The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Six

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: Pippin and Merry remember life on the road, Syrdanna makes a friend, Glorfindel experiences a few minor delays, Ithilian finds out what it’s like to love a Noldo, and something comes out of the storm besides more snow…
Notes: The song ‘The Weaver and The Hawk’ I quote from memory. I have no idea to whom it belongs. A woman at Westercon 44 sang it at a hall party I attended in 1992, and it always stuck with me. I borrow it now without permission… as I did with pretty much everything else in this fic.

It was very early in the morning, and still dark. The room was silent save for the soft hiss of the low fire, sending vague golden ghosts across the floor. Merry and Pippin help vigil by Legolas’ bed, having finally convinced Gimli to get some rest. The Dwarf had looked haggard and pale, and it did not take much persuasion to convince him to go lay down. He slept now on a couch in an adjoining room, the door open, ready to awaken if Merry and Pippin should call him.

Merry picked at an apple, nibbling it, looking around the gilded chamber. Suddenly his attention was drawn by a strange sound; Pippin, snickering. Merry turned abruptly to look at him.

“What are you giggling about?! This isn’t funny!”

“I know,” said Pippin. “I just remembered something. Remember when we were all making our way to Moria? We settled for the evening, and Strider, Gimli and Boromir went off to hunt, and Gandalf was talking to Frodo and Sam, and it was just you and I and Legolas. He was sitting on a rock, fletching an arrow, and you pulled open your bag, and that bloody great garden spider fell out. I thought you were going to have a fit.”

Merry was not amused. “Well it was big!”

“Oh it was, I agree. Very big. I remember you leaping back like you’d been scorched, and you yelled; ‘SPIDER!!’”

“I didn’t yell.”

“Merry, you yelled.”

“Well it WAS a big spider.”

Pippin grinned. “Poor Legolas, he was up so fast, and he had his bow out, and he’s looking all over for this spider, and you’re yelling ‘It’s there! Get rid of it!’” Pippin began giggling harder. “And when Legolas finally saw what you were pointing at, he gave you this look, like you were the biggest git he’d ever seen, then he started laughing.”

“Well how was I to know they grow bigger where he comes from?”

“First time I saw an Elf giggle uncontrollably for an hour. Gandalf wanted to know what you’d put in his water.”

“Should have put the damn spider in his water.”

Pippin smiled. The fire made a soft ‘puft’ sound, and a log spilt in half, crumbling to sparks and ashes. Merry got up to tend to the fire, and Pippin rose to answer a soft knock at the door. It was Glóin, come to keep his watch over the Elf.

“They’re riding out,” he said quietly as he came into the room.

Pippin slipped out and ran to the large open hallway. The sky was dark, and the night was still and old. Below he could see a host of Elves on horseback, led by Ecthelion, riding out. Most were glad in the green and gold armor of Elf kind, but there were twelve he did not know, mounted on horses, and armed with long, black-tipped pikes. They were wearing leather armor, black with crimson, their long black hair braided with silver beads and raven feathers. He glanced up as Mauburz came to stand beside him.

“Are those Rabbit’s people?”

The huge Orc nodded. “They know this thing seeks them, but they will not stay while their own are held.” She put a large arm around the small Hobbit. “Mauburz hopes they will be all right.”

Pippin watched the Elves ride away from Imladris, taking the shortest road to Barad-dûr. “Pippin does too,” he said softly.

***--***

Syrdanna flew low over the plains, conserving her strength. They crossed a lake, sending a small herd of wild horses fleeing in all directions. She lowered her head as they swept across the lake, snagging a fish and eating it in flight. Glorfindel sighed, and gently instructed her to land, so that she could rest, and feed. He would not get far without her, and dragons were not known for their tolerance. If she began to feel abused or neglected she would dump him and go home. Glorfindel did not enjoy driving her so hard, but Barad-dûr was still two days off. That was already much too long to leave Erestor there, but if Syrdanna abandoned him that would turn into weeks.

It was late in the day, so Glorfindel removed her tack and left her to swim and fish. As he took the last bit of armor from her, she lowered her head and shook, glad to be rid of it. She waded slowly into the water, until only the top of her head was seen. Then she dove down, chasing the silvery fish that darted by.

The lake was cold, and very, very deep. She followed the sandy, reedy bed into the depths, watching as the bottom abruptly dropped away. She hovered in the darkness, weightless, wings spread, guiding her movements. She sensed something at the bottom of the hole, and she folded her wings and slowly, gracefully dove, She was a sea dragon, and she frequently accompanied the great whales to the hidden depths of the ocean, finding things older than even the Elves. Slowly she fell, occasionally kicking her back feet to propel herself, falling into the black, silent depths.

The lake was huge; in truth it was more like a great well, a hole plunging into the earth, where cold, clean water bubbled up from hidden rivers; water so pure and clear that the dragon seemed to simply be flying. As the light faded away, she switched to other senses, smelling and tasting the water. Finally she came to a halt, wings out, hovering above the muddy bed, waiting. Then, something beneath the muck stirred.

He was ancient, and huge, his great head raising slowly from the silt where he had been napping the last few centuries. His gills flushed silt out of them in a cloud, then he rose further up, revealing himself to be a sea dragon of immense size. As he rose, it was clear that she was far smaller than he; a mere hatchling compared to this venerable beast. He was near black from years of algae growth, and his eyes were white and bulbous from peering into the blackness, his long, catfish-like feelers a sure sign he had chosen life in the depths rather than the heights.

He lifted himself from the silt, spreading his immense wings, trailing slow clouds of disturbed earth from them. She hovered above him, and they touched muzzles, carefully sensing each other. Then she rolled playfully, like an otter, and swam off. After a moment, the immense black dragon followed her.

Syrdanna flitted around him easily in the water, small enough to out maneuver him and leave him far behind if she so chose. He followed at a more sedate pace, far too immense to keep up with her. She teased him, testing his interest, and how far he was interested in following her. He pursued her to the high clear depths, were the remains of the day dyed the water a glowing indigo. Her gills did not see as much use as his, and she poked her nose above the surface to draw in a great lungful of air. Then she dove again. Slowly, sedately, he dove after her, following her to a depth just out of range of the light. Then she spread her wings and paused, waiting for him. He slowly settled over her, embracing her with his forelegs as he penetrated her. Slowly, they drifted down into the cold depths.

She stayed with him all night; mating with him and eating the rare, strange fishes he brought her from his dark home. Then, as she sensed the daylight approaching, she left him to settle once more into the silt, becoming invisible, his fringed gills the only thing rising above the mud. Syrdanna caught a fish on her way up, banking and rolling playfully in the water, finally exploding upwards from the lake’s surface.

She bounded through the water, then pranced up to Glorfindel. The Elf was just awakening, not feeling much better after a night’s rest. She dropped the fish before him, then shook, spraying silver drops of water before rising to her back legs to beat her wings. Glorfindel sighed, thoroughly soaked.

“Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself. Tell me my lady, what was so interesting you stayed under water all night?”

She gave him a cold, wet slimy lick, then frisked after a wild horse. The beast was unimpressed with the game, flattening his ears and running for his life.

“Glad one of us is enjoying ourselves,” muttered Glorfindel as he cleaned the fish she had brought him.

He removed his shirt, and looked at the savage bite on his arm. It was still not healing. In fact it looked worse. While his fish cooked, he pulled off the pus-encrusted bandages and tossed them aside, intending to put them into the fire later, then began carefully cleaning the oozing wound with the medicines and salves Galadriel had given him. He used a slender silver knife to open the wound and drain the yellow ichor, then reached up to touch his own forehead. He was not certain, but he thought he may be running a fever.

Glorfindel ate the fish, hoping he would feel better afterwards, but he did not. Feeling weak and dizzy, he lay down, falling quickly asleep. Syrdanna nosed him carefully, concerned about the sick Elf. Deciding to let him rest, she slid back into the lake, where she settled in the shallows to nap.

***---***

It had been a long time since Elrond had a child sneak into his bed, but he remembered the sounds well enough. The creaking of the door, the soft little steps, then the very slight shifting of the bed. He knew who it was: Bramble, come to sleep with dear old Uncle Rúmil. He raised his head and watched as the child slid under the covers on Rúmil’s side of the bed, clutching a toy wolf. Originally the toy had been dubbed ‘Wiggles’ many years ago by Haldir, when he was but an Elfling. However, the old wolf had become decidedly mangy over the centuries, and Orophin had begun calling him ‘Wargles.’ Despite much arguing over the matter, the name stuck.

Elrond waited until the child was settled, then lowered his head once more, burying his face in Rúmil’s hair. Rúmil, he had learned, could sleep through an Oliphant attack, so long as he was off duty. He was nearly asleep once more, when he felt a hand touch him. Elrond shot bolt upright, startled, to see Pippin looking at him. The Lord of Imladris was not amused.

“Just because you Hobbits are capable of sneaking up on an Elf does not mean you should!”

Rúmil did not move, and did not even bother to open his eyes as he asked; “Shall I kill him my Lord?”

“After I ask him why he is sneaking up on me!”

“I’m sorry,” said Pippin, voice quavering. “Legolas…”

Elrond got out of bed and pulled on a robe, then he and Pippin hastened to the room where Legolas lay. He stopped short in surprise as he saw the Elf looking back at him, a little puzzled, but awake nonetheless. Elrond smiled broadly.

“Legolas! You have decided to rejoin the living!”

Legolas blinked at him, then carefully, slowly, turned his head to look at Gimli. He smiled at the Dwarf, then reached his hand out to him. Gimli took it, shaking with emotion.

“I hurt,” said Legolas softly.

“That is hardly surprising, after what has happened to you.” Elrond came to seat himself in a chair beside the bed. “Do you remember?”

Legolas closed his eyes. “No.”

“Y’ got hit by a troll, laddie,” said Glóin.

Legolas did not open his eyes, but a puzzled look crossed his face. “I did? Then the Fellowship continued on without Gimli and I?”

Elrond and Glóin exchanged glances. “That troll really rang his bell,” said the old Dwarf.

“Indeed,” said Elrond. “Legolas, that was a few years ago.”

“No I could not have been out that long. How did I get here from Moria? Did Gandalf bring me?” He opened one eye and scrutinized Gimli. “Why are you here? You don’t even like me. I’m not even certain I like you.”

Gimli looked startled and hurt, but said nothing. Pippin leaned forward and said; “You must like him a little, you married him.”

Legolas turned his head to look at Pippin, who stood between Elrond and Glóin. Both nodded an agreement to the Halfling’s statement, each looking amused. Legolas looked over at Gimli.

“I married you?”

Gimli smiled, but his eyes had a wet sheen to them. “You did.”

The Elf gazed at him, then said softly, “Gimli I am most sorry, but I do not remember. The last thing I do recall is standing with my bow at the ready by the tomb of your cousin, Balin. Orcs were coming. Boromir said something about them having a cave troll…. Are you quite certain you and I are married?”

Elrond grinned. “Pretending it was all a nightmare will not save you, Legolas. You are indeed bound to a Dwarf. Tell me how you feel.”

“I hurt, everywhere. I have a terrible headache, and I am hungry.”

“That can all be mended easily enough. Merry and Pippin shall get you something to eat, and I shall fetch you something for your pain. Glóin would you care to assist?”

Glóin looked surprised, but then realized that Elrond was trying to give Gimli and his highly confused lover a few minutes alone. He got up and followed after the tall Elf.

Legolas watched Gimli, clearly puzzled. Finally he spoke, his voice very soft. “I see no reason why Lord Elrond and Pippin, to say nothing of your father, would make up such a thing. Therefore it must be true. I do you a disservice by not recalling so significant an event.”

Gimli smiled, reaching out to touch the Elf’s silken hair. “My dearest Elf. Less than a week ago you were struck by the club of a troll with such force that Elrond himself despaired of ever seeing you well again. That you are looking at me now, even as confused as you are, is all I ever desired. Your memory will return, of that I am sure.”

Legolas seem to notice then how he had put his hand in the Dwarf’s. Perhaps this idea of he and Gimli being bound was not so far fetched after all. He took his hand from Gimli’s and reached up to carefully touch the Dwarf’s face, and his long coarse hair. A familiar glint came into his black and swollen eyes.

“Perhaps I would recall better if you kissed me.”

Gimli moved carefully onto the bed, not wishing to disturb Legolas’ broken bones. He settled himself beside him, then lowered his head and kissed him.

Legolas put his good arm around Gimli’s neck, waiting for the kiss to inspire some passion within himself, but all he truly felt was confusion. Still there was no doubt Gimli felt something, and there was something strangely enticing about the scent of him. It brought to mind a memory of lying in the dark of Moria, and realizing he did not dislike this hairy little newt half as much as he thought he did. He was sweet in his own way, and not without a Dwarfy charm. Perhaps he did love Gimli.

The kiss ended, and Gimli pulled back to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that told Legolas that even if he himself had not been inspired to passion, the Dwarf certainly had.

“Do you really love me?” Legolas asked softly.

“I hold you more dear than my own life. And if pain and injury has driven that from your memory, then it is my duty to remind you of what you mean to me.”

Legolas smiled, then gently touched his face. He was becoming tired, and he was not sure he could stay awake for his food to arrive. He closed his eyes and rest his forehead against Gimli’s, smiling as he felt the Dwarf stroke his hair.

“Ada must have had heart failure when he found out you and I were bound.”

“Aye, a truer phrase was never spoken.”

***---***

“Well now, aren’t you a pretty thing.”

Glorfindel slowly sat up and raised an eyebrow, staring at the men before him. Now he knew he was sick; any Elf who permitted himself to be crept up on out on an open plain by Mortals was in sad shape indeed.

“Yes, I am. I’m very pretty. What do you fine examples of Mortality want?”

“You, pretty one, and anything of value you have.”

Glorfindel stared down his nose at the five rogues. He could not tell to which kingdom they belonged, either Rohan or Gondor. They were ragged and dirty, and their teeth were in very poor condition. His sharp Elven eyes noted a louse running through the hair of one.

“No, thank you, I must decline. You are far too disgusting.”

“I don’t think you understand,” said the one Glorfindel took to be their leader. “You don’t have a choice!”

One of the Men leaned close to his leader. “You do realize that’s a male Elf?”

“It’s an Elf, who cares if it’s male or female. Who can tell the difference anyway?”

“I can,” said Glorfindel. He slowly stood up. “Look as much as I would love to lay here and have you force your disgusting selves upon me, I have better things to do. Castrating myself with a rusty fish knife comes to mind.”

One of the men pulled out a rusted, jagged blade. “Let me help.”

The Man lunged towards the Elf. Glorfindel swiftly moved out of his way, snatched up his sword and beheaded him in a fluid move. The death of their comrade failed to deter the other four, and they rushed him, trying to overwhelm him. Glorfindel gutted one, then stabbed another. But he was running a fever, and suddenly he felt dizzy. He was thrown to the ground, and found himself too weak to fight back as he felt one of the Men sit on his chest, pinning him down.

“Now I have you,” he growled. He tore Glorfindel’s favorite yellow tunic open.

Glorfindel watched with fogged interest as Syrdanna rose out of the water and took stock of what was going on. Then the Man was suddenly grabbed and shaken violently before he was flung several yards, where he landed with a crunch. Moments later his friend followed him.

“I was wondering when you would get here,” said Glorfindel.

Syrdanna snorted at him, then began clawing a hole in the earth to bury the corpses. She flicked her long wings, then looked up at the sky. It was getting dark. Glorfindel had slept the day away.

The Elf huddled by the coals of his fire, sick and miserable, shivering, and weeping openly at the loss of precious time, and grief for his husband and child. The snow began to fall, a faint silver dust at first, but as the darkness fell, so did the snow. It rapidly turned into a storm, and Glorfindel huddled in a wet blanket, trying to keep warm. They could not fly in the wild winds and driving snow, and there was no shelter.

Syrdanna settled herself beside Glorfindel, using her huge wings to form a shelter over him and her own head. The Elf was in bad shape, but she did not know what to do, other than sit with him. She watched, sympathy in her golden eyes, as he removed his sodden and ruined tunic, then noted something strange upon his back. A boil of sorts; a sickly abscess filled with pus and toxins. It was from a small injury he had received, a mere pricking of a claw from one of the creatures he had recently fought. Had he stayed, Lord Elrond would have seen it and cleaned it, but instead Glorfindel had taken off to save Erestor. The Lady Galadriel had not been permitted to examine him fully, else she too would have found and cleansed the wound. Now this may well cost Erestor and Glorfindel both of their lives, to say nothing of Estorel.

Syrdanna made a gruff, throaty noise and poked the Elf with her nose. Glorfindel was too miserable to pay much attention, so she took matters into her own paws. She raised one long, slender and deadly sharp claw and sliced open the wound. Glorfindel yelped and turned to face the dragon.

“What did you do that for?!” He put his hand on his back, then brought it forward to look at the matter on his hand. He made a disgusted sound at the sight of the sickly yellow ichor. Then his expression became thoughtful.

“That’s why I have been so ill, isn’t it? This untreated injury.”

She nuzzled him gently, her breath blowing his fine white hair. He raised his clean hand and touched her face, then gave her a gentle kiss.

“Thank you, Syrdanna. You are a dear friend, and you suffer much at the hands of this mad Elf.”

She made a soft, rumbling sound at him. Glorfindel hugged her, then began carefully cleaning out the septic wound. He would sleep tonight, and tomorrow they would continue. Barad-dûr would give him back his beloved and his child, or be turned to dust.

***---***

The campfire was low, and few of the Elves could find rest as the cold snow blew. Their horses were heavily cloaked, almost comically so, and thus slept peacefully, undisturbed by the blizzard. The Elves huddled in tents, waiting out the storm.

Ithilian seated himself beside Ecthelion and passed him a cup of heated brandy. The warrior took it, then reached out to touch the smith’s small face.

“You should not have come.”

“I go where you do.”

He smiled slightly. “I do not often go to pleasant places.”

“Pleasant or not, I go where you do. Besides, I am not without skill in battle.”

“My fairest love, squelching the rodent uprising in Mauburz’s tent does not count.”

Ithilian’s eyes flashed. “I have done more than that, thank you. I will have you know I fought alongside Gil-galad and Lord Elrond. Though perhaps my name did not warrant a song, I was there none the less!”

Ecthelion looked surprised. “You? You were there?”

“I was. I may be small but I am a warrior.”

Ithilian was quickly learning that his beloved Ecthelion was not without an arrogant side. It annoyed him, though usually he overlooked it. After a few days of travel, however, and being continually coddled and beseeched to remain someplace safe, the little smith was losing his humour. He lost it completely when Ecthelion laughed at him.

“A warrior? My most beloved and adored peanut, I simply cannot see you in battle! Did the Halflings find you garb?”

Ithilian stood up, blazing with wrath. “Into the snow you arrogant rogue! After I give you the thrashing of a lifetime you may sleep alone!”

Ecthelion tried to stop giggling. “Fairest love, please, I meant no disrespect…”

“Disrespect has been dealt whether you wish it or no! Do you accept my challenge, or doth the mighty Ecthelion fear he will be defeated by a peanut?”

Ecthelion grinned. “Are you calling me a coward, my love?”

“That I am, until I can up with something else!”

“Very well, I accept your challenge. But if I win, I still get to sleep in your bed.”

“Sleep in which ever bed pleases you most, I shan’t be in it without suitable atonement on your part.”

“Very well. If you defeat me, I shall atone in whatever manner pleases you best. If I win, you take yourself home so I will not be continually plagued by images of you with your head on a pike.”

“Best work on thy atonement then. After all, I survived my last war.”

“Do not be catty darling. Swords or knives? First to score a hit wins.”

“Knives.”

“Knives it is then.”

Ithilian nodded, then snatched up a set of fighting knives and stomped out into the snow, plainly angry. Ecthelion took a pair for himself, then followed his small lover out into the storm. He noted with amusement the other Elves were already there. A little levity would do them no harm. Ecthelion made his way to the area of combat and looked down at his little lover.

“Ready?”

“Oh indeed yes.”

Ecthelion nodded. “Then begin!”

Ithilian knew he was very small, and he had long ago adjusted his fighting style accordingly. As Ecthelion lunged, Ithilian dropped and kicked out with one leg, knocking Ecthelion’s feet out from beneath him with one well-aimed swipe. The large Noldorian Elf hit the snowy ground with a thud, and suddenly felt the tip of a knife nick his jugular. If the combat had been in earnest, Ecthelion would currently be standing in the Halls of Mandos and asking what had just happened to him. He looked up into Ithilian’s angry eyes.

“Sleep in the snow and plague me not. I am plainly beneath you, oh great Ecthelion. Of course, that was how I killed you.”

Ecthelion watched his lover rise to stalk back to his tent, entering it and then pointedly closing the flap behind himself. He sighed heavily, then felt Haldir pick him up. The watch-warden of Imladris smiled at him wearily.

“Come, you may share my tent.”

“I thank you, Haldir, but perhaps I should see about making up with my peanut.”

“If you wish, but may I say that what you did was shameful. An Elf should never mock his beloved, lest he awake one day to find him gone, and some shameful thing will be regretted forever.”

Ecthelion nodded. “You are right my friend. I did not mean to hurt him so. I forget, perhaps, I am not always in the company of other soldiers.” He looked around. “Damn this storm, I would know where I stood! And where is Glorfindel in this mess? Like as not already at Barad-dûr.”

“We are not far behind him,” said Haldir. “He went to Lothlórien first, to gain news. We are taking a far more direct route, and the Lady of Light told Elrond he was not well. He may be ill on the plain.” He looked at Ecthelion. “Are all of you Noldo so hard-headed?”

“We are not hard-headed, dear Haldir. Stupid and obstinate, perhaps, but not hard-headed!”

“Forgive me. I go now to my tent. You may stand here and argue the storm into ceasing.”

“Not quite THAT hard-headed. Rest, Haldir, you shall do Rabbit no good if you die of exhaustion.”

Haldir nodded, then made his way slowly to his tent. Ecthelion sighed and went to the tent he shared with Ithilian. He opened the tent flap, and was met with one of his own greaves smacking him in the face.

“Ithilian, really….”

“Get out! I am in no mood for you!”

Ecthelion stared at him, surprised. Ithilian was tense with wrath, his eyes glowing with heated anger.

“Ithil….”

“You dare humiliate me and then come crawling back? You DARE laugh at me? All my life I have taken taunts and teasing from my fellows because I lacked their height, and I have done my best to bear it with humour but mark my words I will NOT endure it from you! Not when I bore the full scrutiny of the Valar themselves to see you here, not when you are sharing my bed. I will NOT be humiliated, Ecthelion!”

Ecthelion was momentarily speechless, suddenly realizing just how much he had hurt his lover. “I did not mean to humiliate you, Ithilian. I love you.”

“Too bad you do not respect me as well.”

Ecthelion stepped forward, looking down at Ithilian. “I respect you. And I love you. And I am very sorry to have hurt you so. I did not mean to cause you grief. And I see now I was wrong, you are a warrior. Forgive me.”

“No. Cretin. Sleep in the snow.”

Ecthelion sighed, but sensed Ithilian’s wrath had lessened slightly. He put his arms around him. “What must I do to regain your favour?”

“You may go whistle at the back end of a horse for all the good it will do you.”

“You have the temper of a Noldo.” He gently kissed him. Ithilian did not pull away. Ecthelion gently touched his face. “I am sorry my love. I was wrong to mock you, and I will not do so again. I shall not even call you ‘peanut’.”

Ithilian finally relented, relaxing against Ecthelion’s chest. “You may call me peanut. After all, the name was given to me by Mandos himself, and it is never wise to disregard a gift of Valar, no matter what it is.” He shivered. “This storm grows worse.”

“Do you fear storms?”

“I dislike them greatly. They put my nerves on edge. Come, take me to bed, and keep the cold at bay.”

Ecthelion dimmed the lamp, then they undressed and slid under the blankets and held each other tight. Outside the wind moaned and howled, a sound made all the more horrible by the faint baying of grey wolves.

They did not hear the newcomer arrive and set up his tent near their own.

***---***

There was an odd sound echoing softly in the dungeon, something that had never, ever been heard in the dark and freezing crypts. It was an Elven voice, softly singing.

“Oh the weaver she wove, and the hawk she flew,
And when one laughed or cried then the other one knew.
Oh the weaver she wove, and the hawk she flew,
And their friendship goes on like a shining band of gold.”

Estorel slept against his Sia’s chest, finally at peace after hours of nervous crying. The small Elfling did not like the dark and miserable place anymore than his Sia did, but he was limited in his means of expression. So he cried. Erestor was greatly relieved his baby was asleep. He bundled the little child in his cloak and set him down on a large stone block to sleep, then buried his face in his hands and wept.

Rabbit came to him, embracing him tightly, purring at him, trying to reassure his cousin, but Erestor only cried harder. He did not know what had become of Glorfindel, nor what horrid fate awaited himself and his child. His nerves in tatters, he allowed himself the luxury of a good cry.

“Rabbit I am so afraid…”

“As am I, dearest cousin. But I escaped here once. And I mean to again.” He stroked his hand over Erestor’s black hair. “We will get out of here. One way or another. We are creatures of the Faery Realm, thee and I. We cannot be kept.”

Erestor nodded, then wiped at his eyes. “I am sorry to despair…”

Rabbit gave him a light kiss. “You are not despairing, you are simply weary and afraid. And you have much to fear for.”

“And you no less,” said Erestor.

“Yes, we are in the same boat, as it were.” He took Erestor’s face between his large hands, and smiled at him. “We will be out of here ere our children are born. This I promise you. One of our own is loose in the tower. I believe it is Fade. He comes now, and he will help us. Be strong, child of Noldo. There will come a time when we shall die, but it is not today.”

Erestor drew a shuddering breath, feeling a little embarrassed at his own fear, and overwhelmed with love for the older Elf. He hugged him tightly.

“I am so glad you are here, Rabbit, I could not bear it were you not!”

Rabbit held Erestor tightly, then smiled as he heard something pulling at one of the bricks at the back of his cell. The dirt crumbled and fell away, and the huge stone block was pushed forward. It fell out of its place in the wall and rolled to a stop. A moment later, Mouse poked his head in and grinned at the pair.

“Come visit, Warrior! My cell is much nicer, and Fade digs at the other side of the wall.”

Erestor looked up. “Are you so sure it is Fade?”

Mouse blinked his strange eyes, one green, one yellow. “Who else would it be, dear Erestor?”

“I do not know, but this Elf has returned no calls. Are we so certain it is an Elf?”

Starlight poked his own head out of the hole. “Just get in here, we can argue about who it is later.”

Erestor gently passed little Estorel to Starlight, who took the baby and retreated to his own cell. Erestor followed him and looked around. It was still a cell, but it was not so filthy as the one as he had just been in. Foxfire and Firespark were in there as well. Both young Elves were experiencing their first fertility cycle, which was why they had been taken. It made them less than compliant captives. Foxfire especially was determined not to have his first child be an Orc or worse.

Erestor seated himself on the floor and took Estorel back from Starlight, who resumed digging at the back wall. Suddenly Rabbit raised his head and growled.

“They come.”

“They?” said Erestor.

“Orcs,” said Rabbit. “And something else.”

Erestor was moved to the back of the cell, while the other Elves placed themselves before him and Estorel. Erestor picked up the jagged piece of rock Starlight had been digging with and began franticly chipping at the stone. He could hear the other Elf on the opposite side of the wall digging as well. He did not want to be taken by these things.

He heard the cell door scream open just as the stone crumbled, and Erestor darted into the hole just as the battle broke out behind him. He was about to speak when the Elf shot out of the hole and into the cell to help the others. Erestor huddled in the hole, frightened, saying nothing as the battle raged.

The first Orc to come through the door was dead before he hit the ground. Mouse had fashioned a sling out of bits of his own clothes; ties from his boots and a shred of fabric from his breeches. He used it with lethal accuracy to put a sharp chip of stone in the Orc’s forehead. Then he reloaded and awaited a chance to fire again.

Rabbit kicked an Orc square in the gut, sending it to the floor in pain. A second kick to the head killed it, and he grabbed up its scimitar to slash the throat of another. Then something shot passed him into the hall, and the Orcs scattered, screaming the Old One was there. Taking advantage of the chaos, Rabbit indicated for the other Elves to get into the hole. Starlight vanished, but Mouse waited until he killed two more Orcs with his sling. Firespark and Foxfire followed close after him, leaving Rabbit and the other Elf, the Warriors, to do battle.

Rabbit heard the monster bellow, and spun to face it, then stopped in utter surprise as an enormous Uruk-Hai neatly chopped the head off of the undead beast. It was the one who had brought Erestor and himself crayfish, and now seemed to have joined the battle to aid them.

“This way!” it growled.

“I do not trust you.”

“If you stay here you will die!” It reached out and gripped his arm. “Il reni en ise, Ta’Na Yar!”

Rabbit gasped, completely at a loss for words as he heard his own language come from this Orc. He stood, unmoving, as Mouse came out of the cell, followed by Erestor and the other Elves. Then there stepped out someone Rabbit had not seen in a very, very long time. The centuries seemed to fall away, and as the scarred old Elf wrapped his arms around him Rabbit kissed him passionately, his hands moving over a body lean and hard. He was dirty and dusty, his tattoos almost concealed by the soot of the tower, but Rabbit did not care as he cried into the long, wiry black hair. The Old One kissed him again, then touched his face.

“We have so much to discuss, Horizon, but not here.”

Rabbit nodded, then allowed Wolf Hunter to lead him away.