The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Seven

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: Elrond and Rumil get a small visitor, Gimli and Legolas talk, Lindir gets feisty, and Rabbit is being pressured.

Elrond gently removed Rúmil’s bandage, and sighed at what it he saw. It was as he feared; the injury was turning septic. Rúmil watched his husband’s face nervously, saying nothing, his expression one of concern, and heartbreakingly pure trust. Rúmil’s faith in the Lord of Imladris was complete; there was nothing the former Herald of Gil-galad could not fix.

Elrond however did not share Rúmil’s faith. There was something about the creatures they had fought that caused wounds to turn sickly. Without near-constant attention, the injuries quickly infected. He had thought Rúmil would be spared this, because he simply had a broken shield-arm. But he must have been nicked by a claw, because the break was turning foul. Elrond himself had detected the distinct odor the moment Rúmil settled into bed beside him. Now as he peeled away the last bandage, he saw his worst fears were confirmed. He made an agitated noise, then looked up into those calm sea-green eyes.

“You can fix it,” said Rúmil.

Elrond had his doubts. He had seen Mortals quickly develop infections, but not Elves. “I can try,” he grumbled.

“You can fix it.”

Elrond looked up at Rúmil, who was smiling at him fondly. Elrond sat back and crossed his arms. “Tell me, Galadhrim.”

“Yes Lord?”

“What foul form of mind control were you subjected to, that your faith in me is so utterly unshakeable?”

Rúmil thought for a moment. “A most cruel punishment should we ever show doubt. Lady Galadriel would take away the lewd illuminations we had adorning the barracks, and force us to survive on nothing but food and water.”

“Ai, such barbarism to inflict on her loyal archers! And what would she do with the illuminations?”

Rúmil shrugged. “Either kept them for herself or gave them to Lord Celeborn, one or the other. I know she never gave them back!”

Elrond sighed heavily. “I must make a point of going to a Lothlórien barracks some time.” He began cleaning out the wound. He tried to look serious and very no-nonsense as Rúmil nuzzled up to him, nipping his jaw.

“Rúmil, behave.”

“Make me.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow and looked at him. During the entire time they had been a couple, Rúmil had retained his subservient behaviour towards Elrond, whom he deemed above himself. Since their bonding however, Rúmil was finding great delight in exploring his new limits.

“Make you?”

“Yeah, make me.” Rúmil kissed his nose.

Elrond smiled. At least if Rúmil was feeling mischievous, then he was not ill. He cleaned out the wound and rewrapped it, then sat back and looked at his lover. “Very well. I command you to behave yourself.”

Rúmil moved forward, prowling like a great cat, gently pushing Elrond back until he was lying on the large bed. Then he settled over him and kissed him languidly. “You did not specify how you would like me to behave, my Lord.”

“Very true.” Elrond put his arms around him. Rúmil moved onto his side and they melded together with a soft rustling of silk. “You are getting most rebellious, my love.”

Rúmil pulled back to look at him. “I can stop if it truly vexes you.”

“Rúmil, nothing you do vexes me. You are a delight and a comfort to me.”

Rúmil closed his eyes and put his head down on Elrond’s chest. “I am glad. I fear, at times, you would prefer to have the Lady Celebrian back in your arms.”

Elrond held Rúmil and thought about that. He loved her, there was no denying it. But under the love was anger and hurt. He did not blame her for not wanting to stay near the place where she had been taken and violated by Orcs. But he could not understand nor forgive the way she had so completely abandoned her children. Even after so many years, she had still refused to see them, and had surrendered her immortal life. She would die, had she not done so already. Elrond knew he would have to tell his three children, but not now. Not yet. He would wait until times were not so dark.

“Rumil, there was a time when your fears would have been well-founded. But no more. I shall always love Celebrian. She was very dear to me, and she is the mother of my children. That is a bond that does not break. But I have accepted her wishes, and though I hate them, I will respect them. Were she to appear before me this very minute and plead with me to take her back, I could not.” He looked at Rúmil. “Rúmil, you have saved me. You reached into the well of my despair and drew me out. You have played the clown to make me smile, you have been my most stalwart defender, and have loved me for my failings as well as my virtues. I could not and will not ever betray that.” He kissed him gently. “I love you.”

Rúmil smiled and moved closer, kissing Elrond, parting his lips to let his tongue explore the inside of his mouth. They held each other tightly, and Rúmil gasped quietly as he felt a strong hand slide inside of his nightshirt to caress his skin. He brought one leg up and draped it over Elrond, and laughed quietly as Elrond gently pushed him onto his back and moved over top of him.

“In me,” Rúmil said softly, drawing one long leg up.

Elrond gently nipped his lower lip. “So we are giving orders now, are we?”

“It would delight me to no end, my Lord, if you would kindly consent to screw my brains out.”

Elrond kissed him. “I suppose I could grant this most humble request.”

“You are most kind.”

They kissed, touching each other, shedding clothing, the sheets tangling around their bodies. Finally naked, Elrond settled his lean body over Rúmil’s and entered him. He felt Rúmil’s arms link around his neck, and made a soft sound of pleasure. He kissed him passionately, and the two began making love with quiet intensity.

The door burst open and Bramble ran in, leaping onto the bed. Elrond abruptly pulled back and yanked the covers over the both of them, and Rúmil sat up to put his arms around the sobbing child. His eyes met Elrond’s, and he mouthed a brief message to his husband; “We need a lock on that door.” Elrond nodded and dropped down to the mattress.

“Uncle Rúmil I saw something and everyone says it was just a bad dream but it wasn’t it’s true!”

Rúmil gently pushed the child back and looked at her. “What did you see?”

“Sia ran away with the bad man, and Ada died!”

Rúmil sighed. “Bramble that was a very bad dream. You are worried about your parents, and it makes you have bad dreams.”

The child was angrily adamant. “It was not a dream I saw it! I wasn’t even asleep! I saw it!”

Elrond sighed and made himself sit up. He gently took Bramble and set her on the bed before himself. “Tell me the whole story, Bramble. How do you know you weren’t dreaming?”

“Because I wasn’t asleep. I went to bed but I wasn’t tired so I got up to play with Erenion.”

“Erenion?” asked Elrond.

“Ilinuil’s wolf puppy. He asked me to watch him while he was gone.”

“I shall have to speak to him about his choice of names when he returns. All right, you were playing with the puppy. What happened next?”

“The room went all dark, and there was this stink… like… pee or something but way worse. And other smells. And I saw Master Erestor and Estorel and Sia and the other Elves. And someone was with them. And Sia left the others to die and went away with this man. Then I saw Ada lying on the grass and he was dead. Lady Galadriel said not everything you see comes true but he was dead I know it.”

Elrond stared in shock. “Lady Galadriel?”

“I talk to her sometimes when I’m lonely. She’s really nice.”

“Bramble how long have you been able to talk to Lady Galadriel?”

“Just since Sia went away. I kept thinking maybe if I closed my eyes and tried real hard I could find him. I kept looking and looking, and then I found Lady Galadriel. She was real surprised to see me.” Bramble giggled a bit at the memory.

“I’m sure she was.” Elrond glanced at Rúmil. “So Lady Galadriel said not all the things are true, right?”

Bramble nodded. “She said ‘Even the very wise cannot see all ends’.”

“And that is very true. So do not worry about what you saw. Your Sia loves you and your Ada very much. He would not run away with someone bad. There are many good Elves going to get him and Master Erestor and the other Elves, so do not worry. They will be home soon.”

“And the bad man? He won’t come will he?”

“What does the bad man look like?”

“I don’t know, but Sia thinks he is a friend. And Master Erestor wants to come home, he’s worried about Estorel.”

Elrond noticed movement in the doorway, and saw Frost standing there. The white Elf made his way silently into the room, then bent to pick up Bramble. Elrond gently took the child’s hand and squeezed it. “There is nothing to worry about. All right?”

Bramble nodded, though was plainly uncertain. She put her arms around Frost’s neck and let her older brother carry her out of the room, closing the door behind himself. Elrond sank down to the bed, putting his arm around Rúmil as the other Elf pressed close, resting his head on Elrond’s chest.

“T’would seem your niece has the gift of foresight.”

“I thought only those with a ring of power had such abilities.”

“No, I have heard of others, though they are by no means common. And Bramble’s kin are more closely tied to the Faery Realm than we are. It could be this gift more frequently appears in Plains Elves. There is so much we do not know about them.”

“I am disturbed by the images she has seen,” said Rúmil.

“As am I. I wish I had been able to accompany Ecthelion. Ai! Do some things never end?”

Rúmil raised his head and kissed him. “Rest yourself. Ecthelion is most capable, he will bring them home. And if he should fail, the Plains Elves themselves will surely succeed. They are not a folk I would like to face in their wrath.”

“You are right, of course. Still, I will not rest easy until they are home.”

Rumil kissed him again, stroking his hand over Elrond’s throat. “Then let me soothe your fears for a little while.”

“Not until I lock the door first.”

***---***

Legolas lay in the large bed alone, watching the first faint rays of light appear in the sky, trying to remember. He had spent part of the evening speaking with Merry and Pippin, asking them about the war of the ring, about how the quest had gone and, of course, about Gimli.

He listened to what the Hobbits said, trying desperately to recall, to no avail. And as he listened, he began to feel guilty, and ashamed. Gimli had given up all he knew, all he loved, to be with him. He had forsaken his own Clan to follow this Elf to Valinor, and the Elf had no clue who he was. Legolas’ last real memory of Gimli was watching him grieve before the tomb of his cousin. He was truly sorry for the Dwarf’s loss, but he still wasn’t fond of him. Gimli was a hairy wart with grating habits, an offensive beard, and a loud voice that made him nervous.

Apparently, however, he had overcome his aversion to him.

There was no denying they were a couple; the entire room spoke of lives entwined. Then there was Gimli himself. When he had left that evening to go sleep in his Da’s room it was clear he was devastated. Legolas felt terrible asking him to leave, but he needed to think. But now as the barest streak of light in the winter sky appeared, all Legolas felt was sorrow and pain and shame.

There was a quiet tap at the door. Legolas looked towards it and said softly; “Come in?”

The door creaked open, and Gimli peered into the room. “Can I come in?”

Legolas smiled wearily. “Of course.”

Gimli came in, quietly closing the door behind himself before crossing the floor to sit in the chair by the large bed. He wanted with all his heart to reach out and touch Legolas’ face, kiss him, tell him he loved him. Instead he looked down at his lap and plucked at the hem of his tunic. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“Nor could I,” said Legolas quietly. “Gimli…. I am so very sorry…”

“Don’t be,” said Gimli. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It is not your fault.”

“I am hurting you.”

Gimli sighed, and looked thoughtful. Then after a time, he spoke. “Legolas, I spoke to Elrond, and the Hobbits. When that troll hit you, you should have been dead. You flew through the air, struck the wall hard enough to leave a crease in the wood paneling, and dropped to a stone floor. Merry and Pippin dragged you in here, trailing a wide streak of blood and convulsing. No one in Imladris thought you would live. Lord Elrond had Farathar the undertaker waiting in another room to bury you. Then, after five days, you woke up. That is nothing less than the hand of the Valar themselves. Even if you never regain your memory, I am satisfied. I have what I wanted; for you to live.”

Legolas smiled. “You are sweet.” He smiled even more broadly as Gimli blushed and grumbled. “Tell me something Merry and Pippin could not. Tell me how we fell in love.”

Gimli laughed quietly. “Well it took a while. First we had to learn to like each other. That was in Lothlórien, after we met the Lady Galadriel.”

He told Legolas of their time in the Golden Wood, and of the mind-bogglingly dull day he had endured following Legolas around observing the plant life. Legolas smiled at the grumbling that accompanied the description.

“A Dwarf in the Golden Wood. Such a thing has never before been seen.”

“Aye well then there was the Elf in the jeweled caverns of Helm’s Deep.”

“What Elf?”

“Well you, you silly bint! I took you down there to get you back for dragging me through the forest. The trouble was you LIKED the caves!”

“Gimli I must protest. I do not believe you ever got me into a cave of any sort, let alone that I enjoyed the experience.”

“Yet you did, and Aragorn can verify my tale.”

Legolas closed his eyes. “So much to recall, and I am so weak.”

“No need to worry about it now. Plenty of time to remember after you are well.”

“I am so sorry Gimli…”

Gimli leaned forward and took his hand. “There is no need to be sorry. You will get better, and you will remember.”

“I cannot help but feel I have betrayed you.”

The Dwarf moved closer, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned close to the Elf, touching his face. “You have not betrayed me. Do not be burdened by guilt and sadness. I love you more than I have words to say.”

Legolas squeezed his hand. “I hope I prove worthy of your love.”

Gimli bent and kissed the tip of his nose. “You already have.”

Legolas smiled slightly, then sighed quietly, falling into sleep. Gimli stayed beside him, holding his hand, just watching him.

***---***

“Feronil I’m not sure I should do this. This class is for the real minstrels.”

“Lindir, how do you suppose you will get to be a real minstrel if you do not study?”

“But Nana….”

Feronil sighed and turned to face the astonishingly pretty young Elf. “Lindir, you are a big boy now, and it is time someone told you something you desperately need to hear. Your Nana is a loon.”

Feronil was not exactly certain what he expected Lindir’s reaction to be. He watched as he backed up and blinked, hurt in his pale blue eyes. Then there came something Feronil had never seen before. Anger.

“You take that back!”

“I will not. It is sad but it is the truth. She never had your interests in mind, only her own. She wanted to keep you in a shell forever, and it was not fair, nor kind. Frankly I am astounded you were not taken from her sooner.”

Lindir stared at the advisor coldly, eyes narrowing. Slowly, calmly, Arda’s Oldest Elfling set down his precious mandolin and goose. Then with a speed and force worthy of any Galadhrim, Lindir flicked out his fist and broke Feronil’s nose.

Feronil dropped to his knees, howling and swearing with pain, blood dripping through his fingers as he clutched his injured face. Horrified by what he had done, Lindir dropped down before him.

“Feronil I am so sorry!”

“You broke my nose!”

“I’m sorry! But you called my Nana a loon!”

Feronil lowered his hands and shouted back “That’s because your Nana IS a loon!”

Lindir punched him again. Feronil screamed with agony and fell to his side, holding his face, blood gushing in all directions. By now most of the Last Homely House had heard the noise and Elves were coming from all directions. Mauburz picked up Feronil and looked at him, then looked at Lindir.

“What you do to nasty Elf?”

Lindir turned red to the ends of his ears and picked up Miss Goose, clutching her nervously. “I punched him,” he admitted.

There was a shocked silence. “You what?” asked Mauburz.

“He called my Nana a name so I… I punched him.”

Feronil cursed and muttered. Merry gently pulled his hands down and looked at the bleeding mess. “YOU did THAT?”

Lindir nodded, and his blue eyes welled with tears. He began to fear what the consequences of his action would be. He had a feeling this was going to be more than a few days shoveling stalls. “I said I was sorry.”

Feronil waved Mauburz back and she released him. He took a handkerchief out of his robe and clamped it over his nose. Lindir began to shake, and when he saw Lord Elrond step out of a nearby room, faithful Rúmil behind him, he thought he was going to die of fear.

“And what, may I ask, is all the noise about?” He looked at Feronil. “Feronil by the Valar what happened to you?”

Feronil suddenly sank to his knees, looking weak, and white as the snow that surrounded the house. “I’m going to be sick…” he mumbled.

Mauburz picked him up, and with a nod from Lord Elrond carried him to the healing rooms. The Lord of Imladris then stepped towards Lindir, who was tightly clutching his goose and shivering. The youth half-feared he would wet his robe.

“Lindir? Do you care to explain to me what happened?”

Lindir did, in a very small voice. At the admission, Lord Elrond’s eyebrows both went up, and Rúmil snorted with barely controlled amusement. Elrond chose to ignore his husband’s giggling.

“Lindir, now surely you know that Elves do not do such things.”

The young Elf lowered his head. “I know.”

“You have hurt Feronil rather badly.”

Lindir nodded, then drew a breath to speak. Elrond held up a finger, and Lindir sighed and lowered his head again.

“Now, no matter what Feronil said, that is no reason to resort to violence. Elves do not behave in such a manner. You are going to have to be disciplined, and the first thing I want you to do is apologize to Feronil. Then, tomorrow morning at daybreak you will report to Amrun for weapons training. I think it is high time you began learning the responsibilities and duties appropriate a young Elf. Then after weapons training you will start formal schooling, and after school you will have your music lessons. That way you will not have a chance to get into any more trouble. It is clear you have been coddled long enough. If you are old enough to get into fistfights, you are old enough for training and school. Have I made myself quite clear?”

Lindir nodded. “Yes Lord Elrond. But he called my Nana a loon!”

“And I will make certain he is disciplined for that. Now go say you are sorry.”

Lindir nodded again. He picked up his mandolin and slung it, then made his slow, dejected way to the healing room.

He found Feronil sitting on a bed, Mauburz cleaning the blood off of his face. His eyes were already swelling shut; a sure sign his nose was broken.

“Sorry,” Lindir said.

He expected Feronil to say something nasty, but the advisor simply waved off the remark. “There is nothing to be sorry for, Lindir, I should not have said what I did.”

“My Nana loves me.”

“Yes of course she does Lindir, but you need to understand that what she did was wrong. She had no right to keep you locked up alone in a talan. You needed to be with other Elves, and to learn who you are. But I will never say another word about her, and I should not have called her a name. I am sorry.”

Lindir said nothing, only nodded. He moved closer to Feronil and carefully touched his face. Then, most unexpectedly, he lightly kissed his nose. Feronil grinned lopsidedly.

“Thank you Lindir, it feels better already.”

***---***

Erestor followed Rabbit and Wolf Hunter into the depths of Barad-dûr, into the hidden reaches unseen by Orc or monster. At last they reached an open cavern with a large black pond in the center of it. Erestor sank down, exhausted and nauseous, to the cold sandy floor. He could hear himself making strange sounds, like a nervous sobbing, and felt Mouse carefully take Estorel from his arms. Then Foxfire was beside him, gently helping him to lay down. There was much discussion in a tongue he did not speak, then he felt Starlight stroke his hair back.

“Master Erestor?”

“I do not feel well…” He swallowed hard, and began to shake, feeling cold.

Rabbit crouched beside Erestor. “You must rest, or you will lose your child. You are close already. Rest. Mouse and Foxfire will watch over you, and Starlight will care for Estorel.”

“I am not well….”

“You are feeling the strain of this situation. But ease your mind, we will be safe soon. Rest. We will mind your child.”

Erestor felt Foxfire pull him close and hold him, trying to warm him. He huddled against the young Plains Elf and tried to quiet himself, feeling ominous faint pains in his belly.

Rabbit stroked his hair, then left him to sleep. He rose to his feet and looked to the tall, bony Elf standing by the dark cold pond. He felt as though his heart would surely rip in half, and he went to him without realizing he was about to. Rabbit threw his arms around Wolf’s neck and kissed him. Then they walked away, seeking a private spot to talk.

They went to the far end of the pond and sat down on the ground together. The air was not so foul here, and it seemed like the most beautiful place Rabbit had seen in years. He took Wolf’s long, scarred hands and looked into his green-gold eyes.

“Wolf…”

“It has been too long, my beloved.”

“You were dead!”

He shook his head. The years had not been kind to Wolf Hunter, and he looked old, ground down by trial and time. He stroked the side of Rabbit’s face, and grinned.

“I am not dead, my love.”

“Where were you?”

“I was badly injured, very badly. I nearly died. I do not know how I survived. I began living in the bowels of this tower, living off of rats and other vermin, too weak to leave and find better fare.”

“Have you been here all this time? All these hundreds of years?”

“For the most part, yes. I could not bear to leave for any length of time. I did not know if anyone else was trapped in this place, and I was too broken in body to go far. Even now I have little strength.”

“But those Orcs were afraid of you!”

“As well they should, I have been bedeviling them for a very long time. Laying traps, ambushing them, leaving some nicely slaughtered bodies for them to find. I believe they are more afraid of my legend than they are of me.”

Rabbit took his hand and moved closer. “All these years I have dreamed of you, have missed you. My heart was torn asunder when I believed you dead.”

Wolf looked down at Rabbit’s middle. “Yet you seem to have overcome your grief.”

Rabbit was hurt at Wolf’s tone. “I roamed the land alone seeking you for over three thousand years! Surely you can forgive me finding joy with another!”

“He treats you well?”

“He is very kind, Wolf. I think you would like him. Haldir…”

“Haldir? That is not a name of our people.”

“He is Wood-Elf kind.”

Wolf sat back in shock. “You gave yourself to a Glaur-Iy?”

Rabbit narrowed his eyes, angry and very hurt. The green eyes shimmered with tears. “They are good folk. They have given us shelter and comfort when none would.”

“That is hardly a reason to breed with one.”

Rabbit ground his teeth. “How dare you speak to me this way. I was alone, utterly alone. You should understand that. Haldir offered me kindness and friendship.”

Wolf reached up and touched his face. “I am sorry my love,” he whispered. “I grieved for you for so long. To find you again was more than I dared hope for. But to find you with child by an Elf who is not one of our kind… it is to lose you all over again.”

Wolf had I known you lived…”

“There is naught we can do about that, my love. But though my heart is broken I am glad to find you well and happy.” He stroked Rabbit’s cheek. “Besides, no Golden Elf is a match for a Plains Elf. I will return with you to this place of shelter you have found, and do my utmost to win your heart back.”

“You never lost my heart, Wolf.”

“Then come with me, let us flee together, you and I. We will take the others out of Barad-dûr to a place of safety, then depart.”

“Wolf I cannot do that. I have a child. And Frost has finally come home to me after all this time. And… I love Haldir.”

“That child is his as well? And Frost lives? I did not dare hope. Oh Horizon this is the most joyous day I have had in so long. Say you will forsake this Haldir and make my joy complete. I have missed you for so long, I wish only to hold you in my arms and love you as I did. Please. Come back to me.”

Rabbit stared at him, torn, his heart breaking. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, but he loved Haldir as much as he did Wolf. Rabbit opened his mouth, but was spared having to try to come up with an answer as Firespark came to his side.

“Rabbit, something is wrong with Master Erestor. I think he is losing his child.”

Rabbit sighed in quiet relief at not having to come to a decision right then, and rose to follow Firespark back to Erestor.

***---***

Thranduil sat up and shoved the covers back, staring blearily at the light of the soon-to-be rising sun. He had not had much rest since the attack that had nearly killed his son; that may have well claimed his life, for all he knew. He curled his lip at the daylight, his nerves on edge, his stomach growling and his bladder demanding to be emptied. It was the perfect end to a rotten night of wolves and wind. He pulled on his boots and crawled out of the tent, looking for a private place to urinate.

He returned to the camp a few minutes later, grumbling, yawning, one eye stuck shut, scratching his long pale gold hair. Thranduil did not look much different than his son, save for being taller and more heavily built, and the two were occasionally mistaken for one another. The only real way to tell them apart was their mannerisms. Legolas would never be caught slogging through camp in a nightshirt and a pair of boots.

Thranduil paused as he noticed something. It was a tent, a small white tent with a heraldic shield painted on either side. It was not a shield Thranduil knew, but it was most definitely Elven. Perhaps someone had heard of their mission and had joined their quest. Thranduil was about to retreat to his own tent and get cleaned up when the flap of the tent was pulled back, and out stepped an Elf.

He was tall, very tall, with hair the colour of Dwarven gold, and sea green eyes, He was dressed in white, with a cloak of white fur, and a longbow in one hand, a quiver of arrows on his back. Thranduil honestly believed he was looking at a Vala. Then the Elf bowed formally and respectfully.

“I come to join your quest, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. My bow and sword are yours if you desire them.”

Thranduil’s tired brain processed the voice, the appearance, the movements of this Elf, and suddenly came up with a name.

“Gaelemir?!”

“At your service.”

“Indeed you are! I could have sworn you had fled, never to be seen again! What has become of you? You are the very image of an Elf Lord!”

“T’is a long tale, your majesty.”

“Then tell me! Wait, let me dress first, I wish to hear this in comfort.”

Thranduil dressed hastily, then came out of his tent to see the other Elves gathered around Gaelemir. The Elf in white was laughing and talking with them, looking quite at ease. Thranduil noticed fair Ilinuil was not among them. Instead, the Silmaril of Imladris was standing a little ways off from the others, watching.

“The tale, then!” said Thranduil, “while Amaris here makes breakfast.”

“Oh you honor me,” said Amaris dryly. “Would you like it burned or unburned?”

Thranduil ignored him and sat on a stone. Gaelemir settled himself on another stone, and grew thoughtful. Then he began to speak.

“When I left Imladris, I was angry, and humiliated as well as hurt. My rage did not subside as I fled, rather it grew, as did my humiliation. At last I found a place to pause, and there… I nearly did a very foolish thing. I cut off my hair, slashed off the points of my ears, and smeared soot into my wounds to mark myself forever. Then I rose to my feet and opened my mouth to renounce my Elven heritage forever. Fortunately, some wisdom prevailed, and I did not. And, at the time of my darkest hour, I met… someone, another, who would not let me do this, who took me under his wing, and stayed with me many days. And he reminded me of many things I had forgotten: that I had not become a warrior to be admired and envied, to become the subject of song and story. That I had chosen this life to defend my people, and because it was what I had longed for. I do not know when I forgot this, but plainly I had. I became envious of those around me, filled with jealousy, and pained at how much better they were at their craft than I. I forgot I was part of something larger, and let my fears at my own shortcomings overwhelm me. I became bitter and hateful, and let that spill onto one I loved deeply, until at last he had no choice but to turn on me.”

He glanced towards Ilinuil, but the beautiful Elf said nothing. Amaris narrowed his eyes, but likewise did not speak. Gaelemir looked down at his long hands.

“I had much to make up for, and much to relearn. I still do. And I come now to offer my services in this matter, if you will have them. If not, I shall depart, and bear you no ill will.”

“I will not turn you away,” said Thranduil, “though my voice is not the only one that must be heard in this matter. But you said you cut the tips of your ears off, and smeared your scars with soot. Yet I see no disfigurement.”

“The one I met. He healed me.”

“And who was this one?”

Gaelemir seemed to ponder whether or not to divulge this information, then at last spoke.

“Tulkas, the Warrior.”

There was a quiet collective gasp from the Elves gathered.

“That is no light claim,” said Thranduil. “And if it is an untruth, you will pay a heavy price for the boast.”

“It is no idle boast, King Thranduil, and trust me when I say there is a price for accepting the help of the Vala of battle. And well I know what the price will be, should I turn his gifts to ill. I have been given a great gift, and a new life, but have gained the scrutiny of the gods. And I will not have their wrath directed at me for all the fame and worship in this or any land.”

“You will not abuse it,” said Ilinuil, and Gaelemir’s head snapped towards the sound of his soft voice. “I sense a wisdom in you that was not there before. What was your gift, if I should be so bold as to ask?”

Gaelemir smiled at him, a gentle smile of genuine affection. Amaris felt fear and anger clutch his stomach, but said nothing.

“Simple gifts,” said Gaelemir softly. “I have learned to reflect upon my actions, and learn from them. I have learned patience.” He grinned. “I have my face back…”

There was some quiet laughter. Gaelemir laughed as well, then rose and drew an arrow from his quiver. “And he showed me how to make these. Though in truth I think Ithilian will take the greatest delight at this craft.” He passed the strange white arrow to the little smith, who took it and studied it.

The arrow was longer and heavier than any he had seen, but was well balanced and finely made. It was created of yew and feathers, as were most arrows, but the head was what caught his interest. It was large and flattened, and sharp enough that a simple touch cut his finger. He turned the arrow over in his hands, then said; “I do not recognize the metal of the head.”

“An alloy,” said Gaelemir. “An unthinkable alloy, actually, one that is bound to have our Dwarven friends at the Last Homely House howling in outrage. Mithril and iron.”

Ithilian put his hand over his heart and staggered, as though he had taken a blow. “Ai! My heart! To even think such a thing, let alone do it! Like mating Shadowfax to a donkey!”

Thranduil took the arrow and looked at the gleaming sharp metal. “The weight of iron, with the beauty and edge of Mithril. Like adding lead to glass, it creates something of great beauty and usefulness. I daresay these would fell a Nazgûl.”

“Aye,” said Gaelemir. His eyes narrowed, and a wicked smile crossed his face. “Or a monster who steals Elves.”

Thranduil met Gaelemir’s gaze, and a similar smile crossed his own features. “That it would. Now let us break fast and get moving, we have a ways to go yet ere we reach our quarry.”

***---***

Erestor lay in a sweat, fevered and delusional. He could hear Estorel complaining quietly as Foxfire held him, but could not move. He was sick, and cold, and hardly aware of what was occurring around him. For four days he had lain like this, with Rabbit and Wolf doing what they could to help him. But as time passed, Rabbit began to fear more and more that Erestor would either fade or miscarry, or both.

They had found enough scraps of wood to make a small fire, not daring to risk a large one. The fish of the black pond were strange and ghastly, but their meat was good, and the water was clean enough. They could survive there quite a long time if they had to. Rabbit wanted to be away from there, but with Erestor so ill, they would have to stay.

Wolf was not making things any easier for Rabbit. He refused to use his current name, and was desperate to win him back. Rabbit was divided and distraught over the whole matter. He loved Wolf, but he also loved Haldir, and of the two right now his bond to Haldir was stronger. However there was no denying the powerful desire he felt for his former love, and Wolf knew it. He was gentle, but he was relentless, tending to Rabbit’s every whim and desire. His mannerisms were ancient, harkening back to the days before the Golden Elves had arrived, and there was an intense, instinctual pull on Rabbit to fall back into the old ways and roles. Rabbit wanted him, and Wolf was desperate to have him. And he was not having an easy time of holding onto his wants.

Rabbit stroked Erestor’s hair back from his face, deeply worried about him. As clan warrior, it was Rabbit’s duty to hunt for the others, and though he did not wish to leave Erestor’s side, he finally pulled himself away and loped down to the pond to seek fish. Predictably, Wolf followed him.

Rabbit dove into the cold water, scattering fish. He could not catch them with his bare hands, but he had long ago mastered the trick of spooking them out of the water. He chased them into a shallow area. They darted madly in all directions, then as he lunged towards him the fish scattered again. Most simply darted around him, but a few leaped out of the water and onto the sandy bank. There Wolf pounced on them and killed them. They did this a few times, until they had enough to feed themselves, then Rabbit crawled out of the water and shook.

Wolf was there, warm, needful. His movements were submissive and appeasing, and he moved close to Rabbit, nipping at the underside of his jaw. Rabbit snapped back, wrapping his jaws around his face and growling. They held the pose, unmoving. Then Wolf began sinking slowly down to the ground.

Rabbit’s whole being fired with primeval urges and memories, responding like flame to oil at the obvious invitation to make love. To a Wood Elf, their strange, rigid movements and stances would have made no sense at all, but, to another Plains Elf, the sexual tension was as obvious as a forest fire at night. It blazed between them, and Wolf was piling on as much fuel as he could.

Rabbit growled quietly, his whole being shivering. He knew he would hate himself should he give in to this desire. He would never be able to look Haldir in the eye again, may even lose him forever. And how could he face his child? How could he explain to his daughter that he had destroyed her happy family for a shade form the past?

How could he deny Wolf?

Torn and frustrated, Rabbit vented his frustration savagely on his former lover, and Wolf rose up to meet the challenge. They tore at each other like wild dogs, then pulled back, neither really willing to do harm to the other. Rabbit panted, his chest tight, wanting nothing more than to throw Wolf to the ground and have him. They squared off, pacing, their wisdom and understanding of right and wrong at war with their animal wants.

Wolf lunged this time, and the two hit like male elks, grappling for domination, each as strong as the other. Then Wolf began to slide on the sand, and the two pulled back, and began squaring off again.

There was a faint shudder in the ground, and Rabbit backed up, surprised. Then came another, and Wolf and Rabbit left off their fight.

“What is that?” asked Rabbit. “Have you seen this before?”

Wolf shook his head. “Nay, I know not what this is.”

A Mortal would not have felt the vibrations, but they were evident to the Plains Elves, who could do nothing but listen and wonder. Meanwhile, high above the crumbled form of Barad-dûr flashed a large form in green and gold armor. Syrdanna dove down on the tower, spewing a rush of red fire from her jaws, while on her back Glorfindel shot arrows at the Orcs she had missed.