The Last Homely House
Chapter Fifteen

Rating:NC-17
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: Haldir has breakfast in bed, Fin and Erestor meet an old friend, and Feronil learns at last why one should never get between a Gondorian and his Goose. And just who did get the sheep pregnant, anyway?

Haldir lay on his back in his bed, enjoying not having to be up and dressed. He was warm, he was comfortable, and he was content.

The cave he and Rabbit had been living in since the collapse of the house had indeed become a home. The floor had been leveled off and covered with dark hardwood and rugs. The walls had been cleaned and hung with tapestries, and shelves, chairs, free-standing iron candle holders, and other comforts had been brought in. The wide, flat stone ledge they had been using for a bed now had a proper mattress, and was covered in luxurious quilts. Even Bramble now had a room of her own, fully furnished and walled off. It was a shelter worthy of any Elf.

The Dwarfs, of course never wearied of teasing him about his possible Dwarf ancestry, but Haldir did not mind. Especially not now, in this delicious moment of perfect relaxation. And now he heard the familiar sound of Rabbit crossing the floor towards him. He felt Rabbit hop onto the bed, and he opened his eyes to look at him.

He was filthy and bloody and had a dead rabbit in his mouth. He opened his jaws and dropped it onto his lover.

“Breakfast!” said Rabbit cheerfully.

Haldir distastefully picked up the bunny and moved it. “So I see. It’s a good thing I love you.”

Rabbit watched the blond Elf with a strange gleam in his greenish eyes. “Very good thing,” he said, his voice low, and rough. He pulled his breeches off, then slid under the covers with Haldir. He kissed him firmly, passionately, then moved down to kiss and nibble his neck. Haldir picked a little rabbit hair out of his mouth.

“You’re filthy,” he commented.

“Better filthy,” said Rabbit, moving over top of Haldir.

“The sheets will get dirty.”

“Forest earth. It will sweep off.” He slid down to kiss Haldir’s flat stomach.

“And Bramble?”

“Visiting Erestor.” He drew up Haldir’s thigh, running his tongue up the inside in a slow, sensuous swipe. Then he lowered his head to do the same thing to his stiffening penis.

“What is it about running down small furry animals that makes you want to come in here and ravish me?”

Rabbit growled, a throaty noise of pure desire. “Who cares?” He reached for the bottle of pleasure oil, then raised his head to look at it. He tossed the empty bottle aside and lay on top of Haldir. Then, with a snake like flexing of his powerful body, somehow flipped their bodies over so Haldir was on top of him. He wrapped his long legs around him and kissed him hard.

“Bottle’s empty, you get on top.”

“If you like,” said Haldir dryly. He kissed Rabbit, then entered him. He felt Rabbit arc up beneath him, then utter a low moan of utter pleasure at having his lover inside him.

“Perfect way to end a hunt,” he said softy, and kissed Haldir.

***---***

They lay together in the bed, holding each other closely. Haldir gently kissed Rabbit’s forehead, and smiled as the large eyes opened to look at him.

“How is Frost?” he asked quietly.

Rabbit sighed heavily, then closed his eyes, snuggling closer. “He will mend, I think, in body at least. He wished to be left alone, so I went hunting. Elrohir is with him, though how long he will stay I do not know. A distraught Plains Elf is not fit company.”

“I am sorry for him,” said Haldir softly. “Has he lost children before?”

“Four others, this was the fifth,” said Rabbit. “I fear the title ‘Sia’ will not be among his names. Nor ‘Aie’. But that is not an easy thing for him to accept.”

Haldir traced his fingers over Rabbit’s side. “And you?”

“I am not with child. Just as well, I should be caring for the two I have right now, not working on another.”

Haldir could not help but feel mildly annoyed at the news that Rabbit was not pregnant, especially given all the biting and bloodshed he had endured. It was a bit like fighting an army, only to find the prize at the end of the battle had been claimed by someone else.

“I thought you were having a fertility cycle?”

“False cycles happen.”

“Rabbit?”

“Yes my love?”

“I am not amused.”

“Take heart, my beloved. In a few hundred years this will be most amusing. And come winter we can try again.”

“Goodie,” said Haldir.

***---***

As Rabbit had predicted, Frost was not fit company.

He was in pain and depressed, and too uncomfortable to find rest. Elrohir had moved from the bed to the padded chair Bramble had slept in, but still Frost was restless. And Elrohir found he was a little afraid of his beautiful companion. It was not unlike watching a tame and good-natured creature revert to its wild origin, and once when he tried to move closer to him, Frost actually snarled. He may have been raised by Wood-Elves, but there was no mistaking his heritage.

Elrohir swallowed, then said with a voice only slightly quavering; “I could help if you would let me.”

Frost growled, then broke it off and shook his head. “I…” He sighed, mostly at his own behavior. “I apologize, Elrohir. I hurt right now.”

Elrohir moved to his side. “Let me get you something to make you comfortable. Please. You are not resting like this.”

Frost wanted rest. He also wanted to cry and scream and rend flesh and pound his fists against something in an effort to release all the rage and hurt inside himself, but just thinking about what he had lost suddenly sucked all the energy out of him. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

“I would appreciate that, Elrohir.”

The young Elf quickly and quietly left the tent, and Frost yanked the covers over his head to cry in peace.

Outside the tent, Elrohir ran into Firespark, who had most likely been sent in search of the Shaman. He had been seated on the ground, and when he saw Elrohir he rose to his full imposing height. He did not ask Elrohir what had happened; there was no need.

“I will tell the others he is here,” said Firespark, and he left. Elrohir watched the leggy young Plains Elf head back for his village. Elrohir noticed suddenly he had no tattoos on him, meaning he was very young indeed. The name-tattoo was the first, and was given at the age of five hundred. Firespark did not even have this upon his flesh.

Elrohir wondered about this briefly, then hurried to the Great Hall, where he knew his father would be. He did not see the three strange Elves, mounted on great grey horses, ride by, heading towards the cottage.

***---***

Erestor had been standing outside, enjoying the sunlight and watching Sam tending the flowers when he was suddenly grabbed from behind. Someone bent him gently backwards, running a hand slowly through his black hair, then kissing him with a gentle intensity the Erestor found more than a little hard to resist. He finally pushed the large Elf back, and said; “What on Arda are you doing? Do you have any idea how many pieces my husband will leave you in?”

“Never learned to count that high, sorry. Where is the old bastard, anyway?”

There was something about the accent that made Erestor pause and take note of the large Elf before him. It was very definitely a Noldorian accent; no amount of time would erase that sound from his mind. Then as Erestor studied the face, he suddenly recognized him. He almost shrieked with delight.

“Gaelemir! Gaelemir is it really you?” He threw his arms around his strong neck. “It has been so long!”

“Too long, my pretty advisor.” His brow furrowed in concern, and he gently touched the bruise on Erestor’s face. “So all these nasty tales we have heard about monsters and the like plaguing Imladris is true, I take it.”

“Indeed,” said Erestor. He smiled wryly as Glorfindel’s old friend gave the bruise a kiss to ‘make it better’.

“So where is Fin? Inside?”

“He’s… resting. Gael…” Erestor caught his arm before the Elf could enter the cottage. “He’s… rather battered.”

“Battered?”

Erestor nodded. “He was in a very bad fight with some fell creature, I know not what. He is lame, and can hardly stand. And he is blind.”

Gaelemir gently touched Erestor’s face. “I would do or say nothing to harm Fin, you know this.” He looked up and grinned at the two approaching Elves. “Except perhaps bring these two over for a visit.”

Erestor looked over his shoulder, then smiled and went to embrace the two Elves, one of whom was the biggest Elf Sam had ever seen, Rabbit included. Beside him was a tall, slender Elf with large, pale blue-grey eyes. Erestor greeted them both warmly.

“Ilinuil,” he said, embracing the slender Elf. “I have missed you, and your continual banter.”

Ilinuil smiled shyly, but said nothing. Then Erestor turned to the very large Elf, who had to crouch so Erestor could put his arms around his neck.

“How are you, Elentar?”

“Glad to be back in Imladris, Master Erestor. Very glad indeed. I see you tore the house down in honor of our home coming. I trust I will now no longer be cracking my head on every archway?”

“I make no promises. After all, we have Dwarfs helping to rebuild.”

Elentar threw back his head and groaned. “I shall be on all fours like a pony!” He then noticed Sam, and walked over to the Hobbit. “And who do we have here?”

Sam stared at the Elf’s knees, feeling nervous. Erestor came to stand beside him. “Gaelemir, Ilinuil, Elentar, may I present to you our friend Samwise Gamgee, of the Shire.”

Sam watched the three large Elves kneel before him, regarding him with clear eyes. He clutched his spade, not understanding why they affected him so. But there was an air about them that called to mind the stories and legends of old he loved so much, as though they had stepped out of an age that to him would never be more than a tale. They were old; he had been around the Elves long enough to read the signs, and their eyes spoke to him of centuries past, and grey ships arriving on the untouched shores of Middle Earth. He was unable to react as Gaelemir reached out and gently took his soil-covered hand.

“Master Gamgee,” said Gaelemir softly. “It is an honor to stand in your presence.” Then the three Elves bowed their heads before him.

Sam was completely at a loss for words.

***---***

Gaelemir strolled into the cottage, followed by Ilinuil and Elentar. He immediately noticed Estorel in his cradle, chewing on his squeaky pony, and walked towards the Elfling. He stopped, surprised as Erestor quickly darted before him, scooping up the infant and holding him close, as though afraid to let Gaelemir see him.

Erestor backed up slightly, wary of letting strangers look at his child. It had not been long since he had left Valinor with Glorfindel, shunned by many of his own kin. Erestor was skilled enough with a sword and bow, but Gaelemir was one of the few Elves with power enough to drive back a Nazgûl. Erestor would take no chances on Gaelemir getting anywhere near his child before he knew whether his old friend was a potential danger.

“I shall see if Fin is awake,” he said softly, and, before Gaelemir could respond, the advisor was gone in a swirl of black, darting into the bedchamber.

Gaelemir looked at Elentar. “I’m not THAT frightfully ugly, am I?”

“Alas, ‘tis true,” said Elentar. “That is why we gave you the blind horse.”

“Oh how very considerate. But correct me if I am wrong; Erestor DID just throw himself between me and a child, did he not?”

“He did indeed, your eyes do not lie. If I may suggest such a thing, he seemed almost afraid.”

“Nonsense, the only thing Erestor fears is the thought that someone may exchange his clothes for ones with brighter colours. But he does not look well to me.”

“It may be the happenings here have taken their toll on his nerve,” said Ilinuil in his soft voice. “But I wonder to whom the child belongs.”

Sam was standing amongst the large Elves, wondering if it was his place to say anything, when Rabbit appeared in the doorway. He stood, poised and alert, looking straight at the three strangers with eyes that glowed in the dim light of the cottage. He held a large goose in one hand, and he ignored Sam as the Halfling came to take it. Rabbit stared unwaveringly, silent and unafraid, making up his mind whether these Elves had a right to be here. Gaelemir heard Ilinuil gasp softly, and he drew one of his fighting knives.

Sam took the goose, then said softly; “It’s all right Rabbit, they know Master Erestor and Lord Glorfindel. They’re friends.”

Rabbit made no indication he had heard Sam. He stared a little longer, then quietly vanished. Sam carried the goose over to the counter and put on a pot of water to boil.

“Would any of you care for some tea?” asked Sam.

Elentar looked at Sam. He pointed to the now-empty doorway. “What in all Middle-Earth was THAT?”

“Oh that was Rabbit. You’re lucky you know, most folks don’t get to see him their first day here.”

“But what is he?”

“An Elf. Not a Wood-Elf like you, but he’s some sort of an Elf.”

“Some sort indeed,” said Gaelemir. “I shall have to catch him and ask him about it.”

Sam laughed. “Catch Rabbit? No offense Master Gaelemir, but if all Lothlórien couldn’t catch him, I daresay you won’t either.”

“The Ghost of Lothlórien,” said Ilinuil, “was that him?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, “that was him.”

Gaelemir slowly shook his head. “Odd things indeed are afoot in this valley.”

The bedroom door opened, and Erestor carefully led Fin out, still weak and not quite able to keep his footing. Gaelemir forgot all about Rabbit as he stared at his old friend, the proud and mighty warrior he had known now blinded and nearly crippled. He was shocked at his condition, but said nothing as Erestor led him over to a couch and helped him to sit. Gaelemir walked over to Glorfindel and sat beside him.

“Mae Govannen, old friend,” said Gaelemir.

“Old? No older than you, you aged chamber pot. And where’s the five gold you owe me?”

“I won that bet fairly!”

“WON? You ‘won’ nothing! I found out later you gave my horse laxatives!”

“ONLY because you and that rogue Ecthelion used an Orc that only had one leg!”

“Well how was I supposed to know the sheep wouldn’t fit out the window?”

“That was hardly my fault!”

“You intentionally brought a pregnant sheep so that when the time came it would not fit out the window.”

“I swear that sheep was not pregnant when I stole it!”

“Well then who got the sheep pregnant?”

“I don’t know, it was with you and Ecthelion the whole time! Maybe I should be asking you that!”

Erestor looked from one to the other, then asked; “Do I even want to know what you two are discussing?”

Glorfindel turned and kissed him. “You’re probably much happier not asking, love.” He turned to Gaelemir once more. “Ah it is good to hear your voice again Gael. I wish I could see your face.”

Gaelemir leaned forward and embraced Fin tightly, then sat back and took his head between his hands, examining the last faint traces of the bruises on his face. “How fare you, Fin? What says Lord Elrond?”

“That I shall regain the use of my leg, and my balance will return.”

“And your eyes?”

“There is little hope on that matter, I am afraid. I am not likely to see anything again. But Mauburz made me a new Tablero set, with graven board and glasses, and raised numbers on the dice.”

“Most considerate of her. And how is our fair Uruk-Hai?”

“Settled nicely with three step-children and an Elven husband. Remember Rhimlan?”

Gaelemir clutched his heart as though stabbed. “Rhimlan? Who could not? His beauty haunts my dreams! A most fair little jewel, crafted with care by the Valar of grace! How came the Orc to win him? And where is his wife Glinithmir? She was nigh on as pretty as he!”

Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. “Is the tea nearly ready, Sam? There is much to discuss, I fear.”

***---***

Elrohir returned quickly with some potions, and with his father beside him. Frost watched Lord Elrond warily, studying him as the Healer laid out a few instruments, then stepped towards him.

Frost raised himself up slightly and pointed a warning hand at Elrond. “Don’t. Even. Think it.”

Elrond sighed heavily. “Just once I should like a patient who actually fits that description.”

“You’re immortal, there is a chance.”

Elrohir seated himself close to Frost, stroking his long hair. “We have to be certain there is no infection.”

“I’ll let him know if I notice anything, but there are simply some parts of myself I do not care to share with the populace. If your father is so anxious to examine one of my openings he can stare in my ear.”

“Frost…” began Elrond.

“Lord Elrond, since you are a healer, allow me to put this in terms I am certain you will understand. I am cramping, I am hemorrhaging, and I swear if you approach I shall bite.”

“Frost…”

“Elrond, do not make me call my mother.”

Elrohir laughed quietly, while Elrond seated himself in a chair near Frost, taking care to make certain he was out of snapping range. He glanced nervously at his son, who was seated very close to the Shaman, and whose throat was at the perfect height for ripping.

“It is my opinion you could use some medical attention,” said Elrond quietly.

“Yes, well, opinions are like vaginas,” said Frost, “Everybody’s got one.”

Elrond and Elrohir glanced at each other. Then Elrond cleared his throat. “Frost, at the very least, let me ease your discomfort.”

Frost sighed heavily, then closed his eyes. “Very well, Lord Elrond.”

Elrond passed him a small silver cup. Frost took it, and gazed into the pale green contents. He sniffed, his highly refined senses telling him what was in the cup. Ground herbs and white willow bark, muscle relaxants, and miruvor to make the whole thing palatable. He glanced at the older Elf.

“If I drink this, I shall be far enough out of my body to visit my ancestors.”

“Tell them I said ‘Mae Govannen’.”

Frost smiled slightly, then sniffed the potion again. He sighed. “Oh why not, it would be good to see Aie again.”

He drank the potion, then set the small silver cup down. Elrohir watched Frost’s eyes glaze over almost immediately, then he dropped into the bedding like a dead thing. Elrohir stroked back the white hair with its black streaks, then looked his father.

“Ada what did you give him?!”

“Elrohir, there are many things I have learned over the course of my life, and one of them is that folk who are frightened and in pain make very poor patients. Whereas the ones drugged into submission heal much more quickly. Pass me the wash basin.”

“My father, a poisoner,” said Elrohir, passing Elrond the basin.

“Your friend is going to be a little difficult to court if he bleeds to death,” said Elrond quietly, as he pulled back the sheets.

Elrohir brought his hand up to his mouth, frightened and sickened at the sheer quantity of blood. He slowly shook his head, eyes wide. “I had no idea,” he whispered.

“That is the way of wild creatures,” said Elrond softly. “They hide their weaknesses.”

Elrohir stepped back to let his father work. “And what if he had called for Rabbit?”

Elrond looked over his shoulder, and smiled at the dark form that quietly materialized in the doorway of the tent, long black hair falling loose around his broad shoulders.

“As it was I who came to speak to your father earlier this morning,” said Rabbit softly, “I think Frost would have been very surprised at who I chose to assist.”

***---***

“Gimli,” said Legolas, “There seems to be a slight problem with me learning to use your traditional family weapons, and I think I have finally figured out what it is.”

Gimli and his father watched the very slender Elf, clutching the handle of the war hammer, backing up towards them as he dragged the weighty device.

“Y’cannae lift it,” said Glóin.

“That would be the problem, yes.”

Gimli walked over to him and gently took the hammer, slinging it easily over one shoulder. Legolas sat heavily on the ground, eyes large, lower lip protruding very slightly.

“Sorry,” he said, “But it was just too heavy for me.”

“Quite all right,” said Gimli, reaching out his broad hand to touch the Elf’s fine face. “One does not ask a dancer to haul iron.”

Glóin made a few choking noises, and Gimli growled as he looked over at him. “Da’ you have all the charm and romance of troll dung.”

“I have the heart of a poet! But a very low tolerance for syrup.”

“Nothing wrong with syrup. Mauburz like syrup.” She walked up to the small group, Rhimlan at her side. She took the war hammer and looked it over. In her huge fist, it seemed like a toy. “That not war hammer,” she said. She put down the Dwarven hammer, then reached to the weapon slung over her back. It was taller than Gimli, and probably weighed twice as much. “THIS is war hammer. Also good for smacking mouses.”

“Which brings us to the reason for our coming to speak with you,” said Rhimlan. “There is one amongst us, dwelling invisibly within our happy little community, with a penchant for very bad jokes. For a while he has been silent, and we all had hoped he had gone away. This, of course, has proven to be a vain hope.”

Rhimlan looked over his shoulder, watching Faramir as the Man approached, wearing a long cloak with the hood pulled up. He stopped beside the Elf, then lowered his hood. His face and hair were streaked a dramatic purple and black.

“That colour does nothing for you,” said Legolas.

Faramir smiled, without humor. “This crime against me, I can survive, and with dignity, for I am of the city of Gondor, and have a proud heritage. The crime, however, for which we must seek the perpetrator with all vigor, is this.”

Faramir reached under his cloak and pulled forth Lindir’s beloved and rather worn Nana Goose doll. Usually Miss Goose, as she was called, wore a blue bonnet, matching ribbon about her neck, and, when the weather was cold, a blue jacket. Currently, however, Miss Goose was wearing leather panties, a matching leather bustier, a black leather hood, and had a whip stuffed under one wing.

“Miss Goose,” said Faramir, “must be avenged.”

“Has Lindir seen that?” asked Legolas.

“Unfortunately, yes. Now, it is my opinion that, what this situation requires, is an alliance. One of Men, Elves, Dwarfs, Orcs, and Elves.”

“You mentioned Elves twice,” said Glóin.

“That,” said Faramir, “is because there is more than one kind of Elf in this valley. We have the fair Wood-Elf, renowned for his grace, his sharp eyes, and unerring accuracy with a bow. Then, we have the Plains Elves of Hathil-Loth-Mahr; known for an utterly remarkable ability to track.”

Faramir smiled, watching as the five before him exchanged glances. Then Gimli laughed.

“I heard you Gondorians were a crafty lot!”

“Crafty, devious, and, when need be, underhanded. One needs to be when one has lived as close to the Land of Shadow as we. I have employed the services of a pair of enthusiastic young hunters named Firespark and Foxfire.”

In the distance, there came a high, sharp noise, somewhere between a yip and a chirp. Then there came another sound; a loud, irate voice.

“Back you demons! Go back to the fell land that spawned you!”

“Effective, aren’t they?” said Faramir.

Mauburz growled. “Me been wanting get hands on funny-man long time, now.”

“I think you’re about to get your wish,” said Rhimlan.

The group found Firespark and Foxfire milling beneath a tree, their luminous eyes bright with the excitement of the hunt. Foxfire made a sharp yipping chirp, then leaped to snap at the person cowering on a low branch.

“Back, Hell-Elf!”

“No, that would be you,” said Legolas, looking up the tree.

Feronil tore off a leafy twig and swatted at Foxfire ineffectually. “There is nothing wrong with a little humor now and again!”

“And this?” said Faramir, holding up Miss Goose.

“Well I thought it was funny. Besides, Lindir is almost a thousand years old, time he figured out some of the pleasures of adulthood.”

“And the dye?” said Rhimlan. “What was THAT supposed to teach?”

Feronil swatted at Foxfire again. “I had nothing to do with the dye. I dressed the goose, that is all!”

“And can you prove it?”

Feronil swatted Foxfire. Annoyed with the smacking, Foxfire bit down onto the sleeve of Feronil’s tunic and pulled him off the branch. The young Plains Elf made a playful lunge for his throat, and Feronil managed to hold him off. “I cannot, but I wager these demons in Elven guise can!”

Faramir took Foxfire’s arm and gently stood him up, leaving Feronil on his back on the damp earth.

“Good master Foxfire, could I perhaps persuade you and your sibling to locate the person or persons responsible for the dye?”

“We shall do our best, Lord Faramir, but the scent is muddied. The pots that held the dyes were handled by many people before and after the prankster used them. Still, for you we shall try.”

The pair retraced their steps, heading for the exact area where Faramir had received his unintentional dyeing. He watched them go, then turned to look at Feronil.

“Feronil until I met you, I was convinced every Elf was a paragon of grace, wisdom, integrity, and beauty. Why you feel these base urges to bother those around you I do not know, but hear me on this. If you do one single thing to bother Lindir, if you say one thing, if Lindir even has a nightmare about you, I shall make it my business to convince Lord Elrond that, since Gondor was kind enough to loan him a Mortal for his guard, perhaps he would return the favor and loan us you.”

Feronil looked horrified. “Me? Go to Gondor and patrol? Like a common soldier? You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.”

“But all…”

“Try me, Feronil, please, just try me.”

Feronil stared at the Man, trying to read him. He decided Faramir was quite serious. “You, sir, have no sense of humor.”

“I have a very good sense of humor. I just do not find your constant harassment of my Elfling funny.”

“ELFLING?! That over-grown…?”

“Gondor, Feronil.” Faramir snapped the leather panties off of Miss Goose and held them before his face. “I think this would look most becoming on you on those daytime patrols.”

Feronil rose to his feet and stomped off, grumbling. Faramir watched him go, then smiled. “Well, one mystery solved, anyway.”

“Still have to find funny-man,” said Mauburz.

“We will,” said Faramir. “If he can set traps for us, there is no reason we cannot set traps for him.”

***---***

The evening was growing late, and a warm late spring breeze carried the scent of the flowering gardens across the newly re-built walkway as Elrond stopped beside Galadriel. She was leaning against the carved wooden rail, smiling, while the breeze fluttered her long golden hair. Elrond leaned forward to see what she was smiling at, and saw Legolas and Gimli making their way towards the stable.

“I fear I shall never understand what they see in each other,” he commented.

He chanced a glance at the Elven woman beside him, recognizing the distant look in her eyes. She perhaps had been wondering the same thing, and had reached her thoughts out to them.

“They see only one another’s hearts. All else is incidental.”

Elrond smiled. “Thank the Valar for that,” he said dryly.

Galadriel laughed. “I fear I am not immune to Gimli’s charm myself. He is very sweet.”

“Still, it shall be a hard blow for Legolas when he passes, and shall herald his own doom.”

“Gimli will not pass,” said Galadriel.

Elrond snapped his gaze towards her. “He will not? But how can that be? Dwarfs are mortal!”

“But the choice is different,” she said softly. “Arwen bound herself to the bright but fleeting fire of a mortal, for well she knew Aragorn could not leave this land. Gimli has already arranged to leave all he has behind, the comforts of his own ways, his own people, his own lands, to follow the one he loves more than his own life and people into the Undying Lands. It is a sacrifice almost unheard of for a mortal, and a choice that bound his own brief candle to the eternal flame of the Elf he loves. He will not pass. Not while Legolas lives.”

Elrond’s jaw dropped, and for a brief time he was speechless. “That Dwarf is going to Valinor? With US?”

“The Valar have given him this gift, and the Lords of the West are not opposed.”

“Yet are not leaping with joy either, I should expect.”

“No, but there is much we can learn from these two,” said Galadriel. “And the gift is from the Valar, I will not oppose their will.”

Elrond watched the pair cross the encampment, reaching the stable at last and entering it. Then he looked around the valley he had long called home. “I do not wish to leave this place.”

“There will be Elves in this valley for a very long time to come,” said Galadriel, “even by the reckoning of our people. This valley is a good place.”

“Yet plagued by a black fear.”

She raised her head and looked around. “The dark creatures that seek Frost’s people are not far, but they have become more cautious. They will not underestimate those dwelling here again.” She turned her eerie gaze towards Elrond. “If they obtain what they seek, then there will be another age of darkness. And the light of the Plains Elves will be extinguished forever. We must find them, and we must find how to destroy them.”

***---***

Frost awoke in the cold dawn, snuggled deep in Elrohir’s bed. Nearby, asleep in the chair, was Elrohir himself. Frost watched him, wrapped in the fur cloak, gazing ahead, occasionally slowly blinking. He was deep in sleep, and Frost did not wish to wake him. Nor did he wish to leave the comfort of the warm bed, but there were some things even Elves could not get around.

Finally, Frost shoved back the blankets and slowly, carefully sat up. The sheets had been changed, and he was dressed in a grey and white nightshirt. He was glad the bleeding had stopped, but was a little irked with having been tended to by a virtual stranger. He carefully stood up, then reached for an outer robe that was lying across the bed. He pulled it on, then silently left the tent, stepping into the pre-dawn light.

It was on his way back to Elrohir’s tent that a sudden pain forced him to sit. He eased himself down to the ground, and waited for it to pass. He was feeling light-headed, and thought perhaps he should have awakened Elrohir after all, but he was still uncertain in his feelings towards him. He did not want to be too dependant on the young Elf and perhaps lead him into believing he returned his feelings. In truth, Frost was not up to feeling anything for anyone other than himself right then.

He tried to get to his feet once more, and suddenly felt someone gently take his arm, helping him up.

“By the Valar what are you doing out here alone on the ground if you are injured?” The voice was chastising, but with humor. “If Lord Elrond saw you out here you would get The Eyebrow for certain! A fate that should not be suffered by any, especially one as fair as yourself. Careful, now, I have you.”

Frost allowed the large Elf to help him up, then turned to thank him. Both Elves fell silent and stared at each other in shock.

“Gaelemir?”

“Mir? Am I seeing things? Is it indeed you?!”

“Frost, now, and it is indeed! Gaelemir! I thought I would never see you again! After I left the village…”

“Never mind that, are you all right?”

“Well enough,” said Frost.

“Well let me take you to my pavilion, I shall serve you something warm and we can talk.” The large Elf gently took Frost’s face between his hands and smiled. “Mir. Of all joys, this was the least expected!”

The two walked slowly back to Gaelemir’s pavilion, finally reaching it. Frost sank gratefully down onto some pillows, and Gaelemir draped a blanket around him before building up the small cooking fire and making tea.

“I was greatly saddened to come back to the village and learn of your departure,” said Gaelemir, passing Frost a mug of tea.

Frost took the mug, breathing in the scent of the herbs. “It would seem no one told you the reason for my departure.”

Gaelemir poured a cup for himself and sat down before Frost. “Well I was given a lot of nonsense about you not being quite Elvish, perhaps even being some new breed of Orc or a changeling or some such rubbish. Load of garbage, you are quite plainly a Wood-Elf, though you looked more like one before the fancy face-paint. And you are rather long of limb, even for an Elf. But an Elf you clearly are.”

Frost smiled. “I am an Elf, that is true. But not a Wood-Elf. Have you perhaps seen any in the encampment who have black hair, and yellow eyes?”

“Aye, I saw one who fit that description just yesterday at Fin’s cottage! Frightful looking being, tall and lean like a wolf, with pictures…” Gaelemir’s voice slowed, then stopped. He gazed long at Frost, studying him, staring into his yellow-green eyes. “Mir?” he said quietly.

“We are one and the same kind, Gaelemir, the last of the Free Elves of Hathil-Loth-Mahr, which you call now Mordor. We are the race of Elves used to create Orcs, all destroyed save for the handful who now call Imladris home.”

“So all that nonsense I heard when I returned home was true. You did get with child, and were cast out because the other Elves knew not what you were, and feared you were a changeling. But where is that child now?”

“Lost days later.”

Gaelemir stood abruptly, clearly angry. “I knew you were no Orc! I kept insisting! I looked for you a long time, Mir, after I resisted the urge to choke the fool who betrayed you.” He gave Frost a helpless look, shaking his head. “Had I been there, I would have protected you. At the very least I would have come with you.”

“I know, Gaelemir.”

The large Elf sank to his knees and gazed into Frost’s eyes, blue meeting yellow. “Tell me true, Mir, why did you chose Hannilgil over me?”

“Because you are a warrior, Gael. And at the time, it was something I could not tolerate.”

Gaelemir smiled at him, a foxy look in his eye. “And now?”

Frost laughed. “And now I think we had best spend some time reacquainting ourselves before I decide whether or not I wish to warm your bed.”

“What if I fall on my back and wet myself in submission?”

“That… is not an image that inspires desire in me.”

“I could show you where the warg bit me.”

“I did not fall for that the last time you tried, what makes you think it would work now?”

“Well it’s bigger now.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” Frost slowly and carefully began getting up, and immediately Gaelemir was there, helping him. Frost smiled at him affectionately. “Gael it has been good to see you, and I look forward to slapping your face in the future. But I am not well now, and I need my bed.”

“Of course,” said Gaelemir. He bowed his head to gently kiss Frost’s face. “I shall take you back to your tent.”

Frost leaned on Gaelemir as the two walked back to Elrohir’s tent. By now the sun was up, and as they reached the tent, Frost could see Elrohir outside, looking concerned. He heaved a sigh of relief, then came running to take Frost’s arm.

“Are you all right? I awoke and you were gone, I was so afraid for you.”

“I am well, Elrohir, I am sorry to have caused you concern. This is my friend Gaelemir, he arrived in Imladris yesterday. Gaelemir, this is Elrohir.”

Elrohir and Gaelemir regarded each other, each feeling his hackles raise.

“A pleasure to see you again, young Lord Elrohir,” said Gaelemir. “My but you have grown!”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. I have read of your feats in the scrolls in the ancient part of my father’s library.”

“Indeed? And you are old enough that such tales do not give you nightmares?”

“Perhaps nightmares are a concern for one as venerable as yourself, but I can still hold my water.”

Frost coughed. “I really do hate to interrupt a good cat fight, but Gaelemir, Elrohir is not an Elfling, and Elrohir, mind the comments about age. Now will one of you help me back to bed or must I crawl while you claw each others’ eyes out?”

“I am very sorry, Frost, I have behaved badly,” said Elrohir. “Forgive me. I shall help you back to bed.”

“Thank you, Elrohir. I think… I have over-exerted myself.”

“Shall I call my father?”

“No, but could I perhaps prevail upon you for breakfast?”

“Of course,” said Elrohir. “Would you like the crayfish again?”

“No, something hot if it is no trouble.”

Elrohir smiled at Frost, the warmth in his eyes genuine and deep, Gaelemir’s presence forgotten. “It is no trouble at all,” he said softly.

Gaelemir watched the young Elf-Lord as he walked Frost towards his tent. He narrowed his eyes, then turned and walked towards his own shelter. If he did not win Frost, it would be through no lack of trying on his part.