The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Two

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: Lindir has a theory, Legolas learns more about being a Dwarf, Amaris brushes up on his Greek mythology, Erestor learns no secret is safe from Ecthelion, and Imladris ponders the mystery of the White Arrow.

Elrohir sat on the rug in Haldir and Rabbit’s home, facing Frost. He smiled, then tried once more to sing the first line of the simple chant Frost was teaching him. His voice sounded thin and reedy compared to Frost’s, but he had to admit that together they sounded rather good. As the first traces of daylight began to show in the sky, the two Elves practiced.

“Bre tya nin. A tya… a moon?”

Frost smiled. “’Amun’, aia-nen.”

Fine, ‘amun’, then. Bre tya nin. A tya amun.”

Frost smiled again, more broadly. “Perfect.”

“And what does it mean?”

“’My parents were squirrels.’”

“Frost!”

The white Elf laughed. “’Goddess of the Night. Bre tya nin. Keeper of the Wild Folk. A tya amun.”

“Wild Folk? You mean your people?”

“No, the Wild Folk. The small people, who allow our feas to share their realm while we seek a vessel. I believe you call them faeries.”

“Faeries?” exclaimed Elrohir. “You should be careful of those people, they’re mad!”

“Odd, they say the same things about Wood-Elves. I wonder who is right?”

“Is that who threw a dagger at Minuial and tried to blame it on me?”

“Ah, no. That was my brother.”

Elrohir just stared at Frost. “This is one of those things I am happier not knowing about, isn’t it?”

“Quite likely, yes. Now, second line. ‘Anata ya cunin á bre tya nin.’”

Elrohir dutifully sang it back at him. “And that means?”

“’Bring to me the moon’s light, Goddess of Night.’”

“Wait, I thought ‘á’ meant ‘keeper’.”

“No, ‘A’ means ‘keeper’, ‘á’ means ‘light.’”

“Oh this is going to be one of THOSE sorts of languages, is it?”

Frost stared down his nose at the young Elf, then, with mock solemnity, picked up a glove and smacked him with it. “I want you to know that hurt me much more than it did you.”

“Oh indeed,” said Elrohir. He then pounced on the larger Elf, knocking him down to the soft rugs.

Frost could have easily tossed Elrohir off if he wished to do so. However he found he was rapidly losing interest in language lessons as he wrestled with the dark haired Elf. Finally Frost pinned Elrohir to the floor, panting, his long hair stringing over his face. Frost gently moved it aside and kissed him.

“I never liked robes when I was small. Then when I became older, I learned something that made me like them a great deal.”

“What was that?” asked Elrohir.

Frost slid his hand down to the belt about Elrohir’s waist. “It is so easy to get out of them.”

“What if one of the children awakens, or Haldir…?”

Frost kissed him again. He stopped pulling at the belt, and instead slid his hand down Elrohir’s leg, taking hold of the heavy silk and pulling it up over the Elf’s thighs. “So we don’t remove them at all.”

He kissed his young lover, parting his lips, their tongues meeting and gently exploring. Elrohir felt Frost bring down his other hand, raising himself up slightly to open the front of his breeches while pushing Elrohir’s robe up. The light pair of leggings worn under the robe were no obstacle; Frost simply took hold of them and shredded them. He tossed the ripped fabric aside, then stroked his broad hands over the soft white flesh beneath.

Frost was in no mood for foreplay, and indeed he rather doubted they had hours in which to make love on the floor of his Sia’s cave. He simply settled over Elrohir, drawing his thighs up and slowly, carefully entered him, his long hard penis pressing its way into him. Elrohir sighed quietly, lips parted, eyes closed as he felt Frost enter him, and he slid his hands down his lover’s broad, muscled back.

“No shrieking,” Frost teased quietly.

“Not with a house full of Elflings, of that you may be assured.”

Frost grinned, then kissed him again. He began moving inside of Elrohir with long, slow thrusts, his large hands moving beneath the Wood-Elf’s slender shoulders. He felt Elrohir’s long legs wrap around him, the soft leather of his boots sliding over the coarse fabric of his breeches, working them down until he could feel the leather on his bare skin. Frost kissed his dark haired lover, listening to the sighs and gentle sounds that escaped him. Elrohir was doing his best to be quiet, but it was plain he was not capable of being silent.

Frost growled, gently biting Elrohir’s lips, then kissing him again, adjusting himself so he could press deeper into the heat of his body. Elrohir responded by drawing his legs up higher, then biting Frost’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Frost’s wide shoulders, pressing his face against his heated skin, smelling the earthy scent of the large Plains-Elf. He felt the flex of hard muscle beneath his hands, the long, lean ribcage. Finally he knotted his hands into the heavy white hair, feeling their hearts beating against one another.

Frost heard Elrohir’s breath become more ragged, felt his nails begin to dig into his flesh. He kissed him, and began thrusting with more force, slow and hard, holding the smaller Elf against himself. He pressed the side of his face against Elrohir’s, listening to him breathe, trying to control his own passion as he felt it build within. A thought flashed through his mind, and he suddenly wondered if he would ever be doing this with his own children asleep in the next room. The thought was driven from his mind as Elrohir made a gasping sound, then a restrained little cry, almost like the call of a bird. His legs and arms tightened around Frost, and he made the cry again, then Frost felt a heated wetness spurt onto his belly.

He kissed him hard, feeling his own orgasm begin building deep within him. He wrapped his mouth around Elrohir’s shoulder, refraining from biting him, his teeth just pressing against silk and flesh. Then suddenly he felt it overwhelm him in a rush, and he slammed hard into Elrohir. His teeth cut into the fabric, and he shuddered. Elrohir kissed him, feeling Frost’s semen inside of himself. He held his large lover as he shuddered inside of him once more, then finally began to relax. For a long, quiet moment, Frost lay over top of Elrohir, just holding him, listening to his heart beat. Finally he withdrew from him. Kissing the young Elf gently, he sat up. He pulled up his breeches and closed them, then collapsed beside his lover on the rug.

Elrohir pushed his robes down. Grasping his shredded leggings, he wadded them up and stuffed them into his satchel. Then he lay down beside Frost on the rug, putting his head on his shoulder, his small slender hand moving over Frost’s stomach. His fingertips lightly followed the line and curves of muscle, moving up to meet his lean ribs, then down once more, tracing a line to his navel, then down further, riding over the small rise in his lower abdomen. For a brief moment the fingertips rested there, wondering what the rise was. Elrohir remembered just as he felt Frost’s large hand gently close over his, drawing his hand up and away.

“There’s nothing in there, little healer, no need to prod.”

“I’m very sorry Frost.”

Frost looked thoughtful, then slowly brought Elrohir’s hand down once more, laying it flat over the uterus, letting him feel it. “No need to be sorry, aia-nen. I forget sometimes you and I are of different races, that you must be curious about me sometimes.”

Elrohir spread his fingers over Frost’s belly. He smiled. “I’m always curious. Ada says it makes me a good healer.”

“It makes you a good apprentice as well. It is easier to teach one who is interested.”

“I am certainly interested in you.” Elrohir kissed his face. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now.”

Frost smiled wryly. “Lindir has a theory about why I miscarry.”

Elrohir flinched. Lindir was a gentle soul who meant no harm to anyone, but he deeply feared what he may have to say on the subject of miscarriages. “Oh Frost I hope he didn’t upset you. He really is just a child himself.”

Frost shook his head. “He didn’t upset me. He suggested that perhaps the babies get bored waiting to be born, and go back to the Halls of Waiting to be with their friends. He said perhaps the next time I get with child I should borrow his ‘Nana Goose’ books and read to them.”

Elrohir smiled. “That is one possibility, I suppose.”

“I rather like that one,” said Frost, “though if they are Plains-Elf babies it is more likely they return to the Faerie Realm. But I think he has a point. I think perhaps my children die from stress. I cannot recall a time in my life when I was pregnant and calm. Hannilgil had a fit when I became pregnant. I was exiled shortly after. No wonder I miscarried. Then there were all those years with Star. The traveling, the constant search for a place of safety, the relentless pursuit of The Buyer.” He shook his head. “Elrohir, when next I become with child, I vow to be a slug. To sleep, to lounge, to be waited upon by my loving husband, to gain far too much weight and turn into a great lazy cat.” He looked at Elrohir. “What say you my love?”

Elrohir touched his face. “I say it sounds wonderful. The mortal girls, Grace and Rosemary, are seeking employment here in Imladris, I could hire them as maid servants, and take over some of your duties as Shaman. My Ada would be more than happy to help.”

Frost nodded, then smiled. He looked at Elrohir. “So when next I become fertile, shall we test this theory?”

Elrohir nodded. “If you think you are up to it.”

Frost considered, then nodded. “I think I am. I want to try.”

Elrohir stroked Frost’s long heavy hair. “Then we will try.” He gently kissed Frost’s lips.

“YUCK!” yelled Meril. “I just woke up, and I have to see you two kissing? Bleh! And why are you lying on the floor?”

Elrohir raised his head. “Good morning Meril. Get dressed and wash up, I’ll make breakfast.”

“Yeah I’ll scrub my eyeballs too, to get the image out of my head. Kissing. Yuck.”

Frost and Elrohir watched him go. “There is something to be said for not having children also,” said Frost.

***---***

“Dainty, poncing, flower-sniffing…”

“Stinking, rancid, hairy, rock clawing…”

“ELF!”

“DWARF!”

“DA’!”

“What?” demanded Glóin, turning to look at his son.

Gimli stood before his father, filthy from the quarry, hammer in one hand. “What are you doing yelling at my Elf?”

Glóin blinked, surprised. “I wasn’t yelling. I was just trying to teach him to insult people. He’s doing rather well.”

Gimli’s beard bristled. “I happen to like him the way he is. You’re a bad influence on him!”

“ME?! I’m your da’ ya little brat, I’ll tan your hide!”

Amaris stepped into the open stable and stared at the three. “Is this a private berating or can anyone join?”

Legolas smiled. “Hello Uncle, I was just learning the finer points of Dwarven etiquette.”

“You mean there IS such a thing as Dwarven etiquette?”

Glóin and Gimli both growled at the tall Elf. Amaris ignored them, and held his hand out to Legolas. “Come along, child, you can play with your smelly friends later.”

“Yes Uncle.” He turned and gave Gimli a kiss. “I shall be back soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

Legolas kissed him again, then took his uncle’s hand and left the stable with him. Amaris pretended not to notice what his nephew looked like, as his pale gold hair blew loose over his shoulders. He was wearing only simple Dwarf-made clothes, and the rune necklace Glóin had given him. He was beginning to look rather wild, and it suited him. Amaris wondered if it was a look he should attempt.

“So how goes life with the Dwarf?” Amaris asked.

“Very well. And how goes your courtship of the Nazgûl?”

“Slow. He is very hurt inside. I daresay a piece of him seems to have faded under Gaelemir’s constant abuse. Only time will show if anything grows anew in its place.”

“He is a rare beauty. Gimli likens him to lead crystal.”

Amaris looked at Legolas. “Lead crystal?”

Legolas smiled. “The Elf half is the glass, beautiful. The Nazgûl is the lead, dark. When mixed, they made something of exquisite beauty, but fragile.”

“He is fragile, there is no denying that. Legolas in truth I fear he is ill.” Amaris paused in his steps, looking down at the ground. “I think he is fading.”

Legolas went cold inside. “Fading? But why?”

“I do not know. I think that as much as he came to loathe Gaelemir, he loved him still. And I do not think he believes he will ever have better. You see Legolas, he is like a Silmaril, and in some ways he is even like the Ring. There is a darkness wrapped in his beauty, and it inspires greed, jealousy, and other, darker thoughts. He is so fair, so gentle, and evil flocks to him like flies to an Orc. It would almost be kind to shoot him.”

“Uncle that is terrible! Surely you are not saying we should…”

“No!” said Amaris. “No I will save this Elven jewel if I can. But the grief and darkness around him must somehow be scraped away. He seems to be under the impression he has the singing voice of a retching cow, I thought perhaps music lessons would cheer him up. And I was hoping that, when you are through with Dwarf Lessons for the day, you would come with me to speak with him. Bring your pet Dwarf.”

“Uncle, please. Do not call my husband a pet.”

“He is small and hairy and has fleas. He is a pet.”

“Uncle!”

“I suppose I should be grateful you’re not giving the horizontal howdy to a Halfling.”

“Alliteration, very clever uncle. I love Gimli.”

“You couldn’t have at least gone for a Mortal?”

“Boromir was obsessed with the Ring and Aragorn was obsessed with Arwen. And Gimli always makes me laugh.”

“What a coincidence, he makes me laugh too.”

“Uncle! Uncle where are we going?”

Amaris gently led Legolas to a large pavilion. Pulling the flap back, he guided him inside, and Legolas felt his stomach clench at the sight of the Elf within.

Thranduil rose to his feet and stepped towards Legolas. There was a long, strained silence between the pair. Then Thranduil turned to Amaris.

“I did not ask you to bring this exile, I asked for my daughters.”

Amaris stared down his younger brother. “You have three children, Thranduil, not two. And Veet and Liritar are here because of your treatment of Legolas. I must admit I am as well. And until you pull your head out of whatever orifice it is currently inserted into, here we shall remain.”

Thranduil looked at Legolas. He was wearing Dwarf-style garb; a shirt, with a long sleeveless tunic over it, belted with a cord. Beneath that he wore breeches, and light boots. His hair was loose save for one braid down the side. About his neck was a string of leather, hung with beads of lapis and runes of bone.

“All you need is a beard,” remarked Thranduil snidely.

“I’m sure I could have a false one made,” said Legolas.

“Then you have no intention of giving up on this folly.”

Legolas gazed back at his father. “You would do well to get used to the notion that Gimli and I are together. He has been granted permission by the Lords of the West to accompany me to Valinor. The Lady Galadriel herself has told me that his sacrifice in giving up his lands and Clan to be with me has granted him the gift of immortality by the Valar. He and I will be together always, even should Mandos call us. We are bound.”

Amaris stared in shock at this news, having not heard of this before. Thranduil went a strange colour and sat down heavily. For a long, horrible moment he was silent. Then he clutched his chest, uttered a strange gurgling noise and fell over.

Amaris immediately went to Thranduil’s side, while Legolas turned and sped as fast as he was able to Elrond’s newly completed sitting room. He ran into the chamber, sliding to a stop on the polished stone floor.

“Lord Elrond I did it again!”

The Elven Lord was comfortably lounging on a couch, one eye open to glare sourly at the young Elf before him. “Did what again, child?”

“Gave Ada heart failure. He’s in Uncle Amaris’ pavilion, please come!”

Elrond got up and began making his way to the pavilion, Legolas close behind him. “Child,” said Elrond, “as a Healer I am going to have to insist you stop telling your father news that may prove lethal.”

***---***

The gentle afternoon rain stirred Haldir from his reverie, and he opened his eyes. He was lying on a sandy bank near a mossy cliff face, a slender stream of silver water falling down its green side. Beside him on the bank lay Rabbit, curled around him, his arms around his neck.

Haldir smiled and gently touched his face. Rabbit made a sound, unwilling to wake up. Haldir lowered his head to kiss him, stroking his hand over the lean, hard muscles of his arm, then moving it over his chest. Rabbit growled quietly, but did not seem to have the energy to do much more than that.

“You were so lively last night, yet today all you can do is lie in a pile and growl?”

Rabbit growled, a halting, unconvincing noise that hardly filled Haldir with trepidation. He kissed his nose. “Such a fierce beast you are this morning.”

Rabbit tried to curl his lip and gave up. He opened one green eye and regarded his lover. “Tired,” he said.

“I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a little worn myself after making love to you four times. I haven’t seen you that active since your last cycle.”

Rabbit pinned Haldir to the ground, then settled over him, using him as a pillow and closing his eyes. “I have something to admit to you. I hope you will not be displeased with me. I took a fertility potion last night.”

Haldir thought about that. “I am not displeased. I am surprised. Why did you do such a thing?”

Do you recall the odd occurrences last night?”

“You are speaking of the knife? Yes, I recall.”

“We Plains Elves do not go to a great hall when our bodies die. We travel to another realm, and there our spirits roam free, and dwell in such places as please us, until we find another vessel to inhabit. Last night, one of my deceased children found his way to me. He name in life was Spirit Hound. He wished to come home, to be with me once more. I could not deny him this, I have missed him too much.”

Haldir slid his long hand over Rabbit’s stomach, feeling the planes of his muscles. “He is in you now?”

“Yes. You are not unhappy with me for not discussing this with you?”

“No, I am not.” He smiled wryly. “I’m getting used to your independence.”

“A bad habit left over from centuries of being alone.” He raised his head and watched a nearby goose pulling greens out of the river bottom, eyes intense with interest. Before Haldir could say anything, Rabbit rolled and lunged with shocking speed. The goose, startled and confused, did not get to the air before its body was broken beneath the weight of the hunter.

Rabbit’s tactics may have been bizarre, but there was no denying his results. Moments later, the broken, bleeding and muddy body of the large fowl was dropped onto Haldir. The Wood Elf gazed at the feathered corpse and wondered if Elrohir was also being subjected to such gifts. But then, he remembered, that the Shaman did not hunt.

Rabbit’s position in the clan was warrior. He hunted for those unable to, as well as providing for his own family. And Haldir had seen his lean and rangy lover drag down and kill some truly impressive beasts. Not long ago, with two members of the clan too pregnant to hunt, the Shaman ill and depressed, and a family to provide for, Rabbit had decided to simply go for the biggest thing he could find.

He found a wild bull in the woods, a thousand pounds of muscle, horn, and hair. He could kill it, but he knew he couldn’t carry it. So he frightened the massive creature to make it stampede towards Imladris. For miles he chased and tormented the beast, finally getting it to where he wanted it: near the kitchen tent.

There was a mass exodus of Dwarfs, Halflings, and Elves in all directions as the gigantic hairy monster stampeded towards the structure, angry and bent on destruction. Before any could draw weapons to slay the bull, however, Rabbit circled around and lunged at the creature, catching it by the horns, twisting its head and sending it crashing to the ground. It rolled over and over, finally crashing to a halt mere feet from the tent, dead, its neck broken. For a long still moment, no one moved, and the dust settled. Then Rabbit slowly got up, and shook the dust from himself. A little dazed, he looked about, then made his way to a place a few feet away to sit.

Sam was the first to find his voice. “What did you think you were doing? You could have been killed! You didn’t even have so much as a knife!”

Rabbit settled himself, and stared down the Halfling. “Bad hunters use weapons,” he said, a touch of ice in his voice.

The crowd surrounding the mess slowly backed away from Rabbit, while the Plains Elf found his composure. Finally he got to his feet, walked over to the tent and found himself a cleaver. Then he began cleaning and quartering the bull.

Haldir had not seen the kill, but he had seen the results. Nobody in Imladris was calling Rabbit ‘Orc’ anymore. No one wanted to argue with an Elf who could kill a wild bull by himself and without weapons.

Haldir picked up the goose and looked at it. He was about to say something when Rabbit pounced on him, and kissed him. Nothing like a successful hunt to get the blood flowing. Haldir felt Rabbit’s broad, strong hands stroke over his face, his throat, then down over his chest. He kissed him again, then nibbled his lips. Haldir set the goose aside and slid his hands down Rabbit’s lean, muscled body, drawing him down against his chest and stroking his hands through the heavy black hair.

“YUCK! They’re not just kissing in the cave they’re doing it out here too! With a dead animal!”

Haldir sighed heavily. “Meril, can you please go back to the cave for a while?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Do I hafta? Nana and Ada went for a walk and Stripey and What’shisname are being mooshy.”

Rabbit raised his head and growled at the child. Meril rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go look at the fighting knives in the armory then.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Saelwen. He stepped out of the trees and picked his son up under one arm. “Honestly, Meril, what am I to do with you?”

Rabbit and Haldir watched Saelwen and Meril depart, then Haldir slid his hand over Rabbit’s lean body.

“I do hope none of our children turn out like him.”

Rabbit smiled, then kissed Haldir. “No child fathered by you could be so badly behaved.” He stretched out beside him, kissing him once more.

***---***

Amaris walked quietly into the room that had once been Ilinuil’s jail cell. It was now his private chamber, painted in colours the beautiful Elf loved, and filled with flowers. It also contained numerous gifts from countless suitors. Amaris tried to tell himself that Ilinuil would not choose one of them over him, but he was not as certain of this as he pretended. Gaelemir’s departure had been an invitation for over half of the encampment to begin courting the ‘Silmaril of Imladris’. Gifts included baskets of crayfish, beautifully crafted Dwarven jewelry, Elven poetry, a black colt from one of the mortal merchants who did business in Rivendell, and an elegantly crafted Halfling pipe. From which Halfling, no one knew. And none of the Halflings were saying.

Ilinuil looked up and smiled as Amaris came in, and the Elf felt a rush of relief to see him on his feet. For the last few days he had been listless, and his light had been a dull grey; a sure sign an Elf is not well. His delight quickly turned to annoyance at the sight of the large, elaborate, and gracefully elegant platinum and blue diamond collar Ilinuil wore.

“I do wish this rabble would leave you alone!” said Amaris.

Ilinuil smiled, and turned his attention to the tame finch that sat on his hand, another gift, and the only one that truly seemed to delight him. Some fool had gone to a great deal of effort to teach it to whistle ‘The Lay of Lúthien’, which it would trill periodically with varying degrees of success. More often than not it would repeat the first bar over and over. It was perhaps the only songbird ever to be in danger of being deep-fried alive by an Elf.

“I rather enjoy it,” said Ilinuil softly. “Never before have I been the recipient of such attention.”

If Amaris had been familiar with Greek history, he would have suggested Ilinuil change his name to ‘Penelope’. “And how am I, a mere former King returned from the Halls of Mandos, expected to compete with such treasure? Look at this. Mithril goblets, daggers from Noldo, I should not be surprised to find a Silmaril in this mess.”

“It’s in the jewelry box,” said Ilinuil softly. Amaris looked at him in shock, then narrowed his eyes as he noticed Ilinuil smiling shyly.

“You’re a naughty Elf.”

Ilinuil laughed quietly, and Amaris walked over to him, reaching out to touch one perfect cheek, brushing his fingers along the velvet skin. “You were so ill this morning, I was afraid to leave you. I am glad to see you better.”

“I decided Gaelemir was not worth dying over,” said Ilinuil quietly. “My heart is broken, and my spirit is sorely hurt. But it is hard to fade away in peace when there is a stream of gifts to one’s door.”

There was a knock at the door. Amaris turned and stalked towards it, pulling it open. It was Orophin, looking harried and out of sorts, his arms laden with gifts. He carried them over to the bed and set them down, then looked at Ilinuil.

“You may wish to open the large one first. I am not certain what it contains, but it urinated on me.” Then he turned and departed, muttering, slamming the door behind himself.

Amaris threw his arms up into the air. “I surrender! How can any Elf stand alone against such odds?!”

Ilinuil sorted through the gifts, finding the largest. He unwrapped it, and drew out a black wolf puppy. He wrapped the damp little beast in a towel and held it against his chest. “I rather thought the finest gifts came from you.”

Amaris looked at Ilinuil. “From me? Ilinuil I have brought you nothing, other than my wit, good looks and charm.”

Ilinuil walked over to Amaris, then leaned forward and gently kissed him. “You gave me two; your friendship, and your support. I admit I do not yet have the strength to love another, but I hope that when I do, you are still here beside me.”

Amaris reached out to touch the long silver hair, feeling the coolness of it. “I shall build you a fire,” he said softly.

The beautiful Elf smiled at him. “Of that I have no doubt.” Carefully he made his way back to the bed, sitting down on it and pulling the covers up once more. He set the puppy down on the quilts, then settled back against the pillows, looking frail and weary. Amaris built up the fire, then seated himself beside Ilinuil. He reached out and took his hand.

“Are you quite all right, Ilinuil?”

“I fine Amaris, just weary. Lie beside me, please?”

Amaris smiled. He stretched out on the bed beside Ilinuil, drawing him down against his chest. “Rest,” he said softly. “I will be here when you awake.”

***---***

Gimli was in the stable loft, searching for his chisel, when Legolas came inside. Elf and Dwarf looked at each other, and Gimli sighed. He sat down on the pallet bed, and held his arms out. The slender Elf moved into his embrace, resting against Gimli’s sturdy body.

“Ada is here,” said Legolas.

Gimli shook his head and sighed. “And he’s gone and upset you again.”

Legolas looked up at him, eyes wet. He sniffed. “I gave him heart failure again.”

Gimli pulled him close, resting the side of his face against Legolas’ head. “He’ll be all right, laddie, he’s tough. I don’t think you could kill him if you ran him over with an Oliphant.”

“I do not understand him! Am I really doing anything so terrible? Other Elves have male lovers of different races. Mortal, half-Elven. Even an Orc!”

Gimli stroked his hand over the soft pale gold hair. “Yes but none of those Elves are his child.”

“I believe he has indicated he no longer wishes for me to be his child. I think that denies him the right to have a heart attack.”

“He’s king, he’ll have one if he wants.”

Legolas smiled briefly, then stoked his hand down Gimli’s strong arm, feeling the heavy muscles. “Lord Elrond says he will be fine.”

“Good,” said Gimli softly. “He’s a tough old Elf.” He touched Legolas’ face. “Like his son.”

Legolas smiled, then leaned forward and kissed him, stroking his hand over Gimli’s broad collarbone. He snuggled close to him, listening to the beating of the Dwarf’s heart, enjoying the feel of his large hands on his slight frame. He raised his head and looked into his lover’s eyes, then kissed him, melting against him.

“I would be nothing without you,” said Legolas softly.

Gimli cast a glance around to make certain they were truly alone in the loft, then reached out one hand to flip the latch closed on the hatch. Then he held Legolas closer, kissing him, relishing the feel of the Elf in his arms. There had been other lovers in his life, female ones, and they had all been important to him. One he had even planned to marry. But she had found someone she loved more, and Gimli had once again found himself alone.

Males of any race had never attracted his attention, and Legolas at first had been no different. Even had he been a female Elf, it was doubtful Gimli would have looked twice at him. The slight body, the fine gold hair, the fair white skin with no hint of beard or body hair were hardly to his taste. Gimli was a lover of the stout Dwarven physique. But his love for this Elf was not physical. It had grown out of something far more intense. It had emerged from a spiritual intensity, a meeting of minds and hearts. Even the first time they held each other, it had not been a physical reaction he had felt, it had been something in his heart and soul that told him this was the person he would spend his life with.

Their first time making love had been clumsy, more of a comedy of errors than an expression of passion. Gimli was half Legolas’ height, twice his width, and had never been with a male. It was a rough, clumsy, and brief coupling, and afterwards Gimli doubted Legolas would ever let him have him again. But, as the Elf pointed out later, practice made perfect. And they had a lot of time to practice.

Gimli gently took the Elf’s fine face between his hands, kissing him slowly, tracing his calloused fingertips over the high cheekbones, then up over the pointed ears. He was so warm, as though he had been lying in the summer sun. It had made Gimli nervous at first until he learned Legolas wasn’t running a fever, it was simply the way Elves were. The time to worry was not when Elves felt hot, it was when they were cold.

He trailed his fingers through the soft hair, then down over the fine throat, feeling his pulse. Gimli found the collar of Legolas’ tunic and slowly untied the leather string holding it closed. He pushed the garment open to expose the white throat, then lowered his head to kiss it, his hands straying to the cord around Legolas’ small waist. He untied it, slipping it from his middle and setting it aside. Then he slid his hands under the rough cotton garment, gathering the fabric and pulling it up over Legolas’ head, removing it and setting it aside before gently pulling him close once more and kissing him.

He felt Legolas open his belt and remove it, next opening his tunic and sliding it off. Then he pushed back from Gimli to remove his own shirt as well as the Dwarf’s. There was a glint in his clear blue eyes as he reached for the front of Gimli’s breeches. He opened them, his warm slender hand reaching inside to draw out the large, partly-erect penis. He kissed Gimli, parting his lips, their tongues meeting. Then he slid down to the bed, resting one hand on the Dwarf’s powerful thigh, lowering his head to take the penis into his mouth.

Gimli groaned with pleasure, letting his head fall back to the hay bale they used as the headboard for their bed. He tangled his hands into Legolas’ soft hair, stroking it as he felt himself taken into the hot wet mouth, felt the tongue stroke over it like damp velvet. Then Legolas slowly pulled back, his breath cooling the thin heated skin of the penis before finally taking it back into his mouth.

“Tease,” said Gimli softly. Legolas laughed quietly.

“If I really wanted to drive you mad I would leave.

“Please don’t.”

Legolas trailed his lips over the head of the penis. “I won’t,” he said, and swallowed the hard shaft once more.

After a time, Gimli raised him up, then gently laid him down on the bed. Legolas moved compliantly, permitting Gimli to finish undressing him, then draping his arms around his neck as the Dwarf moved over top of him. They kissed languidly, touching each other, hands stroking over flesh. The inside of the loft was quiet, lit only by stray beams of light sneaking between the closed shutters. From outside could be faintly heard the sounds of life within the encampment, but in the loft, there was only their mingled breathing and the rustle of fabric.

Gimli kissed the soft, parted lips, then the long, fair throat. Gimli had long ago learned Legolas did not care to be nipped, but couldn’t resist one gentle bite on the side of the neck, teeth barely closing on soft flesh. He felt the Elf tense ever so slightly, and he relented, kissing his neck and moving further down to kiss his collar bone, then draw a line with his tongue down his breastbone.

Legolas squirmed, then cried out as he felt lips close over one nipple. He drew his long legs up, linking them around Gimli’s broad back. He gasped quietly as he felt a large calloused hand reach down to touch him, slowly exploring the hot flesh between his buttocks. A finger gently penetrated him, and he arched his body upwards, his breathing ragged. It withdrew, and he made a small, frustrated sound. It slid in again, and he growled.

“Now who’s teasing?”

Gimli looked up at him. “Shall I leave?”

“No!”

He laughed, then bent to kiss Legolas’ chest, his long coarse hair trailing over the Elf’s body as he closed his lips over the other nipple. He slowly withdrew his finger once more, then adjusted himself. Then Legolas felt something much larger than a finger press against him. The first time Legolas had seen Gimli’s erect penis his first thought was that it would simply never fit inside him, there was just no way. Trying to make it fit had been part of the reason their first time making love had been not much of a success.

Legolas reached for the pot of lubricant he kept under the pillows. “This would be much easier if you were not hung like a cave troll.”

“Well not much I can do about that.”

Legolas thought it would be a nice change if Gimli would let him get inside of him for a change, but there were some things even a progressively minded Dwarf wouldn’t do. Legolas figured it would take about five hundred years to argue him into it. He passed him the lubricant.

“When do I get inside of you?”

“Demanding little minx, aren’t you?”

“Demanding? Me?”

Gimli kissed his throat, then slowly stroked the scented oil between Legolas’ buttocks, carefully working it inside of him. Then he once again pushed his huge penis against him.

“Demanding. You.”

“Elves do not demand. We are perfect.”

“Perfectly annoying. You and I are the only couple on Arda who can fuck and argue at the same time.”

“Nonsense, I am quite certain Master Erestor and Lord Glorfindel have mastered that skill as well.”

Gimli laughed, and kissed the Elf firmly. Then he was inside of him, and the banter stopped. Legolas flinched and gasped, and Gimli froze.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“Save for this thing coming up the back of my throat, fine.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. “It’s not that big.”

“For a horse it is not that big.”

Gimli kissed his nose. “I love you, no matter how much you complain.”

Legolas laughed, then relaxed against the soft quilts, his eyes closing. He parted his lips as he tangled his fingers into Gimli’s heavy coarse hair. “I love you too.”

They made love in the loft with a slow intensity, their bodies locked together. Gimli nuzzled the Elf’s warm skin, wondering if Legolas had any idea of the things that went through his mind when they were joined. There was the pure physical sensation of being inside him, but there were other feelings too, other emotions. Foremost was a conversation he and Aragorn had a long time ago, back when Gimli had been asking casual questions about Elves. The Ranger told him that Elves who were violated often died, and now whenever Gimli penetrated Legolas there was always a fear in the back of his mind he may somehow harm him without intending it. Following close behind it was an overwhelming feeling of love that a creature so fragile would trust him enough to let him make love to him. Then there was a simple joyousness at being with someone he loved so much. Often he wanted to say something to Legolas, but the words never came. He was a warrior, not a poet. Instead he tried to express what he felt by being as careful and gentle with the Elf as possible.

He moved inside of him, then paused as he felt the Elf uncoil himself from around his stocky body. Legolas pushed him onto his back and straddled him, managing to keep Gimli inside of him. Gimli grabbed a pillow to put under his own head, then lay back, his hands resting on the Elf’s slim hips, watching him as his skin shone with sweat, his hair clinging to his damp body. He was so beautiful Gimli almost couldn’t breathe.

He clasped one hand around Legolas’ hard penis, and was pleased with his reaction as he threw his head back, drawing in a rough gasp of air. He said something in Elvish, of which Gimli only caught part. He tightened his hand around the stiff shaft, then grit his teeth as he felt Legolas’ fingers dig into his flesh. Pity the Elf didn’t worry as much about hurting the Dwarf.

Legolas flung his head back and said something else Gimli didn’t understand. The penis he was clasping pulsed in his hand, and he felt the hot semen spill across his broad knuckles. Legolas gasped, then seemed to wilt against him, breathing hard. He kissed Gimli, panting, then opened his blue eyes and gazed down at him. The light within them was almost fevered, and he grinned, cheeks flushed. He spoke to him softly in Elvish, then rose up again, bracing himself with his hands against Gimli’s broad chest as he began moving himself up and down the large penis inside of him. Gimli closed his eyes and just let the Elf take control, his large hands resting on his hips.

He felt the intensity rise higher and higher, until suddenly he tipped Legolas onto his back once more, grabbing hold of him and thrusting himself into him roughly. Legolas wrapped himself around Gimli, embracing him tightly as his lover thrust into him repeatedly. Then Gimli said something in Dwarfish and clutched him hard, shoving into him forcefully. Legolas made a startled sound, which his lover did not seem to hear, and felt the huge member inside of himself throb as it spilled fluid within him.

For a long moment neither moved, their sweat-gleaming bodies locked together. Then Gimli released a long exhalation of breath, and slowly the pair began to untwine. Gimli drew himself out of Legolas, then held the Elf against his chest and pulled the covers over the both of them. He kissed his damp brow, then smoothed back his long hair.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’a lost control like that. Are you all right?”

Legolas snuggled close, warm and content. “Gimli I am not glass, I will not break.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t stand it if I hurt you.”

Legolas raised his head and gave him a puzzled look. “I am not hurt. I rather like it when you get a little rough.”

Gimli breathed a sigh of relief and hugged the Elf. “I’m never quite sure when I have gone too far with you.” He kissed him, then fussed over him, making certain he was wrapped securely in the quilt. “You’re all right?”

“Gimli, I am fine. Really.” He kissed his lips, then lay his head on his large chest. “As long as I am with you, I am fine.”

Gimli held him close, then closed his eyes. “Same here,” he said quietly.

Together that lay in the loft, saying nothing, taking comfort in each other’s close presence as the summer day wore on unheeded.

***---***

“It’s snowing,” said Lindir.

Feronil raised his head, pen poised in one hand, a dark strand of hair falling over his face as he looked out the window of the newly-built library. A slight frown crossed his face.

“Bit early for snow, what day is it?”

Lindir looked at the calendar. “September the fourteenth.”

“Very early,” remarked Feronil. “I should hate a repeat performance of last year. Lindir, are you quite done digging through the sheet music yet?”

Lindir opened a trunk and began leafing through its contents. “I can’t find the song Faramir asked me for!”

“Well ask him to hum a few bars and you can fake it. Why do you have to rummage when I am working?”

Lindir stuck his tongue out at him. Feronil sighed.

“Very good Lindir, very mature. Next I suppose I can look forward to you stamping your foot and hitting me with your dolly.”

“She’s a goose.”

“So pluck her and roast her. I have to balance these books.”

Lindir pulled out a handful of sheet music. Slamming the lid of the trunk, he stood up and glared at Feronil. “You’re a nasty Elf.”

“Thank you, I work hard at it.” He made a shooing motion with one hand. He heard Lindir storm out of the room, then glanced once more towards the window. His brow furrowed in concern.

Definitely too early for snow.

***---***

The snow fell, and it fell hard, pouring down from the sky. The temperature dropped, and night came early. Fires were lit in the newly-built hearths, and Imladris huddled quietly in its white blanket. The great house was mostly finished, but there was still much work to do. It seemed, however, it would have to wait for now.

Erestor shelled crayfish and ate them, watching the white flakes fall. Nearby Estorel played, while Fin napped on the couch. Across the room, Ecthelion read, waiting for Ithilian to finish his day’s work at his forge.

Erestor finished his crayfish, then picked up another, listlessly shelling it. It had been nine weeks since he had drunk half of Rabbit’s potion, and he had been hoping against hope that the night of passion that had ensued afterwards had not had any adverse results. However he was getting a sense of deja-vu as he picked at the shell-fish. He had been listless, irritable, and tired, and lately he had felt something that could only be described as a stirring or fluttering inside. There was no denying it any longer. He was pregnant.

He glanced over at Fin, fighting an urge to bounce a crayfish tail off of his head. However there was no one to blame for this mess but himself, a fact that did not improve his humour. He ate his crayfish, then picked up another, slowly shelling it.

“Fin…”

“Yes darling?”

“Have you thought about whether we should have another child?”

“Not a lot, no. You were rather ill the last time, I’m not sure I like the idea of putting you through that again. Besides, Estorel is only nine months old, bit young for us to be planning another.”

Erestor caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Ecthelion looked up, scrutinizing Erestor shrewdly. The advisor curled his lip slightly. Fin may be a bit thick at times, but very little got by Ecthelion. In fact the bastard had told him four weeks ago he was pregnant, while Erestor was still in complete denial. The advisor noticed a slight victorious smile on the warrior’s face, and Erestor gave into his urge and bounced a crayfish off of his head. Ecthelion picked it out of his black hair and ate it, shell and all.

Erestor drew a breath and said; “How do you feel about an unplanned child?”

Fin thought about that, then said; “Darling what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m telling you I’m not going to let you paint the nursery pink this time either.”

Fin thought about that. “Can’t we at least compromise? A nice rose, maybe.”

Erestor looked at Fin, then once more directed his gaze to Ecthelion. “You told him.”

“Well someone had to.”

“You… FINK! You sneaking rotten FINK!”

“My my look at the time! I think I’ll go help Ithilian close shop.”

Ecthelion dodged out of the cottage in a shower of crayfish shells. Once he was gone, Erestor turned to face Glorfindel.

“When did he tell you?”

“About four weeks ago.”

“And how did he know?”

“I don’t know, he’s always been sharp. The fact that you have been moody, irritable and depressed may have something to do with it.”

Erestor sat down beside his husband, then sank against him with a small despairing sound. “I’m going to have a baby and a toddler. Fin, I don’t know what to do….”

Fin put his arms around him. “It will be all right darling, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. And we’ve got Rosie and Sam, and ‘Thel will certainly be willing to lend a hand.” He put his fingers under Erestor’s chin to gently tip his face towards him. He kissed him. “And Lord Elrond even said he will let you use your own bed to give birth this time instead of the floor of the Great Hall.”

“Does everyone know?”

“No I think there are still some folk in the next town who have not heard.”

“Cretin.” He kissed Fin, then smiled at him, trailing his fingers over his soft hair. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Must have been something truly awful.” He pulled Erestor closer so he could kiss him a little more passionately.

A blue pony suddenly bounced off of his head. Glorfindel sighed. “Of course we could always put the both of them up for adoption…”

***---***

Haldir paused, listening. Beside him Orophin, Amrun and Saelwen paused as well, their sensitive Elven ears trying to rediscover the sound they had heard. Finally it came to them, almost obscured by the rising wind: a woman shouting something in halting Elvish.

“Is that Anna, the apple-woman?” asked Amrun.

“Certainly sounds like her,” said Haldir. The three Elves turned their horses towards the sound and rode quickly through the falling snow.

They emerged from the trees to find Anna, her face streaked with soot, her hair wild, her dress torn. She was clutching Polly’s hand, and the little Elf-child was openly crying. Haldir swung down from his horse.

“Anna, what has happened to you?”

She threw her arms around his neck, plainly distressed. It was some minutes before she was calm enough to speak. Amrun picked up Polly and set her on his large grey horse.

“Was it Orcs?” he asked.

Anna shook her head. “It was men! Five of them. How folk can treat their own in such a manner I do not know. You Elves don’t do such things!”

“What happened?” asked Haldir.

Anna stepped back and dried her eyes, plainly angry as well as upset. “We were settling down for supper, Polly and I, when they came begging at the door. I was going to give them some food and let them sleep in the barn but they seem to have wanted more than that. They attacked me. I managed to get free and Polly and I fled out here. Right now they are looting and burning my house. Bastards! If I could use a sword I’d have killed the bunch of them!”

“Amrun will take you and Polly to the house,” said Haldir. “Orophin and I will go take care of these bandits.”

She nodded, watching as Haldir got back onto his horse. The Elves began riding towards her house, and as she gazed after them, she saw several other white and green clad Elves on horseback emerge from the woods and follow after them.

Anna turned towards Amrun, feeling embarrassed and humiliated at her state, as well as angry. She let the Elf help her onto his horse, then sat as they made their way back to Imladris.

“Bastards,” she muttered again, forgetting Elves had very sharp hearing.

“Perhaps,” said Amrun, “You should consider moving closer to the valley.”

“I can’t,” she said, “my mother lives in the village, I cannot leave her alone.”

Amrun looked at her with clear green eyes. “Bring her along.”

She laughed. “Surely you jest, have you met my mother? T’would be but a day and she would be rearranging the gardens and trying to convince Lord Elrond to marry me.”

He smiled. “We have Mauburz to keep her in line.”

“I would not frighten a helpless gentle Orc with my mother.” She looked over her shoulder towards the distant plume of smoke that had been her home. “She’ll be mad with worry.”

“After we get you and Polly settled in the house I shall ride out and tell her you are safe.”

She nodded. “Thank you Amrun, that’s very kind of you.”

Amrun led Anna and Polly to the great house, bringing them inside and finding them quarters. He was just about to ride out, when Haldir and the other Elves returned. Haldir made his way to Anna’s quarters, carrying her small dog, who had been injured, and followed by an elderly woman who kept up a steady stream of comments at the Elves who assisted her.

“Hands off, you skinny brute! Go molest a tree or wrestle with a chipmunk for nuts or whatever it is you wild things do. Where’s my daughter?”

The Elves were more than happy to turn the old woman over to her daughter. While Anna and her mother cried on one another, Haldir led Amrun aside.

“The men were dead when we arrived,” said Haldir.

“Who did it?” asked Amrun. “Men from the village?”

“I do not think so,” said Haldir. “We found no tracks other than those of the five mortals. They had been shot with arrows, but I do not recognize them, do you?”

Amrun took the long, white arrow, fletched with white feathers, and tipped with a strange white metal. “I have not seen these before, in Lórien, Mirkwood, or Imladris. But I am a young Elf, perhaps Glorfindel or Ecthelion could tell you from whence this came.”

Haldir nodded. “Then let us go ask.”