The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Five

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: Gimli holds vigil, Frost and Elrohir come to an understanding, Syrdanna receives a gift, Thranduil learns a lesson, and Lindir grows up a tiny bit more.
Notes: This chapter has an accompanying illustration of Glorfindel on Syrdanna the Dragon coming to aid Erestor, drawn by Sildil.

Gimli sat beside the bed, holding the Elf’s small hand, watching him. Legolas’ eyes stared, half-lidded, at nothing. His lips were parted, and a faint trace of blood could still be seen around the split running through them. His face was heavily bruised; indeed he was hardly recognizable. Much of his body was covered in livid marks, and casts and bandages. The pale gold hair was matted with the blood that slowly oozed from his head wound, and the pillow was speckled and smeared with red.

Not far from the two, Glóin sat, smoking his pipe near the hearth, his booted feet on a stool. He had serious doubts that the Elf would live, as did Elrond it seemed. But he wished him well, and fervently prayed nightly to both the Valar for his recovery. He did not know how the Valar felt about this, but hoped that the idea of a Dwarf praying to them for the life of an Elf would amuse them enough to intervene.

There came a knock at the door, and Glóin rose to answer it. He was surprised at who he saw.

“King Thranduil. What brings you to a home of Dwarf-Kind?”

Thranduil stared down his nose at the hairy obstinate little wart. “I wished to look in on my son.”

“Ohhhhhhhh….. now he’s YOUR son, is he?”

Thranduil was shocked and surprised as Glóin shoved him back into the hallway, then followed after him, quietly closing the door behind himself. He turned to face the King of Mirkwood, poking him in the lower abdomen with his pipe stem.

“So why all of a sudden is he YOUR son again? Because ye cannae live with the guilt if he dies? Why is it folk always have to be hit over the head with tragedy before they wake up? Well that boy in there has done nothing but grieve for you since you tossed him aside, in fact he nearly died of the heartbreak. And what will ye do when he gets well? Toss him over again? A body can’t reclaim what he’s thrown aside from one who claimed it after. He’s MY son now, thank ye very much, and I intends to keep him! So why don’t ye be a good little pointy-ear, and go play with your spiders or run up a tree or teach a bush to dance. And don’t be bothering MY family no more!”

Glóin retreated into the room once more, bolting the door after himself to make certain Thranduil got the hint. Quietly, Thranduil turned away and made his way down to the kitchen.

Veet and Liritar arrived just in time to see their father striding down the hall, away from them. They watched him depart, then tapped quietly at the door. It was quickly yanked open by Glóin, his beard and eyebrows bristling, but the glare turned to a smile as he saw the pair. He motioned them inside, then shut the door softly as the two made their way with Elven silence to the bed.

Veet seated herself in a chair, and Liritar sat on the bed, then reached out one lace-gloved hand to touch Legolas’ hair. She spoke softly to him in Elvish, but he didn’t react. Glóin came to stand beside them.

“He’s not moved at all,” the old Dwarf said.

Veet leaned forward and spoke softly to her brother. “Legolas, if you fade, and make poor Gimli and Khazad-Ada cry, I shall do my utmost to see you are buried in my chartreuse evening gown. And that’s with the hideous tiara that goes with it.”

Glóin laughed despite himself, then leaned close to the Elf. “There now, are you going to take that, laddie? You still have to get them back for the pink ribbons and face paint they put on you.”

Gimli smiled, though his eyes were wet, and the grief and strain plainly showed on his face. He gave the small hand in his a light squeeze. “Aye, the gown, the tiara, and a big pair of muddy Dwarf boots to make the whole thing complete.”

Legolas drew a slight gasp, and his head moved a little towards the sound of Gimli’s voice. However the movement was so small they began to doubt they had truly seen it. Gimli leaned closer, and said softly; “Legolas?”

The pale bloodied lips parted. “No chartreuse,” he said, his voice a distant whisper. Then he was silent once more.

***---***

Thranduil smiled slightly as he heard Mauburz within the kitchen, up to her chin in Elflings, Dwarflings, and Manlings.

“Polly! You no throw peas at Meril!”

“He started it!”

“No reason for you to act bad too. Take Ireth-Kitty off table. Kitty eat fish just fine on floor. Grace you take carrot out of nose. Next time you do that me make you eat it, slimy end first. Roin, you and Frar and Fror finish soup. Messy messy messy! Like feeding time for wargs in here. Me wish stoopid cousin Irving the Haggler here; he like eating floor scraps. Enough here to do him for two meals.”

Thranduil stepped into the kitchen, and surveyed the small crowd of children, tended by their formidable guardian. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

“It would seem every child in Imladris is here.”

“One short,” growled the Orc. She set Balin in a high chair and gave him a cookie. “Too many wounded, too many in no shape look after own babies. Mauburz no mind.” She looked at Thranduil. “What bring you here?”

“I just came in for some tea.”

“Oh good idea.” She slumped heavily into a chair, and was promptly landed on by two crows, a cat and a child. “Tea in that cupboard. Make Mauburz cup too.”

Thranduil crossed his arms. “I am king, you know.”

“Me hear rumor to that effect. Put milk in mine.”

Thranduil sighed and went to the cupboard to find the tea. Then he filled a kettle with cold water and set it on to boil. As there was no place to sit, he leaned against a counter and watched the huge Orc and her small charges. He was distracted by Haldir coming in with Bramble. He looked haggard with concern, and the child did not look much better.

“Mauburz can you look after Bramble a little while?” He looked around at the collection of children, and a vague smile crossed his face. “If you have room?”

“Me clear spot on counter.”

“Thank you.” He passed her the child, then knelt down to look into Bramble’s eyes. “I will be right back.”

She nodded, saying nothing. Then he turned and left the kitchen. On impulse, Thranduil followed after him.

“Galadhel!”

Haldir turned to face Thranduil, then bowed respectfully. “Forgive me your majesty, I did not see you.”

“You are forgiven. We all have much on our minds. Tell me, what will happen now?”

“Lord Elrond has decreed we are to follow after the Buyer. He intends to farspeak with the Lady of Light and see if she can offer any insight as to where they may be.”

Thranduil nodded. “Let me know when you intend to ride out. I have much to avenge as well. My son and I may be having our own trials, but I cannot let his hurt go unanswered.”

Haldir nodded. “Yes your majesty.”

Thranduil watched Haldir depart, then returned to the kitchen to wait for the kettle to boil.

***---***

Elrohir wondered why he could not see out of both eyes at once as he lay in his bed. He had a massive headache, and he had a hard time focusing. The room was lost in a blur, and it was a few moments before he could sort one thing from another. At last, he saw before him Elladan, Frost, and Elrond.

“My face hurts,” he stated. Half of his face was black, and one eye was swollen shut.

Elladan crossed his arms. “It hurts me too.”

Elrond gave his son The Eyebrow, but could not hide a slight smile. He turned to Elrohir. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick. And sore.” He looked at Frost and smiled, reaching out to take his large hand. “What happened?”

Frost quietly told him of the attack, and of the outcome; that several were missing.

“Master Erestor? Gone? AND little Estorel? And Rabbit? But we cannot abandon them!”

“We will not,” said Elrond. “We have every intention of going after them. We will not leave our folk to torment and death. But we must find them first, and you must rest.”

Elrohir looked at Frost. “Will you go also? They tried to take you as well, you are in danger.”

“They have proven they will get me no matter where I hide if they so choose. I have lost my Aie to this creature, I do not want to lose my Sia to it as well.”

Elladan smiled at his brother. “You will have me to look after you.”

“Oh jolly, and who will look after you when you fall down the stairs?” He looked at Frost once more. “I do not wish you to go, but I see how this is important to you. I would do nothing less were it my mother. But I am so very worried…”

“We are all worried, aia-nen. But I cannot hide anymore. I have fled this creature for far too long. Time now to end things.”

“And what if the end is yours?”

“I will return to you, aia-nen, even if not in this form.”

Elrohir slowly pushed himself into a seated position, closing his good eye against the thudding pain in his head. “I want you in this form.”

“I’m rather fond of it myself. But I will be back.”

“I want you warm and alive, and here. And what of the other matter?”

Frost cut him off. “There is no proof of that.”

Elrond snapped his gaze to Frost. “You are pregnant?”

“I may be. I do not know.”

Elrohir sank back to the pillows. “He is, he told me he was, that he knew.”

“Frost you cannot go if…”

Frost rose up, large and blazing with wrath. “I have been locked in the clutches of these creatures, and there are none who shall tell me to stay behind when my own mother is trapped once more in that darkness, his worst nightmares come to pass. Do NOT mistake me for some brood-mare, or a mere teller of ancient tales, an amusing if rather quaint version of a Wood-Elf. I have fought against things you have yet to dream of, and I will NOT hide in safety when my people need me most.”

Elladan leapt back from the large white Elf. Elrond himself moved back, though slower and with more dignity. He was startled however to see Elrohir get up and stand on the bed, facing down his much larger lover. Elrond moved over to Elladan and put a comforting arm around his son.

“And why does my thought on this matter count for nothing? This is MY child as well! I was not ready and you demanded it of me, now you mean to throw it as well as me aside!”

“I am not throwing you aside!”

“You refuse to consider my desires, that is the same is it not?”

“Do not confuse your fears with the real danger my mother is in! And do not put such ultimatums on me, little one, not when what is left of my family is being threatened, for you will NOT like the answer!”

“And what of MY family? That is what we are, is it not? You my bonded love, carrying my child. Or am I still your charming pupil, granted extra privileges by my tutor?”

Elrond held Elladan a little more tightly, watching. The Plains-Elf could smash his son like so much dried kindling if he chose. However after a brief time, Frost seemed to sag as the anger left him.

“I understand,” he said softly. “We are both in the same position, I see that now. Forgive me, Elrohir. My fear was ruling my thoughts. And Sia would not want me to endanger my own child on his behalf.”

“Then you will stay?”

Frost stared at Elrohir, his eyes alive with agony and uncertainty. “I will. But my heart dislikes this choice, though I doubt it would have preferred the other.”

Elrohir wrapped his arms around Frost’s powerful neck and sagged against him. “I know. There is no good choice for you in this matter. But I am glad you chose to stay.”

Frost smiled slightly. “You may yet come to regret that. You did vow to wait on me hand and foot, and take over my duties.”

“Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Elrohir’s head began to pound, and his stomach rolled unpleasantly. “I hope... they can wait a few days…”

Frost helped Elrohir to lay down once more, then gently covered him. “I will wait on you a while, until you are better.”

***---***

Thranduil sought out his brother, finally locating him in the garden. Snow was settled upon the stone bench, and the sleeping shrubs, shrouding all in a winter blanket. At first he thought Amaris to be alone, but then he saw Ilinuil as well, with his wolf puppy. Thranduil forced himself not to stare at the unearthly beauty of the Elf, and turned his gaze instead to his brother.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” he said.

“I am certain that is true, however you are naturally disturbing.”

Thranduil sighed. He did not wish to bandy insults. “I am sorry, I will take my self elsewhere.”

He turned, and began trudging back to the house. Amaris glanced at Ilinuil, who motioned for him to follow his brother. Amaris nodded, and went after Thranduil.

“Thranduil, come back. I apologize. It’s not about Legolas, is it? He is not…?”

Thranduil stopped. “I do not know whether he is alive or dead, only that a contemptible old wart of a Dwarf will not let me see him!”

“And is that to be wondered at, after your actions? Thranduil I know what became of your beloved, and how you fear for your children. But this Dwarf is not the first love you have interfered with. What about the pretty shipwright’s apprentice? You set him to flight quick enough, threatening to have him exiled. Then when your son cried for days, what did you tell him? That the rogue had grown bored with his company? And what of that charming young maid in Lothlórien? Tell me, how long did it take you to dig up that disgusting secret regarding her grand-nana to humiliate her with? Did you know that young lady was so mortified she nearly took her own life? And now, after all that, after throwing your son away in an attempt to rip him from the loving embrace of one who adores him above his own life, you come crying to me about not being permitted to see him. Thranduil you should count yourself fortunate that ‘contemptible old wart of a Dwarf’ did not relieve you of your family jewels. The Valar know I have been tempted on occasion!”

“I only wished to spare him from harm!”

“Well then might I suggest you go track down Lindir’s nana and start a family with her, she seems most adept at keeping her children from harm. Of course you must resign yourself to changing nappies for all eternity.”

Thranduil glared at Amaris. “You do not understand.”

“I understand far better than you give me credit. Aerwainiel may have been your wife but she was my friend. And perhaps I have no children of my own but I fear for Legolas, and Veet and Liritar as well. They are my family. But they are grown, and have a right to fall in love with whomever they choose, even if the object of their desire is a hairy smelly newt of a Dwarf.”

Ilinuil stepped up to Amaris, moving with surreal grace. He looked at Thranduil with silver-blue eyes. “Your Majesty may I speak?”

Thranduil stared down the beautiful Elf. Perhaps Elrond saw no evil in this creature, but he was not willing to trust a being with such a mixed heritage. He was also filled with grief and anger, and now vented it on Ilinuil. “No you may not speak. And if you wish to make me happy you can get back on your beast and fly back to Minas Morgul.” Then he turned and began stalking back towards the house. He did not get far before he was grabbed roughly by the shoulder and spun sharply around, then a first met his nose with force enough to knock him off his feet. Thranduil lay sprawled in the snow, blood running from his nose, staring up at Amaris, speechless. Amaris stared down at him with barely controlled wrath.

“It seems you will not be content until you have driven away every single living member of your family. Far be it from me to stand in the way of your desires. But I warn you, one more harsh word to Ilinuil, or Gimli, or any of the children, and I will reclaim the throne and have you declared unfit for rule. Then you may sail away to Valinor and be as alone as you please.”

Amaris reached for Ilinuil, gently taking his hand and leading him back to the house, leaving Thranduil alone. As they left Thranduil’s sight, he put his arm around Ilinuil, drawing him close.

“I am very sorry, my love, VERY sorry. He had no right.”

Ilinuil wiped quickly at one eye. “I only wished to offer him some comfort and insight. My mother tried also to keep me separate from others, to protect me because of what I am. But she at last saw that this was not a wise thing to do; that I could not remain sheltered from all the world.”

Amaris kissed Ilinuil’s face. “You mother was a lady of great wisdom. Forgive Thranduil I pray. He has lost much and grants himself no time for grief or reflection.”

Ilinuil shook his head. “I am not angry at him, his anger hurts only himself.” He smiled at Amaris and gave him a light kiss, his lips warm from his recent fire-bath. “Let us go look in on Legolas, and see how he fares.”

“Yes, I would like that.” He watched as Ilinuil let his hood fall back, and the winter sun turned the delicate gold and crystal beaded headdress he was wearing to white fire.

“Another gift?” he asked dryly.

“Are you unhappy with me?”

“Not with you, though I confess I feel an urge at times to move your quarters to the treasury.”

Ilinuil smiled, then gently kissed Amaris again. “Do not be displeased, I pray. For the first time in my life… I like myself. I feel beautiful. Wanted. Gaelemir always made me feel so horrible. Let me play, please my love?”

Amaris paused before Ilinuil, and took his hands between his own. “I could deny you nothing. But if I find you have fallen for a Halfling, I warn you, I shall howl outside your window every night for the rest of your life.”

Ilinuil grinned. “And ours shall make an unrequited love worthy of the finest bards.”

“I would much prefer a requited love.”

“And children. We shall adopt one of every race.”

“Oh delightful. Shall we begin with a troll or a Hobbit?”

“Oh I have always wanted a Rohirrim of my own.” He leaned forward and softly kissed Amaris, the tip of his tongue just touching his lips. Then Ilinuil drew back. “Let us go see how Legolas is faring.”

Ilinuil linked his arms through Amaris’, and they continued walking. “When do you mean to ride forth to rescue Erestor and the other Elves?”

“We depart tomorrow morning.”

Ilinuil nodded. “I shall ride with you,” he said softly.

***---***

Glorfindel fought to stay awake, but it was not easy. Syrdanna flew effortlessly, silently, the only sound the occasional sail-like whoosh of her wings. The air was cool and refreshing, and the dragon knew where she was going. Finally giving into his exhaustion, he lay between her large wings and fell asleep. Syrdanna kept on towards Lothlórien.

***---***

Rabbit awoke to hell and chaos, and the stench of old evil. He shook his head, then slowly sat up. He felt ill, and the stink did nothing to settle his stomach. Slowly he pushed himself to a seated position, and looked around. Cold terror crept into his heart, and he knew where he was. He could even still see the faint pictograms scratched into the wall centuries ago. They were in the ruins of Barad-dûr.

Rabbit shook his head, then looked around. He was in a small filthy cave, barred by an iron door. Standing by the door was an Elf he thought he knew, though it took him a moment to realize it was Erestor. The advisor was screaming, and it did not take long to figure out why. Estorel was screaming as well, locked into a nearby cell alone.

“Give him back to me!” Erestor screamed, plainly beyond the point of hysteria. Rabbit tried to stand, to go to his aid, but was too ill. He collapsed once more. He heard an Orc laugh.

“Oh, little Elf-mother upset? You’ll be plenty upset when the master gets here.”

“Give him BACK!”

“Why should I?”

The Orc must have drawn too near. Erestor’s arm shot out through the barred window. He grabbed the creature by the hair, and proceeded to slam its face repeatedly into the iron door until it was dead. He tried to search the body for a key, but could not hold onto it. The dead Orc slipped from his grasp. Erestor leaned against the door and cried, while in the adjoining cell Estorel screamed for his mother.

It was a few hours before anyone came, and it was three more Orcs: an Uruk-Hai and two Mordorian Orcs. They laughed at the fate of their comrade. Estorel, who had only recently stopped crying, heard them and started wailing once more. The Uruk-Hai grew angry.

“Why is the whelp locked separately from the dam?”

“We thought it would make better sport!”

There was the sound of a fist striking flesh and bone. “You stupid maggots! These creatures are valuable! The Master has sought them for centuries! If you upset her too much she’ll drop the one she’s carrying, and who do you think will have the pleasure of explaining that to him? Not me! It’ll be you two sewage rats!”

Erestor watched the Uruk-Hai through the bars of his cell as the massive creature walked over to the door. He opened it, and there was Estorel, sitting on the floor, shaking with emotion. He looked up at the huge Orc, and seemed to relax. Much of his brief little life had been spent with a creature who looked surprisingly like this one, and Estorel had no fear of Orcs. He reached his arms out for the creature to pick him up.

Erestor’s throat tightened, and he watched, panic-stricken. The Orc stared down at the very small Elfling, his initial urge to simply toss the little helpless thing into a wall to break his bones and make consumption easier. Instead he bent and picked the Elfling up carefully as he could, then froze, confused, as the baby wrapped his arms around his thick neck. The other two Orcs snickered, and the Uruk-Hai growled at them. Then he carried the Elfling over to Erestor’s cell.

“Back,” he warned.

Erestor backed up, not willing to risk his child’s safety. He watched as the door swung open, and the Orc set the child down inside the cell. Erestor grabbed him up and held him tightly. The Orc closed and locked the cell door and departed, but came back a short time later with a basket of live crayfish. Erestor took it, then said softly to the Orc; “Thank you.”

The Orc growled, and glanced at the child, more puzzled than anything. Then he turned and snarled something at the two Orcs behind him. They ran off to do what they had been told, and the Uruk-Hai once more looked at Erestor.

“Why isn’t he afraid of me? Is he thick?”

Erestor’s hackles went straight up. “He’s not thick, he hasn’t learned to fear. He’s only nine months old!”

The Orc sniffed, his own senses nearly as sharp as Rabbit’s. “I smell Orc on you.”

“Well that is hardly to be marveled at, there is Orc-stink all over this hole!”

The creature snuffled, then growled out a single word. “Mauburz.”

Erestor stared at the Orc in surprise but said nothing. The creature turned and left the cell, locking the door after himself. Drained of strength and emotion, Erestor sank down to the floor, cradling his small son. He smiled wearily as he noticed that, in the vague torchlight filtering in through the narrow barred window, that the child’s hair was indeed turning a fiery red. Glorfindel would have a fit. Why he disliked red hair so much, Erestor did not know, but it seemed he was doomed to have a son who was a red-head.

“Rabbit?”

Rabbit turned his gaze towards Erestor. “I am alive.”

“You look ill.”

“It will pass.” He looked towards the door where the Orc had recently stood. “How did he know the Orc he smelled was Mauburz?”

“Well she was once a great Orc captain, before she decided she liked her Elves alive. He probably knew her once.” Erestor looked down at Estorel, who was asleep. Erestor removed his cloak and wrapped the child in it, then set him down to sleep in peace. He was about to ask Rabbit something, when both were distracted by the sound of two voices. One had the whining nasal tones of a Mordor Orc, the second had a sinister, hissing voice that frightened Erestor.

“What is the count, Graknul?”

There was a rustling of paper. “One full-blood, bred by a Wood-Elf, one half-breed, bred by a Wood-Elf, two full-bloods carrying full-blood children, and two full-bloods ready to breed. Adding the Old One, that makes six full-bloods and one half-breed.”

“I am MOST pleased, Graknul, MOST pleased. Am I to understand you have caught the Old One?”

“Not yet my Lord, but he was spied in the upper levels. I have dispatched a dozen soldiers to capture him.”

“Let me know when he is captured.”

“Yes my Lord.”

They listened as the two departed, then Erestor looked at Rabbit.

“I wonder who is this Old One they speak of? Another Plains-Elf?”

Rabbit shook his head. “So it would seem. I wonder if it is Fade? He is old, and a dangerous opponent. Who else is here, I wonder?”

Rabbit made the howl of inquiry, and was answered before he even finished by four voices; two on either side of them. “Who is here?” asked Rabbit.

“’T is I, Firespark, and Foxfire is with me.”

“Starlight.”

“Mouse.”

Rabbit looked towards the sound of Mouse’s voice. “Mouse!? Why in the name of the Moon’s Light did they take you?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Well congratulations, it only took you 2,314 years to manage that. Did Warrior Moon get tired at last of bearing them for you?”

“I believe his exact words were; “Oh no, not THIS time!” He seemed to think five in five years enough.”

“I agree with him. Now let us find our way out of here.”

Rabbit made his way to the back of the cell, seeking a place where the stone was crumbling. He did not have to look far. The dungeons were in extremely poor condition, and the mortar holding in the bricks was almost like dried mud. Rabbit began picking at the mortar, then tapped the stone.

“Dig towards me. We are stronger together. Once we are united we will see about getting out of here. Do you know if Fade was also caught?”

“No, I do not. But I would not object to his aid.”

“Nor I,” said Rabbit. He stood up, and howled an inquiry. There was no reply. Rabbit howled again, and still heard no answer.

“He must be too far away to hear you,” said Erestor.

“That or he does not wish to give himself away.” He knelt down and began to dig once more.

Far away, deep within a warren of caves and caverns, something lean and wild and ancient stirred, then began heading slowly in the direction of the cry.

***---***

Celeborn opened one eye and stared grumpily at the Elf who had just charged straight into his private quarters. Galadriel rose to her feet and was about to question what made this Elf think he could do this, but the panicking Galadhel simply drew a breath and yelled; “DRAGON!”

Celeborn was up and out the door faster than Galadriel had seen him move in centuries. She was impressed that an Elf so lazy he frequently bleated for someone to roll him over could run at all. Indeed she firmly believed that if Celeborn had to choose between being trampled by an Oliphant or running out of the way, he would choose death. She sighed and followed him at a more refined pace. She had been awaiting this particular dragon for a few hours now.

“Do not shoot!” she called to her archers, and watched as they lowered their bows, albeit nervously. The huge green and gold form above the trees circled lower and lower, then finally spread her wings and dropped slowly, gracefully to the ground. Then she spat out the bit of the makeshift bridle and settled onto the ground like a shimmering green cat. A figure in gold and crystal armor dismounted, and walked over to Galadriel and bowed.

The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had looked better. His white hair was loose and matted in places with blood and other substances. His armor was bloody and scored, and he was plainly exhausted. He held his side, and she suspected he was not without injury.

“I know why you have come,” she said softly.

“Then please, tell me where they are.”

“I will, but not just yet. The dragon is tired. If you care nothing for your own health, have a thought for hers.”

Glorfindel looked over at Syrdanna. Her head was down on the soft earth floor, and her golden eyes were closed. He nodded, though he was plainly not happy at the delay.

“Come,” said Galadriel, “Rest, and eat, and have your injury seen to. Then you may be on your way again.”

Quietly, Glorfindel followed, too exhausted emotionally and physically to argue. He did not notice as Galadriel cast a look over her shoulder at her archers. Abruptly they ran off to comply with their lady’s wishes.

***---***

“OW!!”

“Oh come now, I haven’t even touched you yet!”

“Just practicing.”

Elladan glared at his husband, who was grinning at him. “Little shit,” he muttered, then bent once more to begin cleaning the wound on Orophin’s chest. It was not bad, but the creature that had made the mark had left traces of foul matter in the small wound. The maggot bites were still trying to infect, and were red and angry, as well as bruised, but Elladan did not think it was anything he could not handle. Orophin’s worst injury seemed to be his head wound, but even it was not of any great consequence. Nearby Feronil stood, a look of disgust on his face, holding a large basin full of stinking and pus-covered bandages.

“Such delightful duties I am called to perform,” he muttered.

Orophin looked over at Feronil. “I could wet the bed if it would make you happy.”

“Oh by all means. I am certain Lord Elladan would love to change your nappies, and would delight at the prospect of a husband who required rubber pants. I would be happy to get you some, would you like pink or blue? The pink ones have little ruffles on the fanny.”

“And these would come from your personal undergarment drawer?”

“Actually they are Lindir’s.”

Lindir had been quietly seated on the stone hearth, playing his mandolin. With Glorfindel and Erestor gone, the frightened young Elf had been either with them or Faramir. His bitten right hand was bandaged, and, like Orophin’s injuries, kept threatening to infect. He looked up sharply at Feronil’s remark.

“You’re a nasty Elf!”

“Is it my fault you wet the bed?”

“I DON’T WET THE BED!”

“Well I’m sure Master Faramir will be most relieved to hear that.”

Lindir’s jaw hung as he tried to think of a response, then he flushed red to the points of his ears.

“You’re a nasty Elf,” he muttered.

Elladan sat back and looked down at Orophin. His left hand was bandaged, as was his chest. Both of his eyes were blackened, and he had yet another bandage around his head. Elladan grinned at him.

“You’re beautiful.”

“If you say so, dear.”

“Is it not bad enough I have to hold these rancid bandages, but I must witness your slush as well?”

“You may leave, Feronil.”

“Oh goody.”

Orophin looked over at Lindir. “Lindir perhaps you should go keep Faramir company for a while.”

Lindir looked up, surprised. “But he’s asleep.”

Feronil glanced from Orophin to Lindir, then seemed to catch on. “Come along, Lindir, I need your help in the healing rooms. Lord Elrond has much to do and can use all the help he can get.”

Lindir didn’t look happy about helping in the healing rooms, but he gathered up Miss Goose and his mandolin and followed Feronil out of the room.

“I don’t know what I can do, I don’t know anything about healing,” Lindir grumbled.

Feronil watched Lindir from the corner of his eye. He was tall and slim and beautiful; a real Galadhrim. But the eyes were soft and innocent; a child living in a body that had more than a few Elves beating their heads against rocks, himself among them. Feronil decided to drop his ‘nasty elf’ persona and ask Arda’s oldest Elfling a direct question.

“Lindir, why haven’t you grown up?”

Lindir pulled up short, as though he had struck a wall. He looked at Feronil with wide eyes, his face a mask of utter shock. Feronil paused and stood facing him, still holding the basin. It took Lindir a long time to answer, and when he did, it was a bare whisper.

“I don’t know how. Nana never wanted me to, and now I don’t know how to.”

Feronil well remembered what Lindir was like when Glorfindel and a few other Elves brought him to Imladris. He had been barely articulate, and terrified. A frightened toddler locked into an adult body. Now he waffled somewhere between being a child and a petulant adolescent. Quite an improvement for an Elf who only last spring could barely make his wants known.

Feronil shifted the basin to one hand, then held the other out to Lindir. “Come along, perhaps I can help a little.”

“You’re not going to do anything nasty, are you?” asked Lindir, but he took Feronil’s hand.

“Lindir I hate to dispel this carefully crafted illusion I have created about myself, but I really am NOT a nasty Elf.”

“You put leather panties on Miss Goose,” Lindir reminded him in a dry tone.

“She was complaining of a draft. Come.”

Lindir sighed, but allowed Feronil to lead him off down the hall.

***---***

Elladan watched Lindir and Feronil leave, then looked down at his husband. “You are in NO condition to be doing what I know you are thinking of doing.”

Orophin grinned, then gently pulled Elladan down beside him. “Oh but you must comfort me, my love! I am grievously wounded and may perish at any time!”

“If you perish it will not be because of those flea bites, it will be from suffocating in that pile of bull you just spewed.”

“Ah you wound me, my dove. I am a mighty hero, sorely wounded! I long for your warmth ere Mandos calls me.”

Elladan stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. “Why on Arda would Mandos want you?”

“Why would he not? I am fair, I am brave, I am wise, I am hung like an Oliphant…”

Elladan roared with laughter. “Oh and terribly modest!”

“I was getting to that.”

“Perhaps I should call my father, I think that head wound may be more serious than I believed.”

“Do you really think your Ada wants to stand by and watch you being violated by a Galadhrim, when he can go to his room and get violated by his own?”

“Orophin you really are despicable, you know this.”

“And you married me, which does not bode well for you either, dear one.” He gently drew Elladan down against his chest, wincing slightly, folding him into his arms and kissing him softly.

Elladan stroked his long hair, smiling down at him fondly. “Well you did save my brother,” he said softly. He kissed the tip of Orophin’s nose. “And Frost.”

“So does that win me the virgin prince?”

“I’m not a prince, and I have not been a virgin for a few months now.”

“You will always be my virgin prince, falling off of Thranduil’s swing with your hair caught in the chain.”

“Oh please, do not bring that up.” He kissed Orophin gently, trailing his fingers lightly over his cheekbone. “Are you certain you are not too badly hurt?”

“Never too badly hurt for you, my love.”

Elladan parted his lips and trailed his tongue over Orophin’s, then kissed him deeply, carefully relaxing against him. He felt his lover’s strong hands slid over his body, following the line of his hip, and thigh. Then he felt the hands move upwards, reaching his shoulders and pushing his outer robe down. Elladan drew his arms out of the robe, one after the other, and let it fall to the floor with a soft rustle of velvet and silk. Then he sat up and removed his other garments, finally drawing back the heavy covers from Orophin’s naked form. He bent and softly kissed the muscled planes of his stomach, inhaling the scent of his skin as his lips pressed the warm flesh.

“You are beautiful, and very brave.”

Orophin stroked his bandaged hand over Elladan’s long, silky brown hair. “I am only brave because you love me.”

Elladan smiled. “You were brave without me. I found my own courage because of you.” He moved forward, hands moving softly over Orophin’s body. He kissed him, then parted his lips to let Orophin’s tongue inside of him.

They held each other, kissing languidly, Elladan’s slender fingers moving carefully over the bruises and cuts, glad to simply have him near. He laughed quietly as Orophin rolled slowly on top of him, pinning him down, making small noises of pain the whole time.

“You really should stop,” said Elladan.

“I should but common sense seems to have fled. You smell wonderful.” He nibbled and kissed Elladan’s throat, then nipped.

“Ow! Stop that! Knave!”

“Knave?! ME?! Dearest fair one you cut me! A slut and a rogue maybe, but never a knave!”

“Oh a thousand apologies. Slut.”

“Much better.” Orophin kissed him, his hands sliding down Elladan’s slim body, relishing every curve and line. He was not as muscled as many other Elves, a fact that never failed to arouse Orophin’s protective nature. He held the young Elf tightly and lightly closed his teeth around the flesh near his throat, then kissed him deeply, tasting him.

They kissed and touched, time fading away as did the fire in the hearth as the two simply reveled in each other’s closeness. The room was scented with incense and fragrant wood, and the only sound was that of someone playing a flute somewhere within the house.

Elladan drew his long hands down Orophin’s long back, their skin turning to silver as a fine layer of sweat made them shine. He kissed him, then let his head fall back to the silk pillow as Orophin kissed his throat before moving lower to explore the line down his breastbone.

He trailed his tongue along the path, hearing the covers rustle as Elladan drew his legs up, making a soft sound as Orophin’s pale gold hair stroked over his skin. Orophin winced as his injuries protested, but made no sound, determined to let nothing interrupt this moment. He had been very afraid during the battle, knowing Elladan was alone. But the battle had passed him by, leaving the young Lord to sleep through the fight that nearly killed his brother.

Orophin kissed the soft white skin, touching him, nibbling the ticklish places along Elladan’s ribs, making him squiggle like a kitten. He was tempted to continue the play, but the stitches in his claw marks threatened to rip. Reluctantly, he stopped his gentle torture and went back to love making. He could tickle Elladan until he screamed later.

He ran his tongue over one nipple, then softly closed his lips around it, sliding his hands around Elladan’s small waist, enjoying the way he arched beneath him. He was so flexible, like a cat, or a warm snake. He felt Elladan bring his legs up around his neck, and he grinned. Snake, definitely.

Orophin kissed Elladan’s stomach, then lowered his head to take his hard penis into his mouth, sliding his lips over it until it was deep within. Then he moved it slowly back and forth between his lips, listening to the quiet sounds his lover made. Elrohir may be a shrieker, but his brother was a quiet lover.

Elladan shifted and gasped slightly, his skin like mercury in the soft light, fluid and shining, his long silken hair framing his slim body. Orophin could have just stared at him for a thousand years, lost in his beauty. He ran one hand lightly over his flesh, then slid it beneath him, trailing it over the small of his waist, down the curve of his hip, and to his thigh. He slowly drew his mouth of the stiff penis and looked up at him.

“You are so beautiful.”

Elladan smiled, rather shyly, uncomfortable with being complimented. “If you think I am.”

“I do. I think you are very beautiful.”

Elladan smiled a little more broadly. “Did you know you are about to become an Uncle again?”

“I knew Rabbit was with child.” He kissed Elladan’s thigh.

“So’s Frost.”

Orophin looked up. “Is he?” he said, trying to sound happy for his lover’s brother. But with Rabbit gone and Frost’s tendency to lose his children, he couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for the news. He distracted Elladan by dragging his tongue down the length of his penis. It worked.

Elladan gasped, then tried to pull Orophin onto his back, but this time the archer refused. “Oh no, my little one, not this time.”

“Bully.”

“Flattery will get you no where.” He moved up to settle over Elladan, kissing him softly, his lips, his jaw, his throat. Elladan wrapped his arms around him and kissed him hard, then shoved him onto his back with surprising strength, pinning him to the mattress. He laughed, his long brown hair falling over his shoulders, framing him. “Don’t I get to torture you a little?”

Orophin put up a token struggle, but fell back to the bed and sighed with feigned resignation. “Oh very well.”

Elladan smiled. “You know we spoiled rich lordlings are never happy unless we get our own way.” He began kissing Orophin’s body, tasting him, stroking him, his fingers following every line and nuance of the Galadhrim’s body, feeling the scars etched into the flesh. Orophin had long been a warrior, and his scars were numerous. He looked down at the bandages wrapped around his ribs.

“You really are in no shape for this.”

Orophin tipped Elladan onto his back and held him down. “Oh I beg to differ my beauty. I am in exactly the right shape for this.”

They entwined, kissing, stroking, tasting, slowly experiencing each other. Orophin reached for the bottle of oil, but the lid was loose, and it was a full bottle. The oil spilled down over Elladan’s skin, turning it a pale red gold, running over his flesh in rivulets and soaking the covers.

“Well, that was a little more than we needed.”

Elladan laughed, then flipped Orophin onto his back. “Depends on how you look at it.”

He lay over top of his lover and moved his warm oiled body against Orophin’s, kissing him, feeling his lover’s already hard shaft become hot and more rigid. He slid over Orophin, coating him in the oil, then straddled him, bracing himself against Orophin’s strong shoulders. Slowly, he impaled himself on his hard penis, then gently teased him with small movements. Finally Orophin became frustrated and pushed Elladan onto his back, getting on top of him and moving inside of him with firm thrusts, Elladan’s hands drawing streaks of red-gold oil across his back.

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

Elladan’s breath became more ragged. Orophin kissed him, and began thrusting with more force, slow and hard, holding the smaller Elf tight against himself. He pressed the side of his face against his, listening to him breathe, trying to control his own passion as he felt it build within. Elladan made a gasping sound, then a restrained little cry, almost like the call of a bird. His legs and arms tightened around Orophin, and he made the cry again, then Orophin 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 Elladan’s shoulder, refraining from biting him, his teeth just pressing against his flesh. Then suddenly he felt it overwhelm him in a rush, and Orophin slammed hard into Elladan, then shuddered. Elladan kissed him, feeling Orophin’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, they lay in a knot of limbs, just holding each other. Slowly he withdrew from him. Kissing the young Elf gently, he collapsed beside him on the bed. They lay together for a while. Finally Orophin got up and pulled on a robe, then knelt beside Elladan. He touched his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

“You change the quilts,” he said softly, “I’ll pour us a bath.”

***---***

“It doesn’t fit.”

“It will fit, Lindir, you simply need to wear the waistband.”

“But it’s tight! Are they supposed to be tight?”

“Yes, it is supposed to be tight.” Feronil put the band around Lindir’s middle, wrapping it about him twice, then threading the heavy lace through the grommets at the back before cinching it tight. “Exhale, Lindir.”

“I thought maidens wore these things!”

“Maidens wear corsets. Youths wear waistbands. Exhale.”

Lindir did, and felt the band constrict around his middle. Feronil tied it off, then dropped a black silk outer robe with pale grey trim on Lindir’s shoulders. He stepped back and looked him up and down.

“Lindir, you are beautiful.”

“I feel funny.”

Lindir studied himself, feeling very scared and uncomfortable. For the first time in his life, he was wearing the clothing of a grown Elf. He was clad in a robe of pale grey, touched with flowers of crimson about the throat, matching the band about his waist. Over the robe hung a graceful and elegant robe of satin-black, the pale grey trim also touched with tiny crimson flowers. His long silver hair was not loose, but braided back in the manner of Elven bards and minstrels. He was elegant and beautiful, and an Elfling no more. Lindir felt a little afraid of this grown-up version of himself. He picked up Miss Goose and held her close, then looked down at her. Grown-ups did not carry toys with them, but he was neither ready nor willing to be parted from his most faithful companion. He picked up a length of ribbon meant to go with the robes and removed her usual blue one, then tied the grey and red ribbon about her neck in its place. Finally he picked up his mandolin and hung it over one shoulder and turned to look at Feronil. The advisor smiled, then bowed before him.

“Welcome, Lindir, Minstrel of Imladris.”

***---***

“Glorfindel, you are not ready to depart. You are ill.”

Glorfindel stood before Galadriel. He was clean, and his armor polished. His wounds were newly cleaned and bandaged, and he had rested a little, and even taken some food. But he would stay not a moment longer, and he was in no mood for courtly niceties.

“My husband and child are being held by a servant of Sauron himself. You can tell me where they are or I can fly blindly until I locate them, but I am NOT staying here and lounging pointlessly when they are being tortured!”

Galadriel stepped back, astonished that Glorfindel would raise his voice to her. But she saw within his heart the driving fear and pain. He needed rest, but to force him to stay would spell Erestor’s doom and turn their dear beloved Fin against her and her family. She did not wish to make an enemy of this Elf.

“They are in the ruins of Barad-dûr,” she said. “Truly I wish you would linger a little longer, but I know you cannot. Be careful, Glorfindel. Make no rash decisions.”

“The rash decision was not mine, it was his.”

Galadriel did not like the fevered look in Glorfindel’s eyes. He was ill, and without treatment the bite on his arm would infect. She passed him a small wooden box, bound with silver.

“There are medicines in here, and bandages. If you will not stay to let us treat you, then care for yourself.”

Glorfindel took the box, studying it. Then he bowed formally to her, lowering himself to one knee. “Forgive my harsh words, my lady.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lord of Gondolin. But be careful. Much evil stands between you and your family.”

He rose, and nodded. “I have faced much evil before.”

She smiled at him, then touched his face. “Your mount is prepared.”

She gestured at a point over his shoulder, and Glorfindel turned. There, in a clearing below them, stood Syrdanna. She gazed at Glorfindel with an expression that much suggested she was only tolerating this gear because the situation was dire. Glorfindel wondered if she had any idea how smashing she looked.

She was clad in barding of gold and crystal, her face-plate inscribed with the symbol of the House of the Golden flower. Her breast was protected with a wide shield of gold and green armor, engraved with the images of battles of old, glittering like rain-spattered leaves. Her harness shone and sparkled, and her paws were sheathed in gloves of green leather, tipped with deadly sharp blades of fine Elven steel. She was a steed worthy of the Valar themselves.

“I don’t understand!” said Glorfindel. “We have never ridden sea-dragons! And I have been here but an evening, there was no time to fashion dragon-armor!”

“True,” said Galadriel. “I had craftsmen sent to the armory, to determine if there was anything suitable for her, and lo, we found dragon armor. And, a note.”

She passed Glorfindel a piece of folded parchment. He at last dragged his gaze away from Syrdanna, and took the letter, opening it. It contained a simple message, written in a neat, elegant hand.

To Glorfindel. Don’t come back. ~ Námo

Glorfindel smiled. “He must really hate that Balrog story.”

As he studied the letter, he noticed a slight movement, then words appeared beneath the original message, as though being written while he watched:

Yes. I do.