a world he could no longer touch. “Tell Atar I miss him, and… the twins, I miss them too, and I’m sorry I won’t be around to talk to them after Curufin is rescued, but it… it is for the best. Tell Maglor and Caranthir and all of them that I love them, and…” The eyes gleamed. “Tell Maedhros I really love those thigh high black leather boots on him with the tight riding breeches and the frock coat…”

“I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“All right, but he won’t believe you.”

“Celegorm, might I suggest you stop feeding the lies and rumours that hover about you?”

“I would, but I have nothing better to do.”

“I’m willing to believe that. Have you any idea when you will be reborn? Your father will wish to know.”

The mischievous eyes softened. “I will not be reborn,” said Celegorm softly. “Never again can the family be complete, for once Fëanor and his seven sons are reunited, the geas will once more come into effect, and again we will begin to search for the Silmarils. The Valar will not let that happen. I have freely elected to remain a fëa, and will be reunited at long last with my lover, Oromë. We will call Huan, and we shall go live in a realm of peace, and I am never to be seen by waking eyes again.”

“Your family will be so very sad to learn this,” said Frost.

Celegorm nodded. “And I am no less sad, but we cannot be set loose to murder again. Enough blood has been spilled on account of Atar’s rocks.” He smiled. “But we may see each other again, in dreams.”

Frost nodded. “I will tell them.”

“And tell Caranthir that the skinny waif look is so him, I swear if I wasn’t dead….”

“Are you certain that you freely elected to remain a fëa, or are you just too perverse for the Valar to unleash?”

Celegorm gave him a wicked grin, but it faded as he looked towards his family. “I chose to stay because I know something they do not. Maedhros did indeed die in the chasm, having thrown himself into it, and holding a Silmaril. And he lay there on the side of the crater a very long time. But volcanoes cool over the centuries. And the Silmaril he held, over time, rolled into the charred cage that had once been his breast. The light of the Silmarils was from the Two Trees. It is a green, healing light. Slowly, the gem regenerated him, until at last he was made whole. Maedhros thinks he walked home from the Halls, but he did not. He walked home from that crater, and that Silmaril is now encased in his heart.” The ghost’s blue eyes narrowed. “Do you see what I am saying?”

Frost nodded. “That if you are all reunited, and the geas comes into effect once more, Maedhros will be killed for the gem in his breast.”

“I will not kill my brother for a stone, any stone. Let him live and be well and happy, and let the thing stay where it is. He and Fingon will live long, loving lives together, and my only regret is that I shall not be here to witness the outrage when they bear their first child.” Celegorm looked thoughtful. “I wonder who the culprit is?”

“Culprit?”

“Which of your kind sired Finwë. The blood does have to come through the father, does it not? For one to be able to… bear as well as sire children?”

Frost nodded. “Yes, though I do not know who Finwë’s father is. I suppose there is a chance it is Fadai, but I cannot swear to it. He seems an unlikely candidate to me. But I will try to learn the answer to this riddle for you, and hopefully have an answer for you before your time comes to depart.”

“I thank you.” He was about to depart, then paused, once more looking towards Maedhros. “Tell Red… I did not kill Dior’s children. My servants did take the children into the woods, and it was by my order, but they were not left to die. I made arrangement in secret to have them turned over to their nanny. Red did not find them in the woods because they were not there to find. They were taken away and raised in peace, in secret. They live yet.”

Frost’s eyes grew large. “Why did you tell no one of this?”

“Well I would have, but there was the slight matter of my being dead.”

“That does make things difficult.” Frost sighed. “You lived a complicated life, Celegorm.”

“Soon to become a blessedly simple one, I pray. Tell Maglor I keep his hairbrush to remind me of his beauty.”

“I will not! Have you anything decent to say before I depart?”

Celegorm thought, a smile creeping across his beautiful face. “Lots of things to say, but nothing decent. What is this ‘decent’ you speak of?”

Frost stared at him sourly. “I leave you to your nonsense, then.”

“That is where I am best left. But… do tell them I will try to visit their dreams, and see how they fare.”

“That I shall say.”

***---***

The night gave way to a fair day, though to Glorfindel it may as well have been storming. Erestor could sense he was despondent over his inability to save Gaelemir; he was unusually quiet, and a little removed. He was sitting on the window seat in their room, using some sort of tool to slowly and carefully split the Plains Elf blade down its length, opening it up. He seemed to have some idea as to what he wished to do with the thing, though he was not telling Erestor.

“I wonder how Thranduil is faring?” mused Erestor aloud.

Glorfindel worked on the tooth. “Hard to say. From what I hear, he has locked himself away with his baby. Amaris and Ilinuil offered to stay to see him through his grief, but I gather Thranduil has developed a rather intense loathing for Ilinuil. Amaris wisely decided to take his silver beauty away for a while. At least one good thing has come of this foul night; Ilinuil has sworn to bind to Amaris.”

Erestor snorted. “Easily done, now that he has no other distractions.”

“Don’t be unkind, darling. We all have one failed relationship in our histories. Ilinuil’s just failed more spectacularly than is common.”

“I know, I just… I just never thought I would hear myself say this aloud but I am deeply sorry for Thranduil.”

“We all are, my love. He’s an arrogant crank with a bad temper, but to be forsaken by a lover and then have that lover die….”

Erestor shook his head. “It’s sad, very sad. He has the worst luck with lovers. Shan’t surprise me in the least if he now chooses to remain single the rest of his days.”

There came a tap on the door, and Glorfindel rose to answer, setting aside the tooth as he rose from the window seat. He reached the door and answered it, seeing Frost standing before him, blacker than the inside of a Nazgûl’s mind, save for the streaks of pearl grey appearing over his shoulders. Eventually, Frost would be white again.

“Good morning to you!” said Glorfindel. “And what brings you here on such a fine day?”

“I must beg a favour of you. One dear Erestor is not likely to be pleased about. Do you know where the keep of Celegorm and Curufin lies?”

Fin made a face. “In a pile of broken rocks with luck. I know Elrohir is very fond of Fëanor and his whelps, but I confess to a certain distaste for the lot of them.”

“But do you know where the keep is?”

“Why? Are the lot of them planning a road trip to commemorate their trail of slaughter?”

“A child’s life depends on it – a child hardly of age to walk, abandoned to die in the keep he once called home.”

“And who is it?”

“Curufin, reborn.”

Erestor chanced a glance at his husband, watching as he briefly flashed white.

“I am tempted to say let him lie there and rot,” said Glorfindel. “How do you know this? That keep is no short trek.”

“I used a vision potion to speak with the ghost of Celegorm. He told me this. The child is there now, slowly starving in the decaying ruins. I… I told Celegorm I would ask you if you would be willing to go fetch Curufin.”

Erestor watched Glorfindel practically turn inside out, sputtering and blazing with light. “GO AND FETCH CURUFIN?! WHY NOT ASK ME TO POKE A NEEDLE IN MY EYE?”

“Please, Glorfindel. This is a reborn fëa we are discussing, scarcely able to walk, dying a cruel death in a destroyed house with only the frantic ghost of his brother to look after him. Surely you cannot be willing to leave him there to die.”

Glorfindel made a sound of rage and frustration. “IF IT WAS ANYBODY OTHER THAN HIM! I’ll have you know he did some decidedly foul things to the ancestors of a very good friend of mine!”

“Beren and Lúthien?”

“That would be them.”

Frost sighed, as if he knew more than he cared to say. Finally he drew a breath and spoke. “Please. A baby’s life hangs in the balance. All you need do is collect him and give him back to his father.”

Glorfindel growled and muttered to himself, then looked at Erestor. “What say you, my love?”

Erestor sighed heavily. “I say every damned time I get pregnant, you vanish, and I hate it. However, if you leave a baby to die you will never forgive yourself. I know Elrohir and Fëanor will certainly never forgive you.”

Glorfindel made an annoyed sound. “You are right. And no matter whom he was when last he lived, he is still but a baby now.” He sighed, exasperated. “I will go collect the little darling. And who shall baby-sit my dragons whilst Syrdanna and I are gone?”

“I will mind your little green trouble-makers for you,” said Erestor. “I have done it before. And I have Valaríamrûn to help.”

Fin curled his lip. Erestor rolled his eyes.

“Fin if you hate him so much then dismiss him. Go hire some fat addled mortal to help raise your children.”

“I will do no such thing. I may not care for his beauty but I’ll not have anyone raising my babies that I do not trust.”

“You don’t trust Val,” said Erestor dryly.

“I don’t trust him with my husband. The children are another matter.”

Erestor smiled and rose to his feet, walking over to his husband, and taking his hand. “If you do not trust him, then trust me. I am devoted to you.” Erestor leaned close and kissed him softly. “Now go and fetch your mighty winged steed. A child needs you. But do not be away too long.”

Glorfindel kissed him, then drew him into an embrace. “My dear dull Erestor. I will be back ere you know I am gone.”

“That I doubt. But make haste.”

Glorfindel kissed him once more, then went to make ready. Within the hour, he was dressed, his bags packed, and Syrdanna saddled. Erestor stood before Elrond’s house with his two children and a collection of five baby dragons, and watched as Syrdanna, clad in her magnificent green and gold armour, spread her gigantic wings. The wind picked her up with a sound like wind in a sail.

“Do not be gone long,” said Erestor softly, watching his husband bank his mighty steed over the ground, heading for the sea. He stood and gazed as Syrdanna flew low over the water, the wind of her passing causing small wakes, until he could see them no more.