The Last Homely House
Chapter Thirteen

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: Glorfindel has an encounter with his past, and something terrible happens in Rivendell - maybe nothing will ever be as it has been before ...

Glorfindel had lived many years, and had learned many things. There was wisdom within him that few sought or knew about, or even realized he may know. He liked to learn, and had a sharp mind.

Right now he was learning he did not much care for being discussed by four healers as though he was a horse they were considering for purchase.

“I do not like the way his leg trembles; it speaks to me of nerve damage,” said Aragorn quietly.

“I am more troubled by his lack of balance,” said Elrond. “Being blind should not affect his ability to stand.”

Glorfindel bore the indignity with little humor, telling himself they were trying to help. But his warrior’s heart was outraged, and he was very much wanting to bite someone. He stood quietly, trying to be a good patient, but his mood was most foul. Then he heard Celeborn come to stand by him and felt him slap him heavily on his back.

“Well Glorfindel, you finally did yourself irreparable harm.”

Glorfindel punched Celeborn so hard they both fell over. Galadriel and her personal healer watched in complete amazement as Aragorn and Elrond got Glorfindel off of Celeborn before the Lord of the Golden Wood got his bearings and returned the punch.

“Glorfindel!” Galadriel finally managed to say, not certain if she was shocked, indignant or amused.

Aragorn packed the frothing warrior over his shoulder and began carrying him out of the room, wincing at the Elven insults he heard flying between the two.

“I’m a better warrior crippled than you ever were, you lazy grog sucking consort!” Glorfindel yelled. Aragorn grinned as he carried him out of Elrond’s office.

He set Glorfindel carefully down on his feet, then helped him to sit as his legs went out from under him. “Your spirit is intact, at least,” he remarked.

“The nerve of him. Carry me back in there and we’ll play ‘pin the dagger on the drunk.’”

“I will do no such thing.”

Glorfindel sat on the grass, angry and sad and frightened. He shoved his hair back and tied it into a loose knot, then reached out nervously for his friend’s hand. “Is it true? There is no mending me?”

Aragorn looked at his friend. He had known Glorfindel all his life, had learned most of his warrior skills from him. He did not want to tell him the truth, but could not lie.

“It may be true. But we will not stop until there is no hope.”

Glorfindel leaned against his friend and sighed heavily. “Perhaps it would be better then, had I died.”

“And leave me alone with a baby? Oh no, Lord Glorfindel, you are not getting away from your duties that easily!” Erestor sat down before him and gently kissed him.

Aragorn grinned as he watched Glorfindel’s mood instantly brighten. “Oh come now darling, just for a little while. Until they throw me out again.”

“No. I need you here.” He raised up Glorfindel’s hand and looked at the split skin over the knuckles. “What were you up to?”

From Elrond’s office there came a howl of rage. “The hack has disfigured me! Where is that second-rate toad-sticker? I’ll have his guts for stays!”

“You’ll NEED them, you fat slut!” yelled Glorfindel.

“Aragorn, would you help me get this dear demure diplomat home before he causes an incident?” said Erestor.

“FAT SLUT?!” bellowed Celeborn. “I’ll show YOU a fat slut, you useless heap of dung!”

Aragorn got Glorfindel slung over his shoulder again, which was no easy feat. Glorfindel was large, and he was not going quietly. “I’ve already seen one! And the thought of looking upon your quivering jowls one more time drove me to blind myself! Aragorn put me down! Erestor get my sword!”

“No!” they said at the same time.

Aragorn carried Glorfindel into the cottage, and then into the bedroom, placing him down on the bed. “Glorfindel, I am beginning to believe you were indeed thrown out of Mandos’ Hall.”

“Of course I was.”

Aragorn kissed his face. “I will leave you to rest. I will return later to see how you are.”

“Good, bring the Tablero board. Sam can be Queen and read the dice to me.”

Aragorn kissed his brow, then looked at Erestor. “You are a brave Elf.”

Erestor folded his arms and glared at Glorfindel, one of his crows perched on his shoulder. “Complete idiocy can look that way some times. But do bring the Tablero board, I could use a drink.”

Aragorn left, and Erestor seated himself on the bed, reaching out to touch his lover’s face. “What did the healers say, Fin?”

Glorfindel smiled, but without humor. “That I have nerve damage, that I am blind, and that one of those blows to my head has upset my ability to balance. And I may well be like this a very long time.”

He hung his head, and sat in silence, holding Erestor’s hand. Finally he spoke. “Erestor, if you wish to find another, one with a sound body, I will bear you no grudge…”

He suddenly felt himself shoved down to the bed with a considerable amount of force, so much so he thought Celeborn had come to finish him off. Then he heard the familiar sound of Erestor’s voice.

“You will never utter that phrase or any remotely like it ever again. I am no wilting flower who needs to be carried. And I do not run when things are not as I would have them. We have been though wars, and we have been refugees, and we have even fled Valinor because our own folk dreaded what I may be and what I may have been carrying. And you, dear Glorfindel, are not giving up on yourself. Because if you do not think I will not follow you to Mandos’ Hall and drag you back to this world by your throat, then you do not know me half as well as you think you do.”

He felt the soft press of lips against his own, and he reached up to gently pull Erestor against his chest. For a long time they lay together in the sun-lit bedchamber, holding each other, and saying nothing.

***---***

Whatever his words, Celeborn was not especially angry over Glorfindel’s behavior. He checked Celebrian’s portrait for dust, finding none. Then he looked at Elrond.

“That Elf is humiliated,” he said.

“Of course he is,” said Elrond, pouring each of them a glass of wine. He passed a glass to Galadriel’s physician, a small Elven woman who said little, but possessed great skill. Her name was Morelliel. She smiled and accepted it.

“Lord Elrond, if I may say so,” said Morelliel, “I have seen injuries such as the one weakening Glorfindel’s leg. It is not beyond healing.”

“I agree,” said Elrond. “The nerve damage to the leg we can mend. As far as I can see, Glorfindel has two main difficulties. He cannot see, and his balance is upset.” He glanced up as Aragorn returned.

“How fares he, Estel?” asked Celeborn.

Aragorn smiled. “He is well, though courtesy forbids me to repeat the message he gave.”

Celeborn sipped his wine. “Whatever he said, right back at him.”

“His nature will serve him well in this matter,” said Galadriel.

“I am surprised it has not earned him a second visit to Mandos,” said Celeborn.

Galadriel ran her finger around the rim of her glass, then licked off the sweet wine. “Celeborn do not force me to get the feather pillow.”

“Sorry dear, I’ll shut up.”

She smiled, then said; “I am, for the moment, more concerned about this Black Book. I feel great evil surrounding it. The one who possessed it will not abandon it easily, and I fear will do anything to reclaim it.”

***---***

The day was changing. Where once it had been sunny and fair, it was now clouding over, and as Elrohir approached the village, he felt the first few drops of rain strike his long hair.

He grinned as he heard a sharp ‘yip-yap’, followed by another ‘yap’. Frost’s clan was fast becoming used to him, and the casual greetings told him they were also coming to regard him as a friend. He ducked under the willow tree and into the enclosed area of the village. He swept the drops of rain from his cloak, and then looked around.

He was a little surprised and intimidated to see Rabbit coming towards him. Elrohir’s contact with him had been limited to helping his father close the arrow-wound on him. Other than that, Rabbit, as he did with most beings, avoided him. Elrohir felt himself shrinking as the great Elf prowled up to him.

“Frost is not with you,” he stated.

“No, I was coming to see him. Is something wrong?”

“I am not certain. I do not think so. But I do not like him not being here.”

“I am here, Sia,” said a quiet voice. Both Rabbit and Elrohir looked towards the voice, and saw Frost approaching.

“You should not be alone,” said Rabbit.

Frost said something to Rabbit in the silent dialect; a subtle language of gestures and movements. Whatever he said, Rabbit did not look pleased. Elrohir wished he had picked a better time to visit. Rabbit responded, and Frost hung his head and sighed.

“You are right, Sia, and I am sorry. None of us should be alone. I was merely restless.”

Rabbit did not look convinced, but let the matter lie. He made a barely-audible purring noise, something more felt than heard, and Frost returned a similar sound, Then Rabbit quietly left.

Frost walked over to Elrohir, putting a comforting arm around the nervous young Elf. “Sia worries,” he said quietly.

“I’m not surprised, he has only just found you after a very long time.” He dared to place his arm around Frost’s long waist, delighting in the feel of the soft skin over hard muscle. He could not help but smile at the feel of him, and at himself for getting butterflies in his stomach at the simple closeness of the large Elf. He thought he would melt when he felt Frost gently squeeze his shoulders.

“And what brings you here, aia-nen?”

Elrohir smiled wryly at the name. ‘Little wise one’, it meant, an affectionate if slightly disrespectful name. A Plains-Elf’s way of saying ‘little smart-ass.’ He had been saddled with it since his first visit.

“It is getting dark, and Ada suspects there will be a storm. I only wished to see if there was anything you needed.”

“We are well, aia-nen. But I thank you for your concern.”

“And yourself?”

“I?” Frost asked, his tone mildly surprised. For a brief moment, Elrohir thought he saw a look of profound sorrow cross his face, but Frost turned his head, and he could not be certain. “I am… well enough. I would like to rest a while.”

Elrohir would have liked to say something, but dared not to. He had not known Frost long, but sensed if he questioned him about what may be bothering him, the query would not be greeted with humor. It was more likely he would get bitten, either literally or figuratively.

Elrohir reluctantly pulled back. “I shall leave you to rest then. Should you require anything, you may feel free to come to my tent.”

Frost gave him that bemused look Elrohir was still making his mind up about, and said softly; “Should I require you, I shall certainly be there.” Then he turned and went to his small hut, leaving Elrohir to stew about whether or not his comment could have a double meaning. Mildly irritated, his breeches fitting a little snug, he left the village.

Rabbit was waiting for him when he left the sheltered area. Elrohir froze, wondering if Mama Wolf was going to eat him alive for flirting with Baby. Rabbit simply made a gesture for him to follow, and he did. For a few minutes they walked together in silence, then Rabbit stopped and fixed Elrohir with his serpent’s gaze.

“I can tell you have feelings for Frost. At one time, I would have left your broken body in a pit for your father to find, but I have since learned not all who are not of my kind are evil.”

Elrohir was immensely glad to hear this; he had no doubt it would take little effort for Rabbit to turn him into a ruined pile of meat and bone.

“I wish no harm to anyone,” said Elrohir. “And I do not know if Frost fancies me at all, or ever will. But he does seem to enjoy leaving me in a state.”

Elrohir watched Rabbit smile, suddenly realizing he had never seen him do so. “That is his Aie, Wolf. Were Frost darker, I could swear he lived yet.” Rabbit shook his head, then looked up at the threatening sky before turning his gaze back to Elrohir.

“I have no elegant speech for unpleasant things, I can only say what is true. I have great respect for your father, and see no reason you and my child may not be friends. But be warned Elrohir, this is a dark time for Frost.”

Rabbit watched the young Elf’s face as he spoke, watched him swallow, then brace himself for whatever he may hear. Rabbit hung his head so he did not have to look into his eyes.

“His child is dead inside him, Elrohir. It is but a matter of time before it leaves his body.”

Elrohir felt himself literally rocked by the news, as if it was a physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words would come. Then he was further shocked when he felt Rabbit embrace him tightly. Elrohir returned the embrace, feeling a great confusion of emotions inside himself he could not voice. For a long time the two stood in the beginning storm, saying nothing.

***---***

Gimli crawled into the loft, wet and cold and grumbling. He removed his sodden cloak, then pulled off his heavy boots.

“Good to finally get a roof over my head! I was beginning to wish I knew how to swim!” He paused and looked around. “Where’s da’?”

Legolas was sitting in a pile of hay. Nearby he had arrow shafts and feathers, and was quietly fletching. “I asked him to spend the night in the clan tent.”

“You two didn’t have a disagreement, did you?”

“No,” said the Elf, setting aside the fletched arrow and moving over to the make-shift bed.

“Somebody sick?”

“No.”

“Clan gathering I’m not aware of?”

“No.”

“Well then why did you ask my da’ to go sleep in the clan tent?”

Legolas stretched out on his back on the bed. He unlaced the front of his tunic, and let it fall open. He sat up and let the tunic fall from his shoulders, then lay back down again. Beside the bed was a tea pot and cup, as well as a small pot of honey. He dipped one finger into the honey, then raised the finger up and stared at the single golden drop suspended from it. He tilted his head back and slid the finger between his lips, slowly drawing it out once more.

“No reason,” he said softly.

He was a little surprised at how quickly Gimli crossed the loft, appearing by his side to pull him close and kiss him. They settled against each other, kissing, their hands moving over one another.

Legolas skimmed out of the remaining close-fitting clothes he had on, and lay naked against his lover, enjoying the light caress of broad, calloused hands over his fair skin. Outside the first loud rumble of thunder announced the storm’s formal arrival. He was mildly startled at the suddenness and volume of the thunderclap, raising his head, but then relaxed and allowed Gimli to kiss and caress him.

The thunder exploded like the wall at Helm’s Deep, and Legolas jumped. Gimli pulled him close and spoke softly to him. He knew the Elf’s flinch had less to do with fear than with the assault on his extremely acute hearing, but he liked the way Legolas played along with the game. Legolas pressed close, acting the frightened forest-creature, needing reassuring. Gimli was only too happy to comfort him. He kissed him gently, then reached up to begin removing his own shirt.

The hatch to the loft flew open, and Merry and Pippin dove in, slamming the door shut behind them. Gimli’s first instinct was to place himself between his naked lover and the intruders; however there was still enough of the Elf on display that it was obvious he was unclad. It did not take the two intruders long to figure out what they had interrupted.

“Oops,” said Merry.

“Taking this fellowship business a bit far, aren’t you?” said Pippin.

The Elf and Dwarf both fixed him with the same displeased expression. “Pippin,” said Legolas softly, “may we ask the reason for this intrusion?”

Merry and Pippin looked at each other a little guiltily. Then the thunder exploded again, making the stable shudder. Legolas flinched, wincing. Gimli put a comforting hand on his arm.

“Tent sprung a leak,” said Merry, and Pippin nodded.

Legolas shook his head, then rest his brow against Gimli’s shoulder. The Dwarf sighed, then turned his attention to the two Halflings.

“Well come on in, we can’t leave you outside to float away.”

They spread out their bedrolls, and Legolas slid under the comforter. Gimli stretched out beside him, and watched the lightning flash. “I don’t suppose any of us will get much rest tonight,” he said.

***---***

The storm raged, frightening in its uncommon anger and intensity. All the Elves, both Plains and Wood, were edgy and nervous, and the feeling was permeating the camp. In their comfortable loft bed, Gimli and Legolas lay snuggled together, each pretending to sleep, both listening to the night. Merry and Pippin were also attending to the howling wind and slashing rain, fearing the heaviness of the storm. Across the encampment, Rosie and Sam kept Erestor company in the cottage.

Glorfindel lay in bed, heavily sedated to keep him from following Aragorn as he and Ithilian walked the Black Book towards Elrond’s office. They were accompanied by Haldir and his guards, and before the office lounged the huge form of the sea dragon. The storm was of little concern to her, and the Elves had asked her to stand watch against any who were unknown to her. Aragorn prayed the owner of the Book was neither fool enough nor powerful enough to take her on.

He gave her a gentle pat on her long snout, then kept on towards the office. She watched the Elves and Man carry the chest into the building, then looked up at the sky. She did not like the storm either.

Rúmil stood behind Elrond in full uniform and armor, armed with sword and bow. Elrond himself was in his robes, looking worn and concerned. Beside him stood Galadriel, and with her were her own guards. Together Ithilian and Aragorn carried the chest to a small table and placed it upon the dark wood surface. Aragorn glanced to the chair where Glorfindel should be seated, and was sad at his absence. He could not help but feel badly over drugging his old friend and teacher, but Glorfindel would not be discouraged from coming. And he was in no condition to battle with anything that may show up.

Haldir leaned close to Aragorn and said; “Did you give him enough to keep him in bed?”

“I gave him enough to sedate Mauburz,” said Aragorn.

“Yes but did you give him enough to keep him in bed?”

Aragorn smiled. “If he is up before tomorrow afternoon, I should be greatly surprised.”

“Frankly I am surprised he did not belch and ask for another glass.”

Aragorn’s smile broadened into a grin, and Haldir moved to take his place with the other guards. Then he looked down at the chest, and felt the revulsion in his guts at the thought of looking at that Book once more. He glanced towards Elrond, asking permission to open it, and the Elf nodded. Ithilian stepped forward and carefully unlocked the chest, then stepped away from it. Aragorn drew an Elven fighting knife from his belt and used the tip to open the lid. From within the box the book glowed and seethed with strange lights, and Aragorn thought it seemed angry, if such a thing were possible.

Ithilian donned the great gloves he used for working his forge and pulled the book out, dropping it onto the table, then stepping back from it. Quietly, saying nothing, Elrond and Galadriel approached the black tome. Taking the heavy gloves Ithilian offered him, Elrond put them on and carefully opened the book.

“This is the black speech of Mordor,” he said quietly, turning a page. He pondered a few words, then a look of horror crossed his face. “This… this is the spell book of the Dark Lord. This is the book of spells he used to corrupt the Plains Elves.”

Galadriel stepped closer, looking down at the book with great interest. She linked her arm through Elrond’s and said quietly; “No. It is not quite the same. This creature has added his own works. He wishes to make beings worse than the Orcs. He wishes to become a new Sauron, but he has none of his old master’s skill with magic. Not yet. He has great power, but is arrogant, and untried. That is his weakness.”

“But it seems we should not underestimate him,” said Elrond.

“No,” said Galadriel in the same soft tone. “This book speaks to me of great craft. The new spells added show little skill, but a cunning mind. Should he gain what he seeks, he will turn Frost’s tribe into something we have not seen. An evil race more dark and fearsome than the Orcs.”

“Can the book be destroyed?” asked Aragorn.

“I do not know,” said Elrond. “But we will seek a way. For now, our task seems clear. We must not let the Plains-Elves fall into the hands of this creature. All he needs is one Elf with child. Haldir, how many of that tribe are carrying?”

“Three,” said Haldir. “Rabbit is with child, as we suspected, and Hunting Fox and Rain Chaser are pregnant. Frost’s child has died in the womb.”

Elrond winced, wondering if Elrohir knew this. “We must convince them that they would be safer closer to camp. Haldir, I make this your task.”

Haldir nodded his head. “This I shall do.” Then he turned and left the office.

Elrond closed the book and replaced it in the chest, locking it. “Return it to its hiding place, I have had enough of its foul presence. We have but one task before us now. We must trap and destroy this Buyer. Since we have both things he desires, we may be certain he will not have gone far.”

“What of Erestor?” said Aragorn. “Is there some chance he is with child again?”

“I do not believe so,” said Elrond, “but I will ask him myself. May the Valar protect me from his mate’s reaction. Now let us retire. I am weary with this business.”

Those assembled went their separate ways. Elrond sank heavily into a chair, and rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to soothe away an oncoming headache. He smiled as he felt Rúmil’s strong hands on his shoulders.

“You are a delight to me, Rúmil,” he said softly.

He felt the lean, slender body press close, and smelled the warm familiar scent of his lover. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, tasting the gentle kiss upon his lips.

“Come to bed,” said Rúmil softly. “I will do what I can to ease your discomfort.”

Elrond nodded, then rose to his feet. He turned to gently embrace the other Elf, pulling him close. He smiled as Rúmil laid his head on his shoulder, and he stroked his hand over his long pale gold hair.

“Rúmil, perhaps this is an odd time to admit this to you, but… I do love you. You bring such joy to my heart, of a kind I have not felt in many long years. I am sorry I have not told you this sooner. I have treated you unfairly.”

The Elf beside him raised his head and kissed him softly, parting his lips. Elrond leaned into the kiss, tasting him, relishing the feel of his slender body in his arms. Then it ended, and he smiled as Rúmil buried his face against his neck.

“So you love me?”

“Yes. I do.”

Rúmil sighed heavily. “There is just one problem with you telling me this,” he said.

Elrond grinned. “And what would that be?”

Rúmil raised his head, and Elrond felt a cold rush of sick fear as he looked into the pair of eyes that faced him. They were a dead cold black, ringed with hellfire.

“I’m not Rúmil.”

***---***

Glorfindel strolled into the Halls of Mandos and paused to see if he knew anyone. He was literally knocked on his backside by a large Elven warrior, who pinned him to the floor and gave him a kiss he felt to the bottoms of his feet.

“Glorfindel! How are you?”

Glorfindel sat up and hugged Ecthelion, grinning. “My dear friend. I am so sorry you are no longer able to do this to me in front of the troops.”

Ecthelion kissed him again. “What are you doing here? I should have known if you were dying!”

“I’m not dead, I’m sedated into unconsciousness. I thought since my fea is currently roaming without a body, I would pop in and say hello.”

“And I am so glad you did. Want to go make love like crazed rodents?”

“You’re still mad I see. Ordinarily I would say ‘yes’, but I’m married to this most lovely advisor. Say what are you still doing here? Isn’t your fea currently residing in my son?”

“What gave you that idea?” Ecthelion stood up, then helped Glorfindel to his feet.

“Well the way you helped Erestor.”

Ecthelion put an arm around his friend and began walking with him over to a table with a Tablero game set up. “I had to, I couldn’t just leave him to lie there and die cursing your name.”

They sat at the table, and Glorfindel rolled the pair of dice. He moved one of the glasses two spaces. “Can’t believe they drugged me into this state. I should be down there helping with the book.”

“You are a bit of a mess right now, Fin.”

“I suppose. But really, when an Elf can slip out of his body for a quick game of Tablero with his fallen comrades, they’ve gone too far. Oh look, there’s Mandos. Hello handsome, miss me?”

The eerily beautiful Vala moved over to him, pausing to stare down at Glorfindel with black eyes. He gently touched Glorfindel’s face, his long white fingers passing lightly over his eyes. Then he looked down to the leg that was causing the Elf pain.

“I do not know how you survive the things you do, Glorfindel, but speaking as the Master of this Hall, I hope you live many centuries yet. And that you have many Elflings.”

Glorfindel blinked in surprise. “I thank you for your kind words, Lord of the Halls of Waiting.”

Mandos smiled, then added; “And that they all grow up to be just like you.”

“Ah,” said Glorfindel, grinning at the veiled insult.

“I will tolerate your presence, but one word about that wretched Balrog and your lovely husband will be raising his son alone, and you will be reborn as fruit fly.”

“I shall keep that in mind, oh divine being who holds my life in his hands.”

“See you do.”

Glorfindel watched the deity depart, then looked at Ecthelion. “Should have asked him to be queen.”

“Don’t annoy the Vala of death when you are only visiting.” Ecthelion rolled the dice.

“Such wisdom. So how are you? All alone still?”

“Yes. No one ever dies who is my type. All we ever get up here are these big warriors. Never the little pretty ones. I want someone small, someone I can cuddle against me. Someone who will fit in my arms.”

“That’s because the little pretty ones are smart enough to stay away from things that send you here.”

“I know, but there are only so many times I wish to find myself under an Elf whose ego is larger than mine. And speaking of Gil-galad…”

The Elf-King pulled up a chair. “Glorfindel, I am surprised to see you here. I knew it would only be a matter of time before you got yourself killed again. How is Elrond?”

Glorfindel passed Gil-galad the dice. “Here, you’re queen. Elrond is good. Very good. Happy. Nice to see him smile again. And I’m not dead I’m drugged.”

“Ah yes, I have seen his new companion. Not my taste, but if he amuses Elrond, then I am glad.” He tossed the dice.

Glorfindel peered at the number. “The queen’s number is seven!” He tossed the dice, then moved two glasses. “Your move ‘Thel.”

He looked at his friend, and noticed Ecthelion watching someone across the Hall. “Ah, poor little lamb. Must have just died. I’ve seen that look.”

Glorfindel looked in the direction Ecthelion was gazing, and his jaw dropped. He rose and walked towards the lost-looking Elf. He heard Ecthelion get up to follow him.

“Ithilian?”

The little weaponsmith looked towards him, then stepped close, putting his arms around the larger Elf. “It was so fast… I have lived so long and I was struck down so fast…”

“What happened?” asked Glorfindel.

“I don’t know. I was making my way from my shop to give Rúmil a sword Lord Elrond asked me to make for him. I saw Rúmil coming towards me, but… I don’t think it was Rúmil. He killed me.” He pulled back and looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. “It is not my concern any longer, but I feel I should tell you that something terrible is happening in Imladris.”

Glorfindel kissed his brow, then gently moved Ithilian over to his old friend. “Ithilian, this is my friend Ecthelion. He will look after you. I must go now.” He kissed Ecthelion. “I miss you.” Then he turned and fled the Hall.

***---***

“Will this night never end?” said Erestor, exasperated. He cradled Estorel close, trying to comfort him. The infant wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the periodic explosions of thunder that were making his elders flinch were not only painful to him, but terrifying. Every crack and boom was greeted with renewed wailing.

Lindir sat on the floor near the fire, head bowed, hands over his ears. He was every bit as unhappy with the storm as Estorel, but at least he was not also crying at the top of his lungs. Beside him was Bramble in a similar pose. Pacing quietly was Rabbit, chaffing at his captivity. Erestor glanced into the bedroom at Glorfindel, who lay motionless.

“At least someone is getting some rest this evening,” he muttered. An idea came to him, and he went to the dresser in the bedroom and opened the drawer. He grinned as he found the goofy red knit cap Glorfindel had given him. Taking it, he carried Estorel to the cradle and set him in it. The baby was very nearly asleep; given a few moments of thunder-free peace, he would be out for the night.

Erestor rolled the cap up until it was infant-sized, then slid it down over his head, the heavy rolled band over his ears. Then he waited. The thunder boomed, but Estorel did not react. The infant fell asleep, the noise muffled sufficiently that it no longer bothered him. Erestor grinned.

“Hah. I do not get paid nearly enough for my genius.” He bent and kissed the baby, then walked over to the bed, pausing to look at Glorfindel.

He was heavily asleep, sunk deep into the soft mattress. Erestor gently touched his face, then bent and kissed him.

“Poor Fin,” he said softly, following the line of his jaw with one finger. “All will be well again some day, I promise.” Then he left the bedroom to let both Estorel and Fin sleep. He closed the door, then walked over to the shuttered window. He opened it a crack to peer outside.

“Wretched night,” he muttered.

Rosie came out of her own bedchamber and began to do what nervous Halflings did; cook. “Hot chocolate, anyone?” she asked.

‘Thank the Valar for Rosie,’ thought Erestor. Lindir and Bramble perked up immediately. Rabbit stopped pacing and moved towards her.

Whatever Rabbit’s views on non-Plains Elves were, he quite clearly liked Rosie. She in turn was probably the only being in Imladris, other than Haldir and Bramble, who was not at least mildly afraid of him. He was large by Elven standards, but compared to her he was absolutely huge, and he had a habit of following her about when she was cooking. Especially when she was making hot chocolate. She meanwhile waved him back as though he was an overly curious Shire pony; a gesture not even Erestor was bold enough to attempt.

Rabbit backed up slightly, but only slightly. Rosie, unintimidated, continued making chocolate. He stepped forward again, his hip roughly level with her ear, and she gave him a light tap on the lower stomach with her spoon from over her shoulder.

“Mind your manners,” she said, and he moved a few paces away. Erestor raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. She was far braver than he was, that was certain.

The thunder cracked and rolled, and Erestor flinched. “I shall be very glad when this night is over!” he said.

***---***

The being that had been Rúmil left Elrond lying in a puddle of his own blood on the office floor, then turned and moved with unearthly silence and ease to the door. He stepped out, closing the door behind himself, then searched the camp with red eyes. The sea dragon had returned to the river, so he was spared having to deal with her for the moment. He did not see Aragorn with the chest, but that did not concern him. He could get the book back later. Right now all he wanted were the three Plains Elves. And his senses told him that one of them was straight ahead, in the little stone cottage. He began walking, his booted feet not touching the muddy ground.

“Rúmil!” called a voice, and the creature paused, curling his lip slightly. He knew that voice. It was the little Elf who was a relation of that annoying being who had created the Elven rings of power. He waited for him to approach.

Ithilian moved lightly towards Rúmil, carrying a cloth-wrapped item. “I meant to give this to you earlier. Lord Elrond asked…”

Without even glancing at him, Rúmil shot out one gloved hand and grabbed Ithilian by the throat. There was a satisfying crunch beneath his fingers, and the little weaponsmith collapsed into the mud. Rúmil bent and picked up the wrapped object, discovering a sword of exceedingly fine craftsmanship.

“Thank you, Ithilian, I could use a new sword.” He stepped over the small form, leaving him to die in the mud.

He continued walking towards the cottage. Reaching it, he kicked in the barred wooden door, shattering it. Stepping into the cozy little structure, he grinned at the fear and chaos within. He ran an appraising eye over Erestor.

“Well well. A half-breed. Interesting. Well I’ll have to see what I can get out of you.”

Rosie promptly hustled Lindir and Bramble into the bedroom where Glorfindel lay, closing the door and baring it. Erestor tore off his robe, stripping down to only a pair of thin breeches and boots, then grabbed up Glorfindel’s sword from its resting place over the fire. He turned to face the intruder.

It looked like Rúmil, but the hellfire eyes told him this was quite clearly not the playful rogue Lord Elrond called friend. He shuddered to think what may have become of him. He gripped Glorfindel’s sword, and said quietly; “You will not take me alive.”

Rabbit lunged from out of the shadows, leaping straight for the intruder. The creature did not use the deathly sharp sword of Mithril and platinum, not wishing to gut one of the creatures he sought. He blocked the attack with his arm, smiling as Rabbit’s jaws crushed it like dried bread.

“Oh poor Rúmil is going to feel that when I give him back his body. If I do.” He punched Rabbit, and Erestor made a cry of fear and concern as his cousin flipped over and landed heavily on his back, stunned.

“Rúmil, forgive me,” whispered Erestor, “And may the Valar give you comfort and succor.” Then he screamed and lunged forward with the sword.

The creature was taken aback by the skill with which Erestor could use the blade, and was forced to retreat, swiftly blocking the blows. Erestor danced sideways and swung low, and a bloody wound opened up in the creature’s side. It screamed in rage at him, and Erestor knew that though he may not be able to kill it, he could deprive it of a physical form.

He dodged the white blade, then gasped as he felt a hand as cold as death catch his black hair. He was yanked roughly back and forced down to his knees, and found himself staring into the red eyes.

“I shall repay that little trick by making certain that your conception of my spawn is as painful and humiliating as possible.”

Erestor spat at him, and felt the hilt of the sword slam into his face. Stunned, he hung limp, unable to do anything as he felt himself tossed to the floor.

***---***

Rosie sat in the corner, one arm around Bramble, her eyes fixed on the door. There had been a large Elven fighting knife on the dresser, and she clutched it in her other hand, determined that nothing was going to get by her without bloodshed. She knew Sam was in the Great Hall, where he had gone to check certain warm-climate herbs for Elrond’s gardens. She wished he was there, but from the screaming and crashing going on in the next room, was also rather glad he wasn’t.

She gasped when Glorfindel suddenly sat up.

Rosie had heard a great deal about Glorfindel, and if she feared any being dwelling in Imladris, it was him. She had heard from the Elves how he had slain demons, and from Sam how even the fell Nazgûl had fled his anger. He had even returned from death, and that spoke to her of forces she did not care to tempt. It seemed nothing was beyond his ability, and to watch him drag himself out of a drugged coma to get to his feet, she knew she was looking at someone worthy of the respect of the gods themselves.

He stood, disoriented, dazed, listening to the chaos in the next room. She did not know if he was awake or even alive; his actions put her in mind of the marionettes her grandmother would make dance for her when she was small. He stood, splay-legged like a newborn foal, unmoving. Then he abruptly turned and walked to the door, opening it.

***---***

The creature had been about to grasp Rabbit and sling him over his shoulder and depart with his prize, when the huge Elf came to his senses. He came up, jaws first, and tore away a large strip of flesh from the creature’s reaching hand. Angered, it tried to strike him, but Rabbit would not underestimate this adversary a second time. He darted away, avoiding the blow, then lunged, his full body weight knocking it down.

He did not know what the creature did, only that its rage suddenly spilled over in a great explosion of heat and noise. It shrieked, the force of the anger throwing him into the wall. Rabbit landed in a heap, bleeding and still. The creature then turned its wrath to Erestor, picking him up and flinging him to land beside his cousin. The rage of this being filled the cottage with a stench of carrion and brimstone, and the stone floor beneath its feet began to melt. It hissed, daring another to interfere.

The bedroom door opened, and out stepped Glorfindel. The creature took one look at him, and howled with laughter.

“You must be joking. Go back to bed, old one. Your glory days are but dust. I have no time to waste on moldering legends.”

Glorfindel stepped into the room. “You killed my friend. If I have to kill you with my bare hands and then die myself to be certain you reach the Pits, I will.”

The creature laughed again, then stepped forward, reaching out to crush Glorfindel’s throat as it had Ithilian’s. But just as the gloved hand drew close, Glorfindel leapt and kicked the thing in the teeth. Glorfindel could not see, but he could hear, and he could certainly feel the heat of its breath. The monster staggered back, then screamed, a stream of fire and foul stench coming from its mouth.

Glorfindel darted away from the heat, feeling his stomach roil at the intensity of the odor. He though he was going to vomit, falling to his knees, but managed to contain himself. He put his hand out to steady himself, and felt it come to rest upon something cool. He grinned; it was his sword, lying against the wall. Grasping it, he swung with all his might, aiming for the stench and the sound of panting, feeling the blade connect with bone and flesh.

The monster made an odd wheezing sound, and all within the cottage went silent. Glorfindel felt the thing shudder at the end of his blade, then go limp. He allowed it to drop, heard the heavy thud of its body hitting the floor. Then he collapsed, his back striking the wall, feeling the powerful drug threaten to take him again. He fought its embrace, shaking his head.

“Erestor?” he said hopefully into the dark.

He heard a soft sound, then the shift of a body moving. “Fin?”

“Hello darling.”

He heard a long pause, then a beloved voice, full of disbelief. “Fin?”

“Yes darling. It’s Fin.”

He felt Erestor pull him into his arms. “Fin by all the Valar hold dear what… how…?”

“Well I’m only good at one thing darling, may as well do it.”

“Glorfindel you stupid son of a warg what are you doing putting yourself in danger?”

Glorfindel pulled Erestor close, holding him tightly. Nearby he heard another body move, and a quiet gasp of pain.

“Rabbit,” said Erestor softly, “are you all right?”

Rabbit growled, displeased over not having dispatched the thing himself. He sat up, and checked himself over. He was a little bruised and battered, but for the most part unhurt.

“I am well,” he said, his tone irritable.

Erestor kissed Glorfindel, then looked to the bleeding body in the middle of the room. He felt a great sadness wash over him, and tears burned his eyes.

“Oh, Rúmil,” he breathed, then moved carefully over to the Elf.

He was laying on his side, in a spreading pool of his own blood, Fin’s sword through his guts. Erestor went over to him, reaching out to touch his face. “Oh Rúmil, no…”

Rabbit moved to where Erestor sat and looked down at the Elf. The Galadhel seemed very small and frail as he lay, and Rabbit felt his own sorrow at what had happened to him. He reached out and touched him, then bent to listen to his chest.

“He lives,” said Rabbit. He got to his feet. “I will go for aid.”

***---***

Rúmil awoke to the sound of a soft spring rain. He was in a warm soft bed, and had never been so comfortable and at peace. He did not care if he ever left this bed again. He was in no pain, but sensed that he was still gravely injured. He felt a hand touch his face, and he opened his eyes. He smiled as he saw Elladan. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was silenced by a light touch.

“It was not you,” said the young Elf quietly. “We know that.”

“But it was my body.”

“But not you in it. Now rest.”

Rúmil suddenly sat up, and his side screamed with agony. He fell back to the bed, feeling the world about him darken. He fought against it.

“Elrond…?” he asked.

From the other side of the bed, Rúmil felt a hand reach out and take his. He turned his head and looked at the Elf beside him. He sighed in relief, and closed his eyes.

“I thought… I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Elrond squeezed his hand. “As Elladan said, it was not you who did this. There is nothing to forgive, Rúmil.”

“I could not have lived with myself if I had killed you, be it directly or no.”

“I am not dead. But Rúmil, this incident will not be without punishment.”

Elladan rose and quietly left the two. Rúmil felt a knot in his stomach, and said; “I understand, my Lord.”

“It will not be given to you until you are recovered, but I can assure you, you will be dealt with.”

Rúmil wondered if he was going to be left in the same cell Bill, Mabluk and Will were currently in. “What will you do with me?”

“I’m not certain,” said Elrond. “But warm flavored oils will be involved.”

Rúmil gave his Lord a jaundiced look. “And silk ropes no doubt.”

“Oh nice touch, I hadn’t thought of that.”

Rúmil placed his hand on his side, feeling the wet stickiness of the seeping blood. “Lord Elrond I nearly killed you, and I did kill poor Ithilian. I cannot…”

Elrond rolled to his side and looked into his eyes. “It was not you,” said quietly, firmly. His dark eyes were filled with sympathy and concern. “And I will not have another Elf I love claimed by the darkness of others. There is nothing to forgive, Rúmil. There is not one within this encampment who blames you. Do not blame yourself. I will not lose you to grief.”

Rúmil looked long into his eyes, then finally nodded. “Very well,” he whispered. He felt a heaviness come over him and he blinked. He felt a gentle hand stroke his hair, and then he felt a light kiss upon his brow. Then he fell into sleep.