The Last Homely House
Chapter Eleven

Rating: PG
Category: Humour, Drama, AU
Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit, Legolas/Gimli
Warnings: Slash (means: two male Elves in some kind of love) Mpreg
Summary: While Haldir recovers and Erestor worries about his Balrog-slayer, the Clan of Gloin welcomes a new family member and the population in Rivendell increases - much to Elrohir's delight.

Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder?
Thunder and lightning couldn’t be bolder…
- Jethro Tull, ‘Bungle in the Jungle’.

Haldir opened his eyes, and looked around the inside of the tent. He recognized his surroundings immediately; it was the healer’s tent. He drew breath, and winced as his ribs hurt. He had a splitting headache, and, as he raised his right hand up to rub the sore spot on his head, he saw his wrist was in a cast.

“Feeling better, Ada?” asked a quiet voice at the foot of the bed. He glanced down and saw Bramble looking at him with worried eyes.

Elrohir suddenly appeared by his side. “So you are awake! How are you feeling?”

“My ribs hurt, and my head aches.”

“I’m not surprised, that was quite a blow you took. But, I have terrible news. Ada says you will be fine.”

“How are the others?”

“Rúmil carried you home, he’s fine. Aragorn has a few burns, few broken ribs, but he’s good. He came home about an hour after Glorfindel crawled back. Seems he awoke alone, and tracked Glorfindel by the blood trail.”

Haldir slowly sat up, and put an arm around Bramble. The child leaned against him and wrapped her arms around him.

“Elrohir, where is Rabbit? And how fares Glorfindel?”

Elrohir looked down at his lap, pulling at the edge of his sleeve. “Glorfindel is… not well. Truly we do not know if he will survive. We can only speculate how he made it home.”

Bramble looked at her father. “I saw him Ada. He was all wet with blood, and when Elladan sat him on the couch and tried to talk to him, Glorfindel didn’t recognize him.”

Haldir held her tightly. “I am sure Lord Glorfindel will be fine, Bramble. He is very strong. But where is your Sia?”

“Sia smelled something, or someone. She went out the window.”

“Out... the window?”

Bramble nodded. “She was really excited. She almost ran over Orophin and Elladan. I never saw her act like that before!”

Haldir looked at Elrohir, who nodded. “He would not be halted.”

“But, that’s not like him!”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. Haldir rolled his eyes. “All right, yes, fine. His behavior is odd and unpredictable at times, but… this still seems odd to me.” He looked at Bramble. “Sia said nothing to you?”

The child shook her head, then giggled. “No, but you should have seen poor Orophin when Sia went through the window!”

“And you are not concerned for her?”

Bramble shook her head. “She will be home soon. She would not abandon us.”

‘Not willingly,’ thought Haldir.

***---***

Erestor sat beside Glorfindel, watching his husband struggle to breathe.

Glorfindel lay in their bed, his fair skin now pallid, his head listing to one side, his face heavily bruised. He would suck in a breath, then it would slowly sigh out of him. For a long, frightening moment, he would lie as if dead, then suddenly suck in another. It was almost more than Erestor could take.

Elrond came up behind his advisor, gently resting his hand on his shoulder. “Erestor you must rest. You have been here for hours.”

“I can’t leave,” said Erestor. “He crawled home looking for me, how can I leave him?”

“Then at least go sit in the living area, and let Sam and Rosie fix you some lunch while I see how Glorfindel is doing.”

Erestor, finally relenting, stood up, and slowly walked out of the bedchamber. He paused and looked at Aragorn, who had also been holding vigil all night. Arwen sat close beside him.

“How is he, Master Erestor?” asked Arwen.

Erestor shook his head. “I do not know,” he said quietly. He sank down into a chair, then looked down into the cradle nearby. Estorel was quiet for the first time in hours. The Elfling had been abnormally fussy and plaintive ever since his father had returned. No doubt the infant was sensing the tension in the air.

Erestor forced a slight smile. “The demon broke his jaw. I suppose that means when he wakes up he will not be telling the Balrog tale for a while.”

“He has slain a new demon,” said Aragorn. “He will need to come up with a new tale.”

“The Valar are quaking,” said Erestor. He looked at Aragorn. “How are your burns?”

“They are better, thank you.”

‘Bull,’ thought Erestor. He had seen the bleeding, ragged burns. They had to be extremely painful. Estel perhaps did not heal as quickly as the Elves he had lived with, but he had their reticence in admitting his pain. Erestor glanced over at Sam and Rosie, and the look on the Hobbits’ faces told him they felt the same way.

Suddenly there came a tremendous crash within the bedroom, and the sound of a fight. Erestor was out of his chair in an instant, and ran to the chamber, followed closely by Aragorn, Arwen, Sam and Rosie. Erestor flung the door open, and saw Elrond holding his face, blood gushing between his fingers. Glorfindel was up on his feet, standing on the bed, plainly confused.

Aragorn made a move to go to Elrond, but stopped dead as Glorfindel quickly turned to face him, moving into a fighting stance. His eyes were glazed, and he did not recognize his friends or his surroundings. Aragorn had no desire to get into a fight with Glorfindel, and froze in his tracks, not wanting to provoke him.

Erestor stepped forward, moving slowly, quietly. “Glorfindel? Fin, do you know me?”

Glorfindel did not respond, but his eyes moved about the room, studying all carefully. Erestor swallowed, then said again; “Fin, quit leaping about on the bed; if you won’t let Lindir do it, then you can’t either.”

Glorfindel shook his head, then said, “Where am I?”

“You’re home, Fin.”

“Home?” Glorfindel looked around, blinking. “Ecthelion, what have you done to the bedchamber?”

“I let Gil-galad redecorate.”

Glorfindel sat down on the bed heavily, gracelessly. “Oh.”

Erestor approached his husband slowly, seating himself on the bed. He reached out to touch his hair lightly. “Lie down. You’re tired.”

Glorfindel sank down to the bed and closed his eyes. He was asleep immediately. Erestor lay down beside him, holding his hand. Elrond left the chamber, followed by the Hobbits, Arwen and Aragorn. Sighing angrily, Elrond walked to the mirror and stared at his split lip.

“Delightful,” he remarked. Arwen went to hug her father. He smiled slightly, and put an arm around her shoulders. “But, I believe Glorfindel will survive. There is a great deal of strength in him yet, it seems.” He looked towards Aragorn. “When he is recovered a little, Erestor and I shall go over the scrolls and tomes you brought back from the shack. Where have you put them?”

“The scrolls, tomes, and message-stones I have put in a locked chest, and gave them to Rúmil to look after. The Black Book I did not wish to bring too close to the encampment. Gimli and Glóin have hidden it within a small chamber of stone, until we have time to look at it. In the meanwhile, they and Ithilian are working on a more substantial container for it.”

Elrond nodded. “If any can create a place in which to seal something so evil, then they can.” He shook his head. “I am troubled by this. I would Rabbit were here to at least read the stones for us. They must have some importance. Haldir cannot read them?”

“Only part of the one with the wolf. The one with the crowd of small pictograms is beyond him, and Bramble. The child has had no real instruction in her letters, yet.”

“Being less than a year old, that is hardly surprising.” He pushed Aragorn’s hair back, and looked at the small burn on his neck. He did not miss the way the Man flinched slightly.

“Estel,” Elrond said, and at the sound of the familiar warning tone, the King of Gondor seemed to shrink down into the child-ward he had once been.

“Yes Lord Elrond?”

“I do not care how well you insist you are. Get to bed.”

Aragorn nodded meekly. “Yes, Lord Elrond.”

“Now.”

Aragorn slunk out of the cottage like a chastised child. Elrond looked at Arwen. “And you, my daughter, will help me to go over these scrolls. Come along.”

“Yes, Ada.”

Elrond looked down at Sam and Rosie. “Will you stay with Erestor and Glorfindel?”

Rosie nodded, and Sam said quietly; “We’ll stay.”

The Halflings watched the Elves leave, then Sam looked at Rosie. “Don’t see why Mr. Frodo and me had to go all the way to Mordor. One good glare from Elrond and the Dark Lord would have probably apologized and burned the ring himself.”

***---***

Glóin did not like to admit it, but he was getting old. True, he had a long time to go before he was enfeebled, but he was beginning to feel his many years in his bones. He had worked for almost an entire day and night on the chest for the Black Book, and now, while Gimli and Ithilian argued metals, Glóin decided he needed a nap.

He climbed into the hayloft above the stable, which Gimli and Legolas had been calling home, and Glóin was not surprised to see the young Elf there. Legolas had not been leaving the loft much since his father had departed. He was depressed and thin, and had little appetite. Although, Glóin noticed, Legolas seemed to hide his sadness when Gimli came home in the evenings, and suspected his son had no real idea just how hurt his lover was.

Glóin came to sit down near the Elf, and noticed a piece of vellum Legolas held in his hands. The royal seal of Mirkwood was visible on the paper.

“How are you, boy?” he asked quietly.

Legolas shook his head, then, saying nothing, passed Glóin the letter. He took it, and noticed immediately it was written in common. It was a letter, written by Thranduil’s scribe, informing Legolas that, since he refused to end his shameful and scandalous relationship with ‘the Dwarf’, then he was being disowned and disinherited. Glóin read the letter, then looked at Legolas.

“All this, and you still won’t leave my son.”

Legolas shook his head, then said very softly; “No.”

Glóin moved closer to Legolas, then, rather clumsily, put his arm around the tall, slender Elf. He drew him against his shoulder, glancing about to make certain no one could see him. His discomfort grew a thousand-fold when the Elf began to cry against his broad chest.

“There, there, laddie,” he said quietly. “Don’t be upset.” He put his other arm around him and hugged the pretty Elf. “No need to cry. I’ll be your Ada if you want.”

Legolas drew back and looked at the hairy old Dwarf. “You’d do that for me? Risk your reputation in your clan for a… what was the phrase? ‘Nancing, flower-picking Elf’?”

Glóin grumbled a little. His son had warned him that Elves had excellent hearing. “Well of course I would! All right, you’re tall and bony and not nearly hairy enough, but I’ll say one thing; you’ve got the heart and stubbornness of a Dwarf. And, with a little luck, someday you’ll grow a beard.” He smiled at him, reaching up to wipe a tear from the Elf’s fine face. “You’re a good boy. I’d be honored to have you in my clan.”

Legolas hugged the old Dwarf, smiling at his grumbling protests. “Thank you Glóin. I shall endeavor to be a good Dwarf.”

“You can start by not telling anyone about this!”

“Not a soul.” Legolas kissed his face.

“Or that either!”

“Absolutely not.”

Glóin smiled, glad to finally see the Elf smile again. He reached up and pulled at one of the thin braids. “Now let’s do a little something about your appearance.”

Two hours later, Glóin climbed out of the loft. Reaching the bottom of the ladder, he turned and looked towards the opening he had just left. “Well get a move on! The work won’t wait! Move your skinny hindquarters!”

“Coming, Uzbad!” Legolas hopped down the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. His hair was now done in the long, straight braids of Glóin’s clan, and his light garb had been exchanged for something a little more Dwarven. Around his throat hung two Dwarven rune-charms. Glóin sighed heavily as the Elf delicately straightened his clothing.

“Still too pretty,” he said.

Legolas flicked his long hair back. “I shall try to make up for it with belching and stomping.”

“No, don’t bother. It won’t look right. Well, come along, pretty-boy.” Glóin walked back towards Ithilian’s forge, followed by a very tall, slender, pretty Dwarf.

***---***

The days dragged by. The cheer that normally warmed the encampment had been replaced by a quiet concern. Glorfindel was still ill, Rabbit was not to be found, and the Buyer had not been caught. The most recently caught half-Orc, Mabluk, would say nothing, no matter how much Mauburz tried to frighten him into talking. He would simply say that there was nothing she could do to him that compared with what the master would do if he talked. He plainly was more afraid of him than he was of Mauburz.

Haldir stepped out of the healing tent and into the morning. The world was grey and cold, and a heavy mist lay in the valley, silencing birds and Elves alike. He watched the sea dragon quietly step by, like a ghost of mighty beasts past, shrouded by time. He looked around, and felt very sad and helpless.

Eleven days, Rabbit had been gone. Eleven long, dark, fear and worry-sickened days. At first, he had told himself Rabbit was not far, and even Bramble held to that hope. But as each day drew to a close, his hopes, as well as the hopes of his daughter, were beginning to fail. The child had become listless and whiny, and rather disagreeable. Haldir chose not to chastise her errant behavior; he would not have minded a good tantrum himself at this point.

A soft, light April rain began to fall, and Haldir pulled up his hood. He glanced up as he heard Orophin’s soft tread coming towards him. With him came Elladan. The two were seldom apart any more. Haldir turned away from the pair, his thoughts filled with his missing lover.

Eleven days. It was too long; something had to have happened. But there was nothing he could do. He had tracked Rabbit many times in Lothlórien, as had his brothers. Rabbit had not been called ‘Forest Spirit’ for nothing. If he chose not to be found, he would not be. Orophin and Rúmil had tried to pick up Rabbit’s trail numerous times. Each time they followed it to just outside the encampment. Then the trail would vanish, as though Rabbit had simply turned to mist.

Orophin put an arm around his brother and said nothing.

***---***

Three days after Orophin stood, comforting his brother by the bank of the river, Glorfindel opened his eyes.

Everything hurt. His ribs, his head, his face, his back, even his feet. He tried to raise his sword-arm, but it would not cooperate. Instead he raised his left arm, and touched his painful midriff. He tried to think what had happened to him. Slowly, bit by bit, he recalled fighting the demon. But the last thing he remembered was hitting the wall. He wondered who carried him home.

He briefly considered trying to sit up, but did not attempt to do so. Instead he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. In the distance, there was a banging that meant work was continuing on the house. In the sitting room, he could hear Rosie’s voice, and Estorel making intermittent fussing noises. Then he heard Erestor say tiredly; “Oh Estorel, what now?”

He smiled slightly, even though it hurt. Then he heard the door softly open, and Erestor stepped in quietly, seating himself in the chair beside the bed.

“You’d better wake up soon you inconsiderate bastard,” he heard Erestor say quietly. “For some odd reason the baby seems to miss you.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Your bitch is my command, darling.”

He heard Erestor gasp. “Fin! Did I hear you speak? Truly? I am not dreaming?”

“I… am awake.”

He reveled in the feel of Erestor’s hand lightly running over his hair. “I was so worried!”

“How are Estel, and Rúmil and Haldir?”

“In far better shape than you are, you aging, glory-seeking twit!”

“They all survived?”

“Yes, they are all fine. Fin I was so frightened, Lord Elrond did not know whether you were going to live or die, and a few times I thought you had surely faded…”

It took almost more strength than Glorfindel had to reach out and take Erestor’s hand. He managed a smile. “I told you, I would never leave you. Besides, I did die, and they threw me out again. Tell Elrond that Gil-galad says ‘Mae Govannen’.”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

“Then give me a kiss, before I fall back asleep.”

Erestor leaned forward and carefully, softly, kissed Glorfindel’s lips. Then he stayed beside him, stroking his long white hair, watching him sleep.

***---***

Rúmil sat up, uncertain what he had heard. It was an hour before daybreak, and he had been deep in sleep, exhausted from long hours doing heavy work. It took him a few minutes before he realized what the noise was. It was Bramble, howling.

The child did not yet have the throaty, mournful wail that made one’s flesh crawl. What she did have was a sharp little voice like a spear point through one’s nerves. It was a horrendously irritating sound, designed by nature to prompt her parents to respond. Except Haldir had six broken ribs and a broken wrist and could not respond quickly.

Beside Rúmil, Elrond sat up. “As much as I sympathize with that poor child, we are going to have to convince her not to do this. Why this hour?”

Rúmil got up, searching for his breeches. “The air is clear and still; sound carries further.”

Elrond sighed. “Oh poor child, she must be broken hearted. How long has it been?”

“Twenty-three days today.” He struggled into his clothing. “I’ll go speak to her.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Rúmil waited for Elrond to dress, and together they walked into the pre-dawn quiet.

Bramble was on a rock near the cave she and her family lived in. The river was silver and grey in the faint light, and a mist was rising all around. Above them, the sky showed just the barest traces of orange, heralding the sunrise. She was wrapped in her father’s grey cloak, clutching her Hobbit doll.

Elrond stepped over to her, Rúmil behind him. “Child,” he said softly, “please. There are those among us who need rest.”

Bramble turned to look at the Elf Lord, then quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I have to! If I don’t, Sia can’t find her way home!”

Elrond just gazed at the child, then shook his head. He knew he did not have the heart to tell her to stop. “All right,” he said. “I understand.”

Haldir limped out of the cave, his hair askew, plainly in a fair amount of pain. He paused at the sight of Elrond and Rúmil. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Elrond just shook his head. He knew too well the sorrow of someone he loved not returning.

Bramble listened to the silence. Then she sucked in air and howled again, mimicking the rising hoarse note that ended with a questioning sound. Rúmil ground his teeth as the sharp noise penetrated the air. Once more she fell silent, and listened.

All four were startled at the distant sound: a faint, barely heard, low moaning cry. It tapered off, then ended.

“I’ve not heard Rabbit make that call,” said Haldir. “Could it be a wolf?”

“It did not sound like a wolf,” said Elrond. “But it did not sound like Rabbit’s usual cry, either.”

The four listened hard. Then it came, and this time there was no mistaking the sound: a rising note, ending in a question, seeking confirmation. Haldir almost collapsed with relief.

“By the Valar, finally!”

Bramble motioned for her father to get up onto the rock. “Ada you have to call.”

“Bramble, you know full well I cannot make that sound.”

“But you have to!”

“Oh by all means, do!” said Rúmil, grinning.

Haldir had the horrible feeling he was going to be hearing about this for a very long time, but he did not especially care right then. He climbed up onto the rock, and did a reasonable impression of the questioning cry. They listened, and moments later, they heard the moaning howl again. Haldir felt his eyes grow wet as he listened.

“He’s coming home,” he whispered. “Finally.”

The moaning howl took a sudden upward pitch, and then Haldir sat down hard in surprise, listening in disbelief as a second voice joined the first.

Then a third.

They stood in silent awe as, gradually, a concert of voices took up the cry, the eerie sound echoing distantly. Elves emerged from their tents and pavilions, listening to the voices of beings older than themselves, and to a cry that had long been silenced in Middle Earth.

***---***

They arrived about two hours later. Elrond had assembled his household by the large common pavilion. They were dressed formally for the occasion, and the area had been quickly cleaned and prepared, though Elrond was uncertain if such beings would care. He stood with his sons on either side of him, Erestor to his left. To his right stood Aragorn and Faramir, and to their Right, Gimli and his household. Even Sam, Rosie, Merry and Pippin were present. All waited in silence for the Plains Elves to appear.

Rabbit emerged from the trees first, and Bramble immediately broke and ran to her mother. Rabbit knelt down and opened his arms for the child, then, catching her, held her tightly. Still holding Bramble, he rose up to his full height and looked over his shoulder. He made a purring sound, then began walking quietly forward as a second Elf emerged behind him.

Elrond was used to things happening at diplomatic meetings; it was just the way the universe worked. But this was the first time the source of his embarrassment came from Elrohir. At the sight of Rabbit’s companion he made a sharp gasp, then almost went to his knees, clutching his father’s arm to steady himself. Erestor reached out and pulled him up, trying to get him steadied before he was noticed.

“Are you drunk?” Erestor hissed at him.

Elrohir slowly shook his head, unaware his jaw was hanging open as he watched the Elf that walked with Rabbit towards his father.

He was, for the most part, white, like snow on flower petals, and moved with a harmonious grace. His long white hair fell heavily down his back, and had odd, thin black streaks through it. The streaks blended into the fine stripes tattooed across his face, emphasizing his burning, yellow-green eyes, traveling down to his throat and breast bone like the markings of a white tiger. Around his neck he wore an amulet of carved bone, framed on either side by bear claws. In his left hand he carried a long spear, bound with silver and hung with small charms. Around his left bicep was the double image of geese and fish, marking him as the Shaman. He was clad only in simple breeches and high, soft boots.

Elrond watched them approach, feeling oddly pampered and soft. He could not think of a time when his folk had lived as this wild creature did, and he almost felt intimidated as the tall white Elf stopped before him. He went down on one knee briefly, bowing before Elrond. Then he rose back to his full height and looked at the Elf-Lord with topaz eyes.

“Lord Elrond. I am Frost, Shaman of the last of the Free Elves of Hathil-Loth-Mahr. We come asking to share your valley with you, that we may finally have a home, and peace,”

“Frost,” Haldir whispered to himself. That had been the name of the last child Rabbit had with Wolf. But Rabbit had said Frost was dead; could this be the same Elf?

“We would be pleased,” said Elrond, “to share our valley with our Plains-Elf kin. Permit me to introduce to you our friends, Aragorn, King of Gondor, and Gimli and Glóin of the Mountain Kingdom Beside them stand our worthy Hobbits of the Shire, Sam, Rosie, Merry, and Pippin.”

Frost nodded to them. “I greet thee, children of stone, of the Green Lands, and of Númenor.” Then he paused, and looked at the assembled group. “One of your village is not here.”

Mauburz stepped out of her tent, and walked over to the assembly. She knew there was no use trying to hide from this creature. She came to stand beside Lord Elrond, and she and Frost considered each other. Then the white Elf smiled slightly.

“It would seem one of our lost kin has also found her way here.”

***---***

Haldir waited for the formal meeting to end, then went quickly over to Rabbit, catching hold of him and holding him tightly. He knotted his hands into the long hair, and felt himself shaking.

“Rabbit I swear I do not know if I am angry or relieved!” He pulled back and looked into the yellow eyes.

Rabbit pulled him against his chest and buried his face into Haldir’s blond hair. “Be both. Truly I did not know I would be gone so long, I am so very sorry. But when you brought in the half-Orc Mabluk, I smelled them on him. I had to find them. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Haldir. “But you are NEVER to frighten Bramble and I like that again!”

“Never. I never shall. I swear.” Rabbit kissed him, then took his hand. “Come meet my child.”

“So it is Frost! I thought…”

“So did I,” said Rabbit. “It is a long tale. I will tell you later.”

***---***

Elrohir could not take his eyes off of Frost. He stood and stared, unaware he was staring, unaware even that Elladan and Orophin were flanking him, watching him in amusement. Finally, Elladan began flicking his ear. It took five or six flicks to register. He shook his head and waved his brother’s hand away.

“He’s beautiful,” he breathed.

Elladan looked at Frost. “He’s… certainly striped.”

“Orc. He’s the most stunningly beautiful Elf I have ever seen!”

“Elrohir, I agree. He is beautiful. He is almost as lovely as Orophin. But he pre-dates Noldo! You pre-date nothing. You are an Elfling. If you approach him he will probably want to change your nappy and burp you.”

“I have to try! Elladan I have never seen anything like him.”

Elladan glanced over at Orophin, who just shrugged. Together they watched Elrohir quietly, shyly, approach Frost.

As Elrohir came closer, he saw Frost was large. Very large. Broad chested, long-boned, and muscular; he was as tall as his dark mother. But he smiled more, and seemed less feral and watchful. Elrohir moved closer still, and finally came to stand beside his father. Elrond noticed his quiet presence.

“Elrohir, there you are. Frost I have not had a chance to introduce you to my son, Elrohir.”

Frost smiled at him, his yellow eyes peering out of the black stripe, like a tiger watching through the long grass. “I am pleased to meet you.”

Elrohir said nothing, but clutched his father’s robe as his knees went weak. Elrond looked at him. “Child are you ill?”

“No Ada.”

“Well then kindly straighten up.”

Frost seemed amused, and gazed at Elrohir, the younger Elf watching all the ages of Arda reflect in his eyes. “Perhaps,” said Frost quietly, “young Master Elrohir would care to show me to this place by the river you mentioned. My folk are weary, and we would begin setting up camp as soon as we could.”

“Of course,” said Elrond. “Elrohir, could you show Frost to the grotto?”

Elrohir nodded, then cleared his throat. “Yes. It is this way.”

Frost turned to Rabbit, and hugged him. “I will see you a little later, Sia.” Then he turned to Elrohir. The younger Elf swallowed nervously, then began walking towards the shaded area his father had mentioned.

Elrond watched his younger son go. “What is wrong with that boy?” he muttered.

***---***

Elrohir walked beside Frost, feeling nervous. He stole a glance at him, trying to think of something to say. “You called Rabbit ‘Sia’. Is he your… mother?”

“Yes, though the word does not quite mean that in your language. It is difficult to explain. But yes, he is my mother. I was but five years old when last I saw him.”

“He believed you dead.”

“Yes. I myself am not certain how I survived. I became lost in the dungeons of Barad-dûr, escaping my own kin, who fully meant to devour me. Eventually I was so over come by hunger I collapsed. I was thought dead, so was thrown out with the trash. There was enough garbage to scrounge, and I stayed there until I was a little stronger. Finally I went south. Sia, it seems, went north. Each of us heading in the wrong direction, each of us thinking the other dead.”

“You must have been frightened.”

“I… do not like to think on those times. I was fortunate enough to find some Wood-Elves, who took me in. Because I was so fair, I believe they thought me to be one of them.” He smiled slightly, his eyes narrowing a little. “Until I grew up. Then they knew not what I was. I eventually was fortunate enough to run into some of my own kind, a handful of stragglers who had also drifted south. They taught me who I was.”

Elrohir had the feeling he was not going to get much information out of Frost about those early years, at least not yet. Rabbit only told his tales when he deemed the time was right. Frost was a little more friendly, but even he was plainly holding back much. He decided to try speaking on a more current subject.

“I thought you were a nomadic race. Yet you come here seeking permanent residence.”

“It is easy to be a nomad in friendly lands well known. But we have been all over this land, to places foul and fair. Many of us have begun to fade with the stress and fear of constant uncertainty, and this winter, with the great storms and floods, several died, including my lover.”

“I am sorry. His loss must have been very hard for you.”

“Very hard. We had… traveled far. And long. But he left me a gift. That is another reason we are anxious to stop. Two others besides myself are with child, and I have never successfully borne a child. I am hoping a home will change that.”

They reached a wide, shallow pool, the colour of Dwarven emeralds, and so clear one could see the small, coloured fishes playing in its depths. They crossed it, Frost seeming to delight in the beautiful clear water, stepping slowly, pausing to let the fish dart about his feet. Finally they crossed it, and Elrohir led Frost under an ancient willow tree. Beyond it the forest opened up into a large clearing, closed in on all sides by willow trees, forming a green wall all around. The earth was soft and dark, and the sunlight filtered in, turned by the trees to a peaceful green-gold.

Frost planted his spear shaft-down into the earth, then slowly sat down, looking around. “This,” he said softly, “is a good place. Your father is as generous and kind as Sia said he would be.”

Elrohir was surprised Rabbit would say anything at all about his Ada; he would have sworn Rabbit had never even noticed him. But he was pleased that the feral Elf thought kindly of him. He sat down beside the beautiful white Elf, and was both pleased and intimidated when Frost put an arm around him, then kissed the top of his head.

Elrohir felt his breath catch as he looked up into the smiling yellow eyes, and the butterflies in his stomach threatened to burst out any moment. He felt Frost stroke his hair, then the beautiful, wild, sexy creature said something that would have Elrohir pounding his head on the floor for the rest of the night.

“I am sure you will be just like him when you grow up.”

***---***

“Elrohir! Stop that! It was funny an hour ago but now it is getting annoying!”

Elrohir stopped banging his head on the floor, and sat up and looked at his brother. “He thinks I am a child!”

Orophin sat in a lavish embroidered chair, his booted feet on an expensive inlaid chest. He poured himself another glass of miruvor, then offered a glass to Elladan. “You are not doing much to disprove that!”

Elrohir narrowed his eyes at the archer. “Don’t you have Orcs to count or a tree to climb or something?”

Orophin flashed a gesture that would have started a fight in a Lothlórien barracks. Amrun and Elladan laughed. Amrun came to sit beside the young Elf, linking his arm through Elrohir’s.

“Look, kitten, I am your friend. You can trust me. Now hear me. Frost…” He began ticking examples off on his fingers. “… is only slightly younger than the Ents. Has recently lost his lover. Believes you to be a child, and, best of all, let us not forget this part, is pregnant. I have but one question for you. To quote the brave Faramir of Gondor; ‘What the hell are you thinking, and can I have a bit of what you were drinking to even come up with it?’”

“I did not say it would not be a challenge.”

“’Challenge’?!” Orophin roared with laughter. “’Challenge,’ he says! Look, Elrohir, dear friend, you are a sweet, loving heart full of boundless kindness, bravery, and, occasionally, wisdom.” He slid off the chair and onto the floor, taking the younger Elf’s hand in his, then reaching out to push back Elrohir’s heavy, golden-brown hair. “But you are young. Not a child, no, far past that. But I do not think you fully understand what ‘challenges’ face you in seeking Frost’s company. He is going through much right now, the likes of which we mere males cannot comprehend. Do not break your heart needlessly.”

“I will think on this,” said Elrohir softly. “You are right, and I see the wisdom in what you say Orophin. But I do not think my heart is listening.”

“No, it never does in these matters, does it? Very well, Elrohir. Do what you must. We shall pick you up if you fall.”

Elrohir hugged him tightly. “Thank you Orophin.”

Orophin grinned, then kissed his face before sitting back once more. “Of course, you understand we shall point and laugh first.”