The Last Homely House
Chapter Twelve

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: Elrohir is in love, Rumil exhausted, and Glorfindel has to learn the bitter truth that no good deed goes unpunished.

Frost sat in Elrond’s tent, examining the stones that had been found in The Buyer’s shack. Outside could be heard the sounds of a fair day; bird twittering, and Elven voices raised in song, more or less complimented by a few Dwarven baritones. It was the first true spring day, and little work was being done on the house as all stopped to bask in the warmth.

Inside the tent, Elrond sat in a carved wooden chair, Rúmil, as always, behind him and vigilant. Aragorn stood nearby, waiting to bring Glorfindel word of the stones’ meanings. Also there, out of place and silent, was Elrohir.

Frost turned the first stone in his hands, and smiled. “This is of no importance. It is a message stone. ‘Traveling far through the great wood to the place of grass, return in three days.’ Most likely some hunter’s message to his mate. He must have made the trip frequently to bother etching it into stone.” He passed it to Elrohir and smiled at him. “A paper weight and little more.”

Elrohir took the stone and looked at the stylized animals and plants. Though it was of no real importance, he could not help but be fascinated by the age of this simple message: a small glimpse into the domestic life of one who lived no more.

“That would seem to indicate this Buyer cannot read your language,” said Aragorn.

“It would,” said Frost. “I fail to see why he would have kept it at all, unless it had some personal meaning to him. I would imagine the Dead Plains are riddled with similar stones. ‘Hello darling, gone to get you a duck, be home tomorrow.’”

“A dire warning,” said Elrond dryly.

Frost smiled, then picked up the second stone. “This would have been a little more useful to him. It speaks of the time of gathering, when we would get together to worship the Three Horses. That was a big event; the clans would get together for a festival that would last much of the year. If he had been wanting to capture Plains Elves, that would have been the best time to do it. Except that festival only happened once every thousand years, and there’s hardly enough of us left to make it a decent party anymore.” He shook his head. “Neither of these stones are of any real use. He must have scooped them up believing them to be important, but all he truly has is an old note and an out of date calendar.”

“What was within the scrolls and tomes?” asked Aragorn.

“Mostly very in-depth descriptions of the inner workings of Plains Elves,” said Elrond. “Useful if I should ever need to treat one, though I shudder to think how the information was gained. I suspect the real information is within the Black Book. Now we must ask if we wish to learn its secrets, or simply lock it away. I do not wish to do either.” He sat back and sighed heavily, looking very weary. “I must think on this. I would discuss this with Erestor, as well as others, before I make a decision.”

“How is Glorfindel?” asked Aragorn.

“Better, though he will not take my advice, or Erestor’s. He wants to be up out of bed, despite the fact he was nearly dead. I soon cured his restless nature with a very powerful sleeping draught. He’ll not be annoying anyone until later this evening.”

“A sleeping draught would do you no harm either,” said Aragorn.

Elrond flicked his long hand at him. “Be gone from my sight you impudent pup, do not be playing healer with me.”

Aragorn smiled, and turned to leave. Pausing at the doorway of the pavilion, he could not resist one last comment. “And some time off that knee.” Then he left.

Elrond glared at Aragorn’s departing form. “Brat. I do not know why I permitted him to marry my daughter.”

“Because Arwen said if you did not allow her to marry him she would run off with a goat farmer,” said Rúmil.

Elrond slowly turned around and fixed Rúmil with a glare. “I though guards were supposed to be silent.”

“Sorry, dearest, slipped into my catamite role for a moment.”

“I am surrounded by humorists.”

Elrohir stood up. “I shall leave you to rest, Ada.”

Frost rose also, then turned and followed Elrohir out of the pavilion. Elrond sighed heavily.

“I suppose some rest would do me good,” said Elrond. “All this business with the Buyer has made me weary.” He rose slowly, then turned to look at Rúmil. “And what of you? Care to stay and keep an old, enfeebled Elf company?”

“No I thought I would go to bed with you instead.”

Elrond smiled, gently touching Rúmil’s face. He kissed him, then limped over to the bed and dropped down onto it. A moment later, he felt Rúmil’s light body beside him, and the weight of his head upon his chest. Elrond reached up and gently trailed his fingers through his companion’s hair.

“Rúmil, is it just my imagination, or is Elrohir following Frost around like the proverbial lost dog?”

“He is, my Lord.”

Elrond sighed heavily. “I suppose I should be pleased he’s at least interested in an Elf.”

“A pregnant Elf.”

Elrond felt his headache get worse. “Frost…”

“His lover left something baking in his oven before getting caught in a mud slide six weeks ago.”

“How considerate of him. Does Elrohir know?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Am I the last being in this encampment to hear of this?”

“Quite likely.”

“So now I not only have a mortal wedded to my daughter, I can soon look forward to a grandchild that bites.”

Rúmil moved over top of Elrond, looking down into his eyes, smiling. “You also have a highly insubordinate guard.”

“Yes, well, an old enfeebled Elf has to have some fun.”

Rúmil growled quietly, then began kissing and nibbling his neck. “So do the young and not so enfeebled ones.”

***---***

Glorfindel lay in bed and listened to the world around him, sorting the sounds of a spring day.

The window was open, and he could feel tiny birds hopping on him, picking at the crumbs of the toast he had earlier. Outside, more birds chirped and sang and trilled. In the sitting room, Erestor was teaching Rosie a few words of Elvish, and he had to admit, the little Hobbit woman was learning quickly. Estorel was making his pony squeak and was giggling himself sick. Outside the window, Sam was humming as he planted the fragrant orange and yellow blooms Glorfindel loved, so he could smell them as he recovered. Such a considerate little Hobbit, he thought, he would have to thank him.

One of the impudent little birds suddenly grabbed a beakful of long, silver-white Elf hair and yanked it out. Glorfindel jerked upright in surprise, and he listened to the whir of tiny wings departing. Slowly, he lay down, settling into the deep pillows and soft quilts. He sniffed them, smelling Erestor’s scent on them, and pulled the pillow closer. He blinked sleepily, his clear blue eyes strangely blank. He closed them, then nuzzled the pillow. The world was such an amazing place, he thought; full of scents, sounds, textures.

He heard the door open, and a light tread cross the rugs that could only be Erestor. He seated himself in the chair near the bed, and asked softly; “Are you awake, Fin?”

“Come to save me from the chickadees who have been pulling out my hair?”

Erestor stroked Fin’s long hair, then kissed him. “You have hair to spare, my beautiful one.”

“Yes but there are a lot of chickadees.”

Erestor laughed. “Well if you didn’t make such a mess they would not come in.”

“Well eating is a little harder than it used to be. Not much, but a little.”

“Care for some lunch? Rabbit brought us a lovely big goose, Rosie and I have roasted it.”

“Oh that’s what that delectable smell is, yes I should love some.”

Erestor kissed him, and Fin slowly, carefully, sat up. He stroked the comforter, swatting away the few crumbs the chickadees had missed, then sighed heavily. He listened to the distant sound of Rhimlan’s children playing with Bramble and Lindir, and smiled. The world was full of so many interesting things.

He wondered how to tell Erestor he could no longer see any of them.

***---***

Frost prowled into the secluded grotto, pausing to look at the work his people were doing in setting their village up. Already the skeletons of the light huts were rising from the earth, and hides were being tanned and softened to use as walls. It would be a traditional village; if a very small one. Together they made a pack of twenty-one, and that was counting Sia and Bramble. If Hunting Fox and Rain Chaser managed to have their children, that made twenty-three.

Frost paused as he saw the bare structure of the hut slightly removed from the village, secluded under a tree’s hanging branches. It would be the birthing hut.

‘Seven weeks,’ he thought. ‘I have kept this one seven weeks so far. If I can keep it just three weeks longer, perhaps it will stay inside until it is time to be born.’

He did not admit to himself this was not likely. In his time with Star Seeker, he had succeeded in bearing or fathering not a single child. Star had seemed to think this was Frost’s fault, and, in the years he had been with him, Frost had come to some harsh realizations about his lover. Star had not loved him; Star had loved the comforts Frost’s position as Shaman allowed him.

Frost went to the pile of sticks that would be his hut and curled up on the soft earth, thinking about Star. Once, long ago, he had loved him, deeply, passionately, unconditionally. Once perhaps Star had even felt something for him. But for a long time, he and Star had been mates out of lack of other choices.

Frost was surprised by how sad he was to lose Star, but then again, they had been through a great deal together, and not all of it bad. More than once their combined efforts had kept the clan safe. Much of what Frost had told Elrohir about why they wished a permanent home was true, but there were other reasons as well. He was uncertain he could care for them alone. Here in Imladris, they were far safer. And here was where the creature that had been hunting them had chosen to make his own home for awhile. He would not leave while the Elves he sought were so close. Now was the chance to put an end to him.

Frost raised his head abruptly, as did every other Elf in the area, each hearing and smelling the being who approached. Frost watched Elrohir step into the village, then pause.

“I hope I am not intruding…?” he said quietly, looking nervously at the many sets of yellow eyes that gleamed at him.

Frost rose to his feet and went to Elrohir. “I was not expecting to see you again so soon, little one.”

Elrohir opened his mouth, trying to think of a reason for his being there. However lying had never been his strong suit. “I just wanted to see you,” he admitted.

Frost stepped back in surprise, then smiled. “Did you.”

“Yes. I… think you’re beautiful.”

“You do.”

“Yes.”

One large old Elf, Bear Walking, stretched and yawned, then cast Frost an amused look as he moved to a quieter area. Frost caught the meaning in his movements, and smiled.

“Let us go for a walk,” he said to Elrohir.

They moved deeper into the green seclusion of the woods, Frost casting occasional glances at the young Elf beside him. Elrohir was young, VERY young, and did not seem as though he had much life experience. But, it seemed he was not quite as young as he had first thought. Frost was enchanted by the simple sweetness of his approach, and found himself grinning.

“What amuses you so?” asked Elrohir.

“Well, you, dear child!”

Elrohir paused, and said quietly, firmly; “I am not a child.”

Frost smiled at him fondly, then reached out to touch his face. “I see that now. I am sorry for thinking you an Elfling. It is a shortcoming of one as old as I.”

“You think me too young for you.”

“I think perhaps you may be, yes. I think also I am not a good choice for other reasons.”

“Because you are recently bereaved, and you are with child.”

“Yes, those would be the reasons.”

Frost half expected Elrohir to launch into a rapid speech about how he could take care of him, sooth his shattered heart, help with the impending arrival of the Elfling. He was a little taken aback when Elrohir did not.

“I do not wish to crash into your life and try to fix everything,” said Elrohir. “I am neither that naïve nor inconsiderate of your wishes. I am simply saying you are the fairest being I have ever seen. I would like to know who you are.”

“I am only Frost,” he said.

Elrohir smiled. “You are not ‘only Frost’. You are many things.”

“But those things add up to only me.”

“I would like to learn the things you are willing to show me.”

Frost cast him a sidelong glance, which Elrohir could not quite read. Amusement, and perhaps respect. “Very well, aia-nen, what shall I teach you?”

“You can start by telling me what ‘aia-nen’ means.”

***---***

Glorfindel listened to Erestor come into the room, heard the clink of the utensils tapping lightly against the plates. He had a mental image of accidentally covering himself in food and did not wish to humiliate himself.

“Darling could you set the tray down on the table for a moment? I… have something I really must tell you.”

He heard Erestor pause. “Oh, all right.” The sound of the tray being set down on a small table. Then the sensation of Erestor seating himself on the bed. He felt Erestor take his hands, and he felt sick inside. Erestor had been through so much already, how could he burden him like this?

“Erestor,” he managed to say, “I… have a slight problem.”

“Oh really,” said Erestor dryly. Glorfindel grinned, getting a clear mental image of Erestor with his raised eyebrow and quirky smile. “What sort of a problem?”

“For once, it does not involve coming up with new ways to violate your lovely body.” He wanted to reach for him, wanted to pull him close and hold him and never let him go. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut and fought the tears he could feel threatening to spill.

“Erestor… I… something happened in the fight with the demon.”

He felt Erestor move closer, felt his hand on his arm. Glorfindel pulled him close, holding him tightly. “Erestor, dear dull Erestor.”

Erestor felt cold at the sound of the old pet name. “Fin?”

Glorfindel kissed him softly. “I can’t see anything anymore, Erestor. Not even your beautiful face and the lovely mischievous smile you get when you are planning my downfall. I am quite blind.”

He felt Erestor’s hand slide over his hair, and they held each other close. “Oh Fin I am so sorry…”

“It’s all right Darling, at least I’m here. I wouldn’t have mentioned it except I have no desire to accidentally splatter myself with gravy in front of Rosie.”

Erestor held him tightly, then kissed him. “I’ll get Elrond.”

“Well not until I’ve had lunch, I’m starving! Er, could you put my goose on bread for ease of eating?”

“Glorfindel I swear if I didn’t love you so much I would leave you at the side of the road somewhere! Rosie!”

“No don’t call Rosie!”

Rosie appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Rosie could you please make this beautiful moron a sandwich? I have to get Lord Elrond.”

Rosie watched Erestor go past, departing the little cottage, then looked at Glorfindel. She walked over to him and stood beside the bed, looking into the clear eyes that stared blankly. She patted his hand. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, and left the room.

***---***

Elrond lay in his bed, Rúmil comfortably snuggled against him, his Lord’s arm around his shoulders. Elrond smiled at him and kissed his brow, then closed his eyes and settled back into the deep pillows.

He knew what he would do about the book.

He would call other Elves of strength and power, and together they would learn its meaning, and how to destroy it. He relaxed, and let his mind roam free towards the Golden Wood. His thoughts were heard almost immediately.

“Elrond, are you speaking to me while in bed with your lover?”

“What would you do if I said ‘no’?”

He could tell she was mildly amused. “You contact me about the Black Book.”

“Yes.”

“I think your idea is a wise one. We should not destroy this foul thing without knowing its secrets, though I am loath to know just what they may be.”

“As am I. But perhaps it is time we came to the aid of the true Elves of this land. They ask for no assistance, but they are well nigh extinct.”

“They shall have aid. I shall set out in a week’s time, and come to Imladris.”

“I look forward to your arrival.”

He felt her disconnect from his mind, and he looked over at Rúmil once more. He smiled, then reached out to stroke his hand over the soft skin of his arm. Rúmil opened his eyes and looked at him, blinking.

“Have a touch of spring fever, do you my Lord?” he asked.

“Afraid so. Willing to help me suffer through it?”

“Well I have helped you survive it twice so far, a third time would be no great strain.”

Elrond moved over top of him, kissing him, their bodies merging easily. Rúmil relaxed under him, too spent from the previous two couplings to do much more than enjoy the intimacy of the act. He moved his hands into Elrond’s hair and kissed him lazily, then held him, his arms around the other Elf’s shoulders. He closed his eyes, making soft little sounds of pleasure as he felt his lover move slowly within him. It was a relaxed, pleasurable embrace, and he felt himself slipping into a sort of reverie, running his hands slowly over Elrond’s back.

They both reached an eventual climax, a gentle rise in passion that ended too soon, and left both of them utterly drained. Rúmil hoped Elrond did not decide a fourth act was needed; he truly had nothing more to give.

He lay with his eyes closed, lips parted, breathing hard. He felt Elrond kiss him, then gently stroke his hair away from his sweat-dampened face before moving off of him. Rúmil rolled over heavily, resting his head and arm on Elrond.

“A bath, I think, is in order,” said Elrond.

“And clean sheets,” said Rúmil.

“Indeed. Then perhaps a bit of lunch, and then perhaps you for desert.”

Rúmil raised his head. “Oh you have to be joking.”

Elrond grinned at him. “I am.”

“Well thank the Valar, I shall need more than lunch if you expect to take me again.”

They emerged from the damp bed and made their way to the back of the pavilion, to a portioned off area. Within sat a large ornate tub, and beside it a table set with oils, soaps, and towels. The bath was easily large enough for the two of them, and Rúmil sank into the hot water gratefully, feeling it close over his weary flesh. Then Elrond got in behind him, and he felt his strong hands gently work the tired muscles of his shoulders. Rúmil groaned pleasurably, then grinned.

“I wonder what the peasants are doing?”

Elrond kissed his neck, then gently drew Rúmil against him. “You are a delight to me, Rúmil. Without you, I lived in darkness.”

“How do you know I am not simply after your house and lands?”

“I suspect if you were, then you would have attempted to volunteer for a loftier title than catamite.”

“True, I would have demanded to at least be made Head Catamite.”

“You are.”

“Oh my first promotion, how delightful!”

Elrond laughed, then kissed him. Together they bathed, then dressed. Elrond was waiting for Rúmil to braid his damp hair when Erestor came tearing in like one of his crows, who were all following him. Rúmil refrained from growling at him as Elrond put his arms around his advisor.

“Erestor, what is the matter?”

Erestor was plainly upset, but it was not with the all-consuming fear and grief that had been upon him when Glorfindel dragged himself home. This was something bad as well, but not life-threatening. Erestor stood, shaking, finally getting himself under control.

“I am sorry to behave so inappropriately my Lord.”

“No apologies needed, Erestor, just tell me what troubles you.”

“It’s Fin. He… he just admitted to me he is without vision. He is blind.”

Elrond did not wish to say he had suspected as much, but had been hoping his concerns were groundless. He shook his head, and sighed. “I will come see if there is anything I can do for him, Erestor. Go wait in the cottage, I shall be but a moment.”

***---***

Erestor returned to the cottage, finding Glorfindel daintily picking up assorted small, bite-sized treats. Erestor was grateful to Rosie for her extremely kind gesture; Glorfindel was a knave and a clown, but he was also a proud warrior. He would not want to have to blindly try to figure out how to slice large pieces of meat. This was something he would need to learn to do on his own, and most likely in private.

Sam was standing near the window, talking to Fin about what he knew best; gardening.

“Well it’s easy to get roses to grow.”

“Easy for you to get roses to grow, Sam. I could easily landscape any desert you like.”

“I thought all Elves could garden.”

“We can, just some better than others.” Glorfindel raised his head. “Ah. The scent of Nuits Sensuelles, combined with crow-dust and baby powder. Hello, darling, been hugging Lord Elrond again?”

“I must be out of my mind feeling any sympathy for you.”

“Oh but you must! Blind, injured, helpless, and I do believe I have nasty case of split ends.”

Erestor sat beside him and hugged him, then looked up as he heard Elrond enter the room. Erestor moved the plate as he came to also sit on the bed before Fin.

Elrond gently reached out and took Fin’s head between his hands, looking into the blue eyes that seemed to register nothing. “Erestor, light a candle, would you? Sam close the shutters please, and draw the drapes.”

Sam did, and the room grew dark. Erestor lit a small candle and passed it to Elrond, then he and Rosie drew back to give him room to work. Elrond took the candle, moving it back and forth slowly before Glorfindel’s eyes, watching for any reaction.

There was none.

“Do you see anything at all, Glorfindel?”

“No.”

Elrond handed the candle back to Erestor, then motioned for Sam to open the window. Once the bright light streamed in, Elrond examined the injuries to Glorfindel’s head and face. He had heard of such things happening, but was uncertain if there was anything he could do about it. He smiled slightly, then stroked the long white hair. Then he looked puzzled, and peered at a tiny bald patch.

“You’re missing a bit of hair.”

“Chickadee attack.”

“Ah. A formidable opponent.” He stroked Glorfindel’s long white hair, looking sad and concerned. “My friend, I think you have finally put yourself into a mess I cannot get you out of.”

“Well it had to happen sooner or later,” said Glorfindel quietly.

Elrond leaned forward and held him, then said softly; “I will consult my books. Galadriel herself will be here in a month’s time, and if we cannot solve this puzzle, it will not be for want of trying.”

Glorfindel nodded, then sighed quietly. “How long until I can at least get out of this damn bed?”

Elrond and Erestor exchanged glances. Both had the feeling that being sightless would do little to slow Glorfindel down.

***---***

“Ah, the merry month of May,” grumbled Erestor, attempting to change the nappy on a wiggling four-month-old Estorel. “The flowers, the sun, the providing of quarters we don’t have for visiting dignitaries, the arranging of an agenda regarding the Black Book….”

BANG!

“The sound of a stone-blind Elf hitting the door frame….”

“Mr. Fin, the door was closed.”

“Ah thank you, Lindir, I discovered that for myself.”

SMASH!

“Rosie moved the table.”

“Lindir you are supposed to tell me about these things before I hit them, not after.”

Erestor got Estorel changed and into his clothes, then tucked him into the sling he used for carrying the baby around when he had a great deal to do. He smiled with doting affection at the small Elfling, chewing on his pony, wearing a miniature version of Elrond’s formal robes, complete with circlet. The seamstress Naergilien had made them for him, as she made most of the fine garb the nobles of the House of Elrond wore.

Erestor saw no reason his child should not be dressed at least as well.

He got Estorel slung comfortably, then walked into the sitting room, and over to Glorfindel. He put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his face. “I shall be back soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Be good for Rosie and Sam.”

“Never.”

“Rosie if he gets out of hand, tie him up.”

Glorfindel seemed to perk up, not that his mood was dark at all. “Really? Rosie, care for a little bondage?”

“Here, you mind you manners,” said Sam.

“Sorry Sam, didn’t see you standing there.”

“That’s because you’re blind, Fin.”

“Thank you, Lindir, I thought it was dark in here.”

Erestor picked up a fireplace poker and passed it to Sam. “Here, you’ll need this.” Then he left the cottage, hastening to Elrond’s office.

One of the scrolls he carried contained notes regarding the language of the Plains Elves, which he and Glorfindel had been compiling. Much of what they did could not be called speaking; words were for tales, for songs, for conversation around the fire. Words were not wasted trying to convey a message to a companion a mile or so away. For this they had another form of communication; a concise language of sounds, anything from little yipping barks to the hair-raising Nazgûl screams that were slowly but surely turning Aragorn’s hair grey. Glorfindel was taking note of the noises and their meanings, and Erestor was recording it, in case it was needed.

Yap! – You’re here/I’m here.

Yip-yap! – I’m glad you’re here/glad to be here.

Rarrrip – Well you took your time, didn’t you?

Hrrrrrrrrrrrffffft. – You were gone nine hours and didn’t even catch a bloody mouse?

Moaning, rising note, ending with a question – Where are you? I’m alone.

Nazgul shriek – Oh honey I missed you so much!

Erestor suspected some of the wording to be a bit off, but there was no doubt about the meaning. The guards patrolling the borders quickly caught on to the practical uses of the tones and yips, and it was not long before many of them began yipping and yapping at each other, as well as uttering the occasional ‘rarrrip’.

Elrond, meanwhile, was not amused by a barking honour-guard. That same day someone had painted on the old flood sign; ‘Welcome to Fair Imladris, Home of the Barking Elves.’

“Barking Mad Elves,” grumbled Elrond as he heard one of his patrolling archers make the ‘where-are-you’ cry. Mistaking him for one of their own, the Plains Elves all screamed back a reply.

Elrond rose abruptly, and did something he had not been known to do off of a battlefield. He shouted.

“HALDIR!!”

The newly-appointed captain of the Imladris guard appeared within moments, and bowed, not daring any informality with Elrond in so foul a mood.

“Yes Lord Elrond.”

“Haldir, while normally I would encourage the innovation of my archers, could you please ask them to keep the barking to a minimum?”

“Yes Lord Elrond.”

“And please inform them that the next one to intentionally get Frost’s tribe to shriek as though it is the Witch-King’s begetting party in Barad-dûr can look forward to their new duties as guards for the Royal Catamite.”

Haldir winced. “I shall tell them my Lord.”

“Be sure you do, Haldir, or you will have the honour of being Rúmil’s first guard.”

Haldir glanced towards his brother, who was currently serving in his second office as Elrond’s personal guard. Rúmil stuck his tongue out at him. Haldir made a mental note to paint his hairbrush with honey.

“Yes, Lord Elrond.”

Elrond waved him away, and Haldir left, grumbling. Rúmil waited until he was gone, then leaned against Elrond’s back and draped his arms around his neck. “I love it when you’re masterful.”

“Do you.” Elrond turned face Rúmil, slipping his arms around his waist and gently kissing him.

“Oh yes.”

Elrond kissed him again, harder this time. “In that case, you get undressed, I’ll lock the office door, and we’ll see what I can command you to do on the desk.”

Erestor came in through the door right then, putting a halt to whatever plans they may have had. Rúmil returned to his proper position behind Elrond, who turned to greet Erestor.

“Is everything arranged?”

Erestor nodded. “Everything.”

“Have we succeeded in finding quarters for The Lady?”

“And for her Lord, yes. We have made suitable quarters by positioning several tents in the garden and constructing corridors, so they have everything they need. Though why you did not just hang a hammock in a tree I do not know.”

“How is Glorfindel?”

Erestor shook his head. “Truly? I do not know. His mood seems light enough, but his injuries still keep him contained to the cottage. Once he is recovered, and he begins to fully understand what has been taken from him, that may change.”

“But for now he seems good?”

“For now he is almost more than two Hobbits can handle.”

Both Erestor and Elrond looked up as Elladan came into the office, wearing his formal robes. Elrond smiled at him. “Properly dressed, and on time for once.

“Yes, well, life with a soldier will have that effect. Now I shall sit down before I trip over my robe and end up on my face.”

Elladan sat down, and the three waited for Elrohir. And waited. And waited. Then Elrond noted the sudden silence of the Plains Elves, which meant they were sensing the approach of a great power. He sighed.

“Where is that boy?”

***---***

Elrohir sat under the great willow by the pond near Frost’s village, trying to understand the basics to their written language. It was not as simple as it looked. For one thing, it could be written either right to left, or left to right. The only way to tell which direction it was to be read was to take note of which way the animals faced. But even that was no guarantee; pictograms could be rearranged to make better use of space, and there were strict rules about how they could be arranged.

Right now, however, Frost was teaching him only the bare basics. The complicated stuff, he assured him, would come almost on its own.

Frost had been in an uncommonly good mood the last few days. Not that his moods were prone to darkness, but for the almost five weeks Elrohir had known him, Frost had been awaiting something, marking the passage of time carefully. Whatever event he had been fearing apparently had come to naught, and he had relaxed visibly, becoming more cheerful. He had become more friendly towards Elrohir, though their relationship was still hardly one of courtship. But Elrohir did not mind, so long as he could spend time with Frost.

He sat back from the pictograms he had written in the clay with the thin stylus, and said; “Am I right?”

Frost leaned forward, then smiled. “Well, technically, yes, you are quite right. But the picture for ‘Sia’ should never be put next to the one for ‘travel’.”

Elrohir looked at the pictograms. “Ah. Can’t put a wolf by a pheasant.”

Frost grinned, looking like a smiling white tiger. “One will eat the other. It is disrespectful to have your Sia eaten. So, the picture that would logically follow the pheasant is instead put between the two.”

Elrohir wrote that down in his scroll, then noticed Frost abruptly raise his head, becoming very still, and sniffing. “One approaches. One wielding a great power, accompanied by many lessers.”

Elrohir suddenly gasped. “Grandmother!” He looked down at himself, muddy and hardly dressed in clothes worthy of greeting her. “I am late!”

“No time to worry about that now. I shall come with you, since it is partly for the benefit of my folk she has come.”

“And the rest of your clan?”

Frost looked over his shoulder. The little village, where only moments ago there had been several of Frost’s people, was still and silent. He smiled.

“They will not approach one who bears such strength. They will wait in silence, until I assure them it is safe.”

“And if you never come back?”

“They will move on. But I assume your grandmother will not eat me.”

“No.” Elrohir rose to his feet and tried to brush off some of the mud. Failing, he sighed. “Well let us go. It is bad enough to be dirty, worse to be late and dirty.”

They hastened to the newly re-made courtyard, following the stone path through the young and green shrubs. Elrohir thought he liked the new Imladris courtyards and gardens better than the old, delighting in the new green growth. Even the house was like the garden, growing anew from the cultivated earth. It was as though they were the first Elves at the beginning of time.

Elrond took one look at Elrohir and sighed heavily. “My child, what in all of Arda were you doing?”

Elrohir grinned apologetically. “Frost was showing me some of the basics of his written language.”

“And this involves mud how, exactly?”

Elrohir looked down at his feet. Elrond smiled slightly, then looked at Frost. “I appreciate your being here to greet the Lady of Light.”

“I can do no less. You have taken my people in, and given them aid. None others have done this for us. I will do what I can in my meager way to show my respect and gratitude.”

Erestor smiled slightly, thinking the gratitude Elrond felt for having such a reliable means of determining Galadriel’s approach was probably greater.