The Last Homely House
Chapter Fourteen

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 is a difficult patient, Erestor gets insulted, and Elrohir offers comfort to Frost.
Notes: There is an accompanying illustration to this chapter of Frost singing his lament, drawn by Pira.

The door to the little cottage was partially opened, allowing the warm spring sunlight to slip into the cozy room. Its warm golden light touched the little wooden cradle, and the small child within, igniting touches of red in his hair. The baby watched the two lean, wild creatures who were, in turn, studying him.

Firespark looked towards his shaman and said, “Small.”

“Soft,” agreed Frost, “toothless.”

“Can’t walk,” said Firespark.

“Hasn’t said a word,” said Frost. He sighed with feigned distress, then said, “Best to put this one back in the oven, Master Erestor. He’s not baked yet.”

Aragorn had been seated on the couch listening to the interaction. He was hard put to keep from bursting out into laughter. Erestor walked over to the cradle and picked up Estorel.

“There is not a thing wrong with my baby. He is perfect. Aren’t you?” He cradled the child against himself, then winced as the baby managed to smack the huge bruise on his face with unerring accuracy.

“Seems to have his father’s warrior instincts,” said Aragorn.

“Yes well, he needn’t exercise them on me.”

Aragorn watched as the black-clad advisor, who had been his most feared instructor, talked nonsense to the Elfling. He had seen Erestor look better, he thought. Erestor had not managed to find much rest since Glorfindel had dragged himself home that fateful night. Then there was the little matter of the blow the monster had given him. Much of his face was black, speckled with livid purple spots. Had the pommel of the sword hit a little higher, he would have lost an eye. Frankly, Aragorn was surprised Erestor had survived the strike with no fractures and all of his teeth.

Erestor tossed back his hair. It was dry and tangled, and his unbruised eye showed circles of exhaustion beneath it. Aragorn had lived among Elves a long time, and was well acquainted with their strengths and weaknesses. They could survive physical injuries that would kill an Ent. They could also drop dead on the spot of stress.

‘An odd race,’ thought Aragorn affectionately, watching Erestor and his two guests.

Estorel managed to wallop his mother on the bruise with enough force to make Erestor cry out in surprise and pain.

“Enough abuse!” he said. “If you must practice your warrior skills, let me take you to your Ada!”

Estorel began to cry, and Erestor rolled his eyes, then gave Aragorn a quirky smile. “Behaves just like Fin when he doesn’t get his way.”

Aragorn grinned, then looked up as there came a light knock on the door. Erestor cradled Estorel close, then went to answer it. He pulled the door open, then blinked in surprise at the Man he saw before him.

It was Fenrir.

“Fenrir! It has been a long time!”

Fenrir gaped at the Elf before him, not at first realizing it was Erestor. Then he could not believe his eyes. Had this truly once been the slender beauty who had fired his dreams and distracted his thoughts? True he was still slender. But the glossy black hair was rough and dry, and the delicate white skin was grey, the sharp eyes dull. Half his face was swollen and black, and then there was the fat baby he had cradled in his arms. Didn’t he have a woman to hold that for him?

He actually laughed. “By the white towers of Númenor, Erestor! I am glad now you chose the mad Elf over me. You look like Barad-dûr after the war!”

Aragorn felt his jaw drop, and the room went deathly still. Frost and Firespark slowly rose to their full imposing height, and Frost growled very softly. Aragorn got up off the couch, meaning full well to tell Fenrir what he thought of the rudeness, but was not given the chance.

Erestor stared icily at the man who had once courted him, and said; “Were I not bound by Elven Law, as well as my friendship and love for your king, I would kill you for that.”

Frost came to stand beside Erestor, and fixed Fenrir with his penetrating gaze. Then Aragorn came to stand beside Frost. He watched Fenrir’s eyes travel slowly from Erestor, to the white Elf, and then to his King. Fenrir’s expression showed his understanding that he had just made a very large mistake.

“Had you some purpose in coming here?” asked Aragorn coldly. “Or did you merely travel from Gondor to Imladris to insult Lord Elrond’s Chief Advisor, and one of my dearest friends?”

Fenrir swallowed nervously. “My deepest apologies your Highness.”

“It is not me you owe an apology, it is Master Erestor.”

“Yes of course. My apologies, Master Erestor.”

Aragorn cast a sidelong glance at the Elf, noting the cold glint in his eye, and the way his jaw worked. Were he not holding Estorel, Aragorn had no doubt Erestor would have punched him in the face.

“I do not accept,” he said quietly, his voice hard. Then he turned and went into the cottage.

“Stay here,” said Aragorn, then followed Erestor, leaving Fenrir alone and face to face with Frost.

Fenrir gazed at the wild-looking being, then said slowly and hesitantly; “Do you speak common?”

Frost stared at him. “I not only speak common, I speak four dialects of Elvish, three dialects of Dwarfish, Númenorian, Noldorian, Gondorian, and the tongue of Rohan. I even picked up a little Orcish. You, sir, are a ‘grah-rhak blutz’.”

Fenrir had no idea what that meant, but he was not about to ask. Aragorn meanwhile walked over to Erestor. He gently put an arm around him, and was startled to notice his friend’s eyes glittering wetly.

“Erestor? Are you all right?”

Erestor sniffed, then shook his head. “I am just very tired, Aragorn. Between looking after Fin and looking after Estorel, I am weary.”

“Then let Sam and Rosie watch Estorel for a while, and get some rest.”

Erestor nodded, then said; “Yes, I think I will. I will just sit here until she and Sam are back from their walk.”

“I shall stay with you,” said Firespark softly.

Aragorn left Erestor with Firespark and Frost. He walked out of the cottage, stalking past Fenrir, who turned to follow after his King.

“What brings you here?” snapped Aragorn, not looking at Fenrir.

“I have a message. Your presence is required in Gondor.”

Aragorn made a face briefly. He knew he could not stay in Imladris long, but he was at least glad Arwen had a chance to visit with her father. He took the note Fenrir passed him and read it. Nothing earth-shaking, but there were matters that required his attention. He felt a pang of sympathy for Faramir; he had become quite attached to Lindir during their stay. Arda’s oldest Elfling had latched onto the mortal as a big brother, and the mortal was more than happy to fill the role. A thought crossed his mind, and he grinned.

He spied Haldir, and called his name. The tall Elf walked towards him, muddy and disheveled and still regal.

“You called?” he asked.

Aragorn still did not look at Fenrir, and he spoke Elvish to his friend. “Haldir, you have been short of guards to patrol this area, have you not?”

“I would not object to a few more, that is true.”

“This… person beside me is Fenrir of Gondor. I am volunteering him for a position beneath you. He needs to learn a better respect for the Firstborn.”

Haldir looked at Fenrir, then asked; “I shall look to his education personally. Might I ask what he did?”

“He made Master Erestor cry.”

Haldir gave no outward indication of what he thought about this, but Aragorn could tell he was not amused. Aragorn turned to Fenrir, and said; “Fenrir, you are now in the care and custody of Haldir, Watchwarden of Imladris. From him, you will learn better manners.” Then he turned and made his way to Faramir’s tent. He grinned as he heard Haldir snap an order and double-time Fenrir to the barracks.

***---***

The Elves of Imladris watched the Plains Elves gather in the green pool, forming a loose circle. Elrond’s household held back a respectful distance, for while they had not been forbidden to watch this gathering, they had not been invited either. Elrond recognized Rabbit among the dark Elves gathered in the clear, knee-deep water, slowly assembling into a close circle. Then, as each found his place, he looked up to the sky, waiting. Elrond felt Elrohir link his arm through his, and he smiled at his son, then together they watched the Plains Elves.

A night bird sang softly, and crickets chirped in the long grass. The night grew very still, and Elrond could not help but wonder what sign they awaited as they gazed upwards, watching the full white moon overhead.

The unseen sign came, and Elrond was startled as suddenly their low voices rose into song. They did not have the high, clear voices of their Wood-Elf kin; rather they had deep voices, and the chant echoed through the night air.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun.
Anata ya cunin a bre tya nin. Anata ya cunin a tya amun.”

They all took a step back, opening the circle, and Elrohir felt his breath catch as he suddenly saw Frost rise up from the water. He stood in the centre of the circle, shining white, silver trails of water licking their way down his lean naked body. His white hair hung wet and heavy down his back, and he raised his arms up to the moon as he sang. His voice was not quite as low as the others’, and he stood like a slender spire of silver in their midst.

“Tya syna, a mre rekha. Tya rekha a mre athulin.”

The other Elves took up the mournful and powerful chant, their voices filling the glade and enveloping those who watched. Elrond felt oddly compelled to go stand amongst them and join their aged ceremony, but held himself back. He felt Rúmil move slightly closer to him, and he slid his arm around his waist, resting his hand on his hip. Though Elrond did not know what the Plains Elves chanted, something about it brought tears to his eyes. He glanced at Rúmil, and smiled to see him in much the same state.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun.
Anata ya cunin a bre tya nin. Anata ya cunin a tya amun.”

Frost turned once, so he now faced west rather than north, then raised his arms to the moonlight once more. His head fell back, and Elrohir felt his knees begin to give out. He held onto his father’s arm and made himself straighten. He could not, however, keep his eyes from roaming down Frost’s white body.

“Tya amun a mre rekha. Tya rekha a mre ya cunin.”

The low voices took up the chant, and Frost seemed to glow in the blue-white moonbeams. He turned again, facing south, and Elrohir swore he saw his eyes flash with the same glow emanating from the light in the night sky. Whether Frost saw anything beyond whatever trance he was in, Elrohir doubted. It seemed obvious to him the Shaman was not entirely on Arda right then.

***---***

The ritual ended, and Elrond quietly left, followed by most of the Elves. Elrohir remained, watching Frost, hoping for a chance to speak with him alone.

One of his people brought him a robe of simple rough linen, which he pulled on. He stood in the pool, speaking with the other Elves, who one by one began drifting back to their small village. Rabbit was the last to leave, embracing Frost, fussing over him briefly before finally leaving him in peace. Frost picked up his spear, then began walking quietly away from the village towards the Bruinen.

It was not long before Elrohir realized something was wrong with him. He had his arm across his abdomen, and he began pausing in his journey to the river, as though trying to catch his breath. Then as he reached the river, he crouched briefly, in obvious pain. Forcing himself up, he left the spear on the bank and walked into the water. It suddenly occurred to Elrohir what was happening.

He hastened down to the water. He paused briefly, not knowing if his presence was welcome, then waded into the cold water.

“Frost,” he said quietly.

Frost was not surprised to see the younger Elf; he had known he was being followed. He sat down heavily in the clear water, his pain obvious. “Elrohir, I do not know if you wish to see this…”

Elrohir sat in the water and put his arms around Frost, ignoring the cold. He felt the other Elf lean against him and clutch his arm, and Elrohir put his hand into Frost’s long hair.

“I will stay with you,” he said quietly.

They stayed together, Elrohir trying to comfort his companion, saying nothing as the long night wore on.

***---***

Frost did not wish to go to the Healer’s tent. He was exhausted and depressed, and wanted nothing more than to crawl back to his own small hut. Elrohir at last convinced him to compromise and come to his tent, and sleep in a bed rather than on an earth floor covered with a hide rug. Frost finally agreed, and together they made their way in the first light of morning to his tent.

Elrohir gently led Frost over to the bed, peeling the wet, blood-tinted garment off of him. He draped it over a chair, then pulled the covers back for Frost. The tall Elf dropped into bed gratefully, and was asleep almost immediately. Elrohir slid out of his own wet clothes, then picked up a spare blanket from the end of his bed. Lying on top of the quilt covering Frost, he pulled the blanket around himself, then put a comforting arm around the other Elf.

He was suddenly very aware of another presence, and he looked up sharply, seeing Rabbit looming in the doorway like a bad dream. Elrohir cringed under the blanket, uncertain what he would do, but Rabbit’s only concern was Frost. He walked quickly over to the bed and crouched down, reaching out to touch the damp white hair. Bramble followed a moment later, quiet and a little afraid. She made her way over to the large padded chair and curled up in it, saying nothing and wrapping herself in Elrohir’s fur cloak.

Frost opened his eyes, and reached for his Sia, saying something in his native language. Rabbit put his arms around his child, and the two spoke to each other softly, Elrohir feeling the low rumbling purr from Rabbit emanating through the bedding. He had no idea what they said to each other, but after a time, Rabbit moved onto the bed. He placed himself between Frost and Elrohir, and Elrohir did not dare argue. Then Rabbit raised his head and regarded the young Elf with yellow-green eyes. At first Elrohir feared Rabbit would snap at him, but then he got up and shifted to the foot of the huge bed, permitting him to move close to Frost once more. Elrohir swallowed, then offered silent thanks to the Valar.

Rabbit settled himself, then opened his eerie eyes and looked at Elrohir. He purred at him, then closed his eyes, resting until he was needed. Elrohir put an arm around Frost, feeling a little overwhelmed by the events of the night, and by Rabbit’s gentle reassurance. He tried to make the same comforting, low-frequency rumble, but managed only to produce an inelegant snoring noise. Neither Rabbit nor Frost gave any immediate indication of their opinion of the sound, but after a moment, Frost’s shoulders began to shake, and then Rabbit’s.

Frost rolled slowly, carefully, to face Elrohir. He gave him a weary smile, reaching up to touch his face. “I appreciate the effort, aia-nen, but it hurts to laugh right now.”

“Sorry,” said Elrohir.

Frost smiled, then settled against Elrohir, his head on his breast, with one arm around his waist. Elrohir closed his eyes, putting his arm around him. He had no idea what to say to Frost right now, or even if he should try. Despite the brief moment of levity, it was quite obvious Frost was depressed and unwell. All he could do was watch over him, and care for him until he was well.

***---***

Aragorn and Arwen departed reluctantly, leaving behind Faramir in his new position of trusted ambassador, and Fenrir as a new recruit in the Imladris guard. He was less than happy with this turn of events; it had taken him only a very short time to find out what a crime it was to upset an Elf as beloved and respected as Erestor.

Glorfindel learned of the incident from Firespark, and could be heard screaming for Fenrir’s blood all over the encampment. Even in his weakened condition, it took five Elves to restrain him and another two to get the sword away from him.

Fin was still screaming threats when Elrond arrived at the cottage. He watched Glorfindel struggle with those restraining him, and finally demanded; “What in all Arda is going on here?”

Orophin finally managed to get the sword away from Glorfindel. Rúmil, with one arm around Glorfindel’s neck, said; “The mortal Fenrir insulted Master Erestor.”

Elrond watched, impressed, as Glorfindel managed to get one arm loose and fling Haldir onto a daybed across the room. “The bastard said he looked like Barad-dûr after the war! Made my Erestor cry! I’ll have his bloody guts for stays!”

Rúmil tightened his grip, which infuriated Glorfindel to a fantastic level. By sheer force of will he yanked one leg free, then scattered the Elves holding him like so many leaves. Standing in the middle of the room, luminous with wrath, his white hair loose and wild, he screamed; “FENRIR! I WILL HAVE THEE RUE THE DAY THY PARENTS MET! Where’s my sword?” He staggered sideways, nearly collapsing, and was caught by Amrun. Orophin, for lack of anything better to do, hid the sword behind his back, his eyes wide with fear.

Elrond seemed to be processing the remark, not certain he had heard it correctly. “He said what?” he asked, his tone disbelieving.

“He said he looked like Barad-dûr after the war!”

Elrond nodded, as though the words confirmed what he thought he had heard. He gently took Fin’s sword from Orophin, then said; “Glorfindel, you are in no shape to be taking vengeance on anyone. But fear not, I’ll kill him for you.” Then he turned and walked out of the cottage and towards the barracks.

Glorfindel listened to the stampede of Elven boots heading after their lord. He heard the bedroom door open, and Erestor’s quiet tread crossing the floor.

“I have him, Amrun,” said Erestor softly.

“Very well, Master Erestor,” said Amrun, and he left the cottage.

Erestor helped Glorfindel to sit, then seated himself beside him. Glorfindel felt his gentle hand pull his hair back from his face and begin braiding it.

“Fancy you being upset over someone insulting me,” he said, his tone chiding.

“No one insults you but me!”

Erestor sighed, then leaned forward and kissed him. “Look at you. You really are a pain. Blind and lame and well-nigh unable to stand, you are still the most feared Elf warrior on Arda.”

“Am I?” Glorfindel sounded pleased.

Erestor kissed him again. “Yes.”

“Do you think Lord Elrond will really kill Fenrir?”

Erestor raised his head as he heard the distinct sound of a sword striking a table. “I certainly think he will make Fenrir think he will kill him.”

***---***

Elrond did not kill Fenrir, did not, in fact, even lay a hand on him. However by the time he was finished dressing him down, the Man was very glad to get away from the tall Elf and get on with his duties. He was by no means learning affection for these willful forest beings, but he certainly knew better than to ever make such a remark again.

Elrond sent Orophin to return Glorfindel’s sword, then stalked his way to what had once been the Great Hall, but was now becoming the new Healer’s Room. A fine stairway of stone had replaced the rope ladder, and he moved quickly up the steps, Rúmil, as always, at his side.

He walked over to the shelves lining the wall that held his books and pulled one down, leafing through it. Rúmil by now was familiar with Elrond’s moods, and placed himself on a couch to wait for him to calm down. Elrond had a had a temper that rarely surfaced. When it did, however, it was fierce enough to level cities, and took a long time to pass. His usual way of calming himself was to immerse himself into his books in silence. Rúmil closed his eyes and relaxed, letting the older Elf calm himself.

Elrond glanced over at his lover, and smiled very slightly, appreciating his quiet acceptance of his desire to not speak right now. Celebrian had never understood this aspect of him, whereas Rúmil had no difficulty with the concept of not being fit for conversation. He would simply wait for him to calm. Elrond made a note to tell him how much this pleased him. Later.

He flipped through the book, then put it back on the shelf. Searching out another title, he found one on head injuries; and older one only recently rescued from the ruined remains of the library. He carefully lift the damaged tome from the shelf, then seated himself at a desk to read.

It was a very old book; copied and recopied from documents gathered by both Mortal and Elven healers during the course of several wars, and boasting the sort of illuminations that would have many fainting and vomiting. Elrond had seen worse, and in reality. Though even he did not spend too much time looking at the pictures.

It took him a moment to realize he had found a section dealing with symptoms very much like those troubling Glorfindel: specifically the loss of balance. Elrond sat up and read the pages of description slowly and carefully, letting the impact of what he was reading sink in. With Men and Dwarfs, it seemed, the loss of balance could not be corrected. In Elves, however, given time, the condition would correct itself, and his balance would be restored. It would take time; depending on how badly he had been damaged it could even take years. But it would get better.

Elrond sat back and heaved a great sigh of relief, his anger forgotten. He looked over at Rúmil, who was blinking at him sleepily. Outside, the sun had gone down, and it was well past supper. He had been reading for well over five hours.

“Rúmil,” he said softly, “you are a delight to me.” He stood up, and extended his hand towards him. “Come with me, I have good news for Glorfindel.”

They stepped into the cool spring night, crossing the encampment to the cottage. As they walked, Elrond slid an arm around Rúmil, pulling him close.

“Rúmil I must ask you something.”

“Ask,” said Rúmil simply.

“About the night the monster took you over.”

Rúmil flinched, not liking to think about that night. He turned his head away. Elrond felt a pang of sympathy for him, but felt he must ask.

“I need to know what happened,” Elrond said gently. “I know you do not like to speak of it, but I need to know.”

Rúmil shrugged. “I will tell you what I can. I was watching you and Galadriel look at the Black Book, and… I began to feel… angry. Overwhelmingly angry, at you, at the other Elves, such a rage and loathing I have never experienced. I was puzzled at my own emotions; I had nothing to be angry about. Then it was as though I was underwater. All became muffled, and distant. Then across the room I saw… I suppose he was a Man. But short, and squat and hairy, as though perhaps his lineage was mingled with those of Dwarf kind. He was so frightfully ugly my first response was to flee, but I could not. Then he was before me. I did not see him move, he was simply there, and I could not move. He touched me, and I wanted to run, scream, something. But I could do nothing. Then he… was… in my body.”

He stopped, flinching, as though the memory sickened him. Elrond moved to put an arm around him, but Rúmil backed away. Now that he had begun to speak of the incident, he wished to get it over with.

“It hurt, and he knew it. He liked it. I know not his reasons but he despises Elves, and the Plains Elves above all. That was why it pleased him so to take command of me. He... was not the Buyer. But he works for him. Serves him willingly. It is one of the few things he takes delight in. This he told me. He was content to torment me, but then when Haldir spoke of the Plains Elves… he took complete command. He was not there for his own amusement: he was there to serve his master. Then… all was dark. When I awoke I was bleeding on the cottage floor.”

Elrond pulled him close, embracing him. “I am so sorry,” he said softly. “Come, we will go to bed. We can speak to Glorfindel and Erestor tomorrow.”

Rúmil nodded, and allowed himself to be led away. He did not mention there was a little more that he recalled; he did not know if he ever could.