The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Eight

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 has a dream, Rabbit has a nasty surprise, Lindir has a lesson, Gimli learns the fine art of Elf-washing, and Glorfindel discovers he’s created a monster.

Rúmil lay in bed, blinking sleepily at the fire-ghosts moving across the floor. He felt Elrond roll close to him, sliding his hand across his waist, resting his head on his back. Rúmil yawned and wondered how Elrond had managed to sleep during all those years he was alone; it seemed the Elf-Lord couldn’t doze off until he was wrapped around his lover as if he was an enormous teddy bear. Rúmil smiled, then yawned again, and felt Elrond kiss his shoulder.

“You are awake, my lord Elrond.”

“Rúmil, there is no need to call me ‘my Lord’ anymore, we are married.”

“I like it.” He rolled onto his back, and wrapped his arms around his husband.

Elrond smiled. “I just had a disturbing dream.”

“Did you? What about?”

“Gil-galad. About his death. It was so horrible.”

“You loved him?”

Elrond smiled. “Yes I loved him, I still love him. I often dream of him.”

“What? How dare you dream of him with me in your bed. You offend me, my Lord. I shall take myself to the stable at once and pass the night in the feedbox.”

Elrond laughed quietly, then softly kissed him. “There is no need to go sleep in the feedbox. Gil-galad was dear to me, Rúmil, an Elf of great wisdom and humour. You remind me of him.”

“Now how in the name of all Arda do I compare to Gil-galad!?”

Elrond laughed at the outburst. “Your humour. The quiet way you watch over me…. Lurking like a starved hawk, daring anyone to get too close…”

“It is my job to lurk.”

“Oh do not try to blame it on your duties, you do it because you could not stand to do otherwise. You will never be a noble, Rúmil, you were born a warrior, as was he. But I did not bring him up to vex you, my love.”

“Yes of course you did.”

“Do not pout, Rúmil, I have a hard time taking it seriously.”

“My Nana thought I was a most accomplished pouter.”

“Your Nana thought you and your two brothers would be sharing the throne in Mirkwood by the time you came of age, poor deluded woman.”

“That may still come to pass, should all other Elves better qualified be eaten by spiders. So why do you mention our beloved High King?”

Elrond idly traced a finger over Rúmil’s collarbone. “I had the strangest feeling he was trying to tell me something.”

***---***

An arrow shot by Glorfindel’s head, and a second made a loud ‘splang’ noise as it glanced off of Syrdanna’s armor. The dragon banked sharply, and Glorfindel, who was not accomplished at riding flying beasts, nearly fell off. She rolled to escape a second barrage of arrows, then turned sharply, strafing the archers with balls of flame. She leveled out, and Glorfindel arranged himself in the saddle once more. He shoved his long white hair out of his face.

“Warn me the next time you are going to do that!”

Syrdanna snorted, then spat flame at a fleeing Orc. The ramparts were cleared, and she circled lower. Glorfindel notched an arrow and kept a look out for any more. Then Syrdanna dove towards the ground, spying something the Elf had not. She lit on the side of the tower, then grasped a stone and pulled it aside.

“What do you see?” asked Glorfindel.

She dug at the side of the tower, clawing away the rumble from its collapse years ago, until she cleared an opening. Glorfindel dismounted and peered into the hole. He was met by a pair of yellow-green eyes.

“Rabbit!” he cried out. He threw his arms around the Plains-Elf’s neck and hugged him tightly. “Rabbit I am so very glad to see you. Where is Erestor?”

Rabbit led him into the cavern where he and the others had been hiding, and took him over to Erestor. Mouse was seated nearby, holding Estorel, who was quietly whining. Erestor was white and quiet, and looked deathly ill. Glorfindel dropped to his knees and took Erestor’s hand.

“Erestor? Erestor say something. It’s me, Fin.”

Erestor parted his lips as though he meant to speak, but said nothing.

“You must get him out of here, now,” said Rabbit.

Glorfindel nodded, then quickly unbuckled his sword, which he passed to Rabbit. Then he handed him his bow and quiver of arrows. Finally he removed his belt pouch, which was full of lembas bread, and handed it to Rabbit as well.

“I will be back, and soon.”

Rabbit nodded, buckling the sword around his lean waist, then passing the bow and arrows to Mouse. Glorfindel paused and looked at his tiny son in the Elf’s arms. “Bit wiggly for a saddle, and I don’t fancy the idea of explaining to Erestor I dropped the child from several hundred feet up.”

“Could strain marital relations a bit,” said Mouse.

Glorfindel looked at Syrdanna, her long green face peering in through the hole at him. “If I have Erestor on the saddle with me, can you carry Estorel?”

The dragon nodded. Glorfindel bound Estorel up in his cloak, then picked up Erestor and carried him outside. He got on Syrdanna’s back, then watched as Mouse passed his baby to the dragon. She took him in one huge paw.

“Oh I am going to hear about this when Erestor is well, I just know it,” said Glorfindel. He looked at the small group of Plains Elves. “I will be back, I swear.”

“Go,” said Rabbit, “Quickly, before more Orcs come.”

Glorfindel nodded, then gathered Erestor in his arms. He knew he did not have time to reach Lothlórien, and for a moment he puzzled over where to take his family. Suddenly he recalled he had friends nearby.

“Gondor,” he said, and Syrdanna launched herself off of the tower, freefalling before the air caught her huge wings and she rose high into the air with a sound like ship’s sails. Glorfindel heard a strange noise and listened, wondering what it was.

It was Estorel, laughing so hard he was hiccupping.

“Child takes after his Ada and Uncle Ecthelion,” remarked Glorfindel.

***---***

Rabbit watched the dragon fly off with her three riders, then turned to look around. “Where is Wolf?” he asked.

A head peered nervously over a rock, and Rabbit smiled. “You have no need to fear them,” he said softly. “They are friends.”

Wolf stood up, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I have been hiding for so long that it has become second nature.”

Rabbit reached his hand out to him, and Wolf came to his side to take it. Both looked up as the Uruk called Gothmog came in.

“The tower was attacked,” he said.

“We know,” said Rabbit. “It was Glorfindel, come to save us. He has taken Erestor and Estorel to safety.”

The huge Orc nodded. “I must get back to my post before I am missed. But the tower is alive with servants searching high and low for you, more so now that the dragon attacked. Be careful.” Then he departed.

Wolf moved closer to Rabbit, sliding his arm around his waist and nuzzling his neck. Rabbit did not respond, but he did not push him away either.

“Is there a place deeper than this?”

Wolf shook his head. “This is the deepest level we can access on this side of the tower. To get deeper we would have to go around to the other side, but we would have to cross dangerous territory. There is a very good chance we could be caught, especially with all the chaos stirred up by Glorfindel’s attack.”

Rabbit thought for a long time, then said softly; “Then we must leave, tonight. We will make our way over the plateau of Gorgoroth towards Osgiliath, skirting around Cirith Ungol and Minas Morgul. We can take the secret ways through the Ephal Dúath that only our folk know, and make for Minas Tirith where the Elf-Man rules. He is good people, we can trust him.”

“But Glorfindel said he would return,” said Starlight, “Should we not wait for him?”

“If he returns he must take the same route, it is the most direct. A green dragon in gold armour ridden by an Elf-Lord is no easy thing to miss. And I have spent time enough in this place, I will stay no longer. I am clan warrior, it is my duty to make certain we are safe. We will wait for Gothmog to return, then go. Now let us have some of this… “ Rabbit looked dubiously at the lembas bread, “This… stuff. Far too sweet if you ask me, but it is filling and healing.” He passed a bit to Wolf, who sniffed it suspiciously.

“Yech,” he said. “I shall stay with fish.”

Rabbit bit off a corner speculatively, and chewed. The rest of the group waited to see what the verdict was. Rabbit chewed and finally swallowed the mouthful. He expected it to sit in his stomach like a lump of lead as it usually did, but his body was hungry from only having the cave-fish to eat, and no sunlight to warm his bones. He ate a little more, then passed on the rest to the younger Elves. He smiled as he noticed Wolf slip his piece to Foxfire.

“Rest,” said Rabbit to the small group. “When Gothmog returns, we leave.”

***---***

Lindir stepped out of the house and blinked at the early morning sun, then yawned, still sleepy despite being nervous about his first day of formal training. Normally he would still be snuggled deep under the covers in the cottage, Miss Goose perched on his head, scarcely aware of Rosie and Sam starting the day. Lindir had no real understanding of how things ran in the large household, all he knew was when he got up, his clothes were laid out, his breakfast was ready, and the first patrol would be coming in for a snack and a rest. That they were actually up and about their duties at this unholy hour was not a thought that had occurred to him.

He looked down at the light, close-fitting sparring garb he was wearing, a little uncomfortable with the way it clung to him. He looked mournfully over his shoulder at Rúmil, who had outfitted him and chosen his weapons. The tall Galadhrim gave him a grin that did not make him feel any better. Lindir slowly made his way to the practice field, sword and fighting knives in their leather wrap in one hand, Miss Goose in the other. Rúmil had been kind enough to provide her with a little jacket like those the female fighters wore.

His heart stopped in his chest when he reached the field and saw Faramir facing down two Elves. Lindir only knew them slightly. They were Narfinnel and Lawsborn, known together as the Wolves of the Wood. They were old Elves, even by Elven reckoning, and formidable enough on their own. To see them flanking Faramir with knives and swords drawn was nearly more than Lindir’s young heart could take.

Faramir circled, weapons at the ready, trying to keep both Elves in sight. Narfinnel darted in, trying to score a hit on the back of Faramir’s knee, but the Mortal blocked the blow, then spun to ward off Lawsborn, blocking him with his sword while aiming for the Elf’s belly with his dagger. Lawsborn dodged gracefully, then feigned an attack. Faramir again blocked, then spun around to attack Narfinnel.

It was like some strange dance, watching the Mortal doing his best just to keep the deathly fast and graceful Elves from scoring a blow. He was breathing hard, his breath steaming the cold air, boots crunching the icy snow that the Elves lightly moved over. He was outmatched, but would not give up.

Lindir tried to scream something as both Elves lunged in for the kill. Faramir managed to score a hit on Narfinnel, but was not fast enough to block Lawsborn. The strike would have opened him up from the small of his back to his navel, had it been in earnest. Faramir died a dramatic death, then fell to the snow, panting. Narfinnel and Lawsborn stood over the Mortal, watching him.

“I hate battle,” said Faramir, “I never come out on the right end of it.”

“You keep on like this and you shall be the most feared warrior of your kind who ever walked this land!” said Narfinnel, reaching down to help Faramir up. “It is no easy thing to ward off two Elves, yet you did so for well nigh an hour! And you are injured! Be not so harsh with yourself!”

“I still died,” grumped Faramir. He shook snow out of his hair, then embraced the Elf, laughing. He laughed even harder as Lawsborn pounced on him, and the three warriors pushed and shoved in the snow. Faramir was at the advantage for the first time all morning; Elves were fast, but not overly strong. He managed to get Lawsborn across his shoulders, then sat down on Narfinnel.

“Surrender, and I shall be merciful!”

Narfinnel stuck his tongue out, then, moving so quickly Faramir was not even certain he saw the motion, he grabbed up a handful of snow and shoved it down Faramir’s pants. The Man howled as the frozen stuff lodged in a sensitive area, and both Elves fled in separate directions. Faramir dug the snow out, then howled to the clear sky; “I hate battle! Augh, I shall have to sit in the bath for an hour to get the feeling back in my… oh hello Lindir.”

Lindir stepped onto the field, eyes wide. “I thought you were going to be killed!”

“Nothing so fortunate,” said Faramir. He shook one leg to get the remaining snow out of his breeches, then rolled his eyes at it settled in his boot. He sat down gracelessly in the snow and pulled his boot off. He shook the snow out, then scraped up a handful to toss at the Elves, who avoided it easily. Faramir pulled his boot back on, then slowly stood up, feeling the cold and exertion in his injuries.

Lindir tried to understand all this, then finally said; “This is fun for you?!”

“Seems mad I know, but yes.” He moved slowly and painfully to a carved wooden bench, and sat down upon it heavily. He eyed the young Elf, raising one eyebrow at the sight of his slim body in the close fitting garb. Then he shook his head. Lindir blushed, though he was not certain what he felt at seeing Faramir eye him like an adult for the first time.

“What brings you out here at this hour?” Faramir asked.

Lindir avoided his gaze. “I was told by Lord Elrond to report for formal training.”

“And you are just in time, too,” said Amrun. He walked onto the field, followed by six yawning Elflings, all clad for sparring.

Lindir felt an urge to flee and hide, to find some quiet place where he and Miss Goose could just sit by the fire and read stories and eat cookies. He felt a little better when he saw Polly and Krit in the group, Krit’s faithful cat Ireth following, flicking snow from her paws distastefully. Polly smiled and waved at Lindir, while Ireth hopped onto Faramir’s lap.

“Hi Lindir! Oh look, Miss Goose has a coat just like mine!”

“Hello Polly,” said Lindir. He was beginning to shake where he stood, the desire to flee this strange adult world nearly overwhelming, but he did not want Faramir to think he was an Elfling. He glanced at the Man, who gave him an encouraging smile.

“Hey it’s Arda’s Oldest Elfling!” yelled Meril. “Hey ya big baby, I didn’t know they made nappies your size!”

Lindir nearly burst into tears and fled. Krit used her staff to neatly dump Meril into the snow.

“You’re mean,” she said.

“Enough!” said Amrun forcefully, and the Elflings fell into line. Lindir wanted to run more than ever, but Faramir waved him over.

“It’s all right Lindir. Here, Miss Goose can sit with me. I am the toy and pet sitter of Amrun’s class, you know.”

“And you can use the cat to warm your bits,” said Narfinnel cheekily.

Faramir moved one hand as though he was about to make a gesture commonly seen in the barracks in Gondor, but stopped himself, grinning. Lindir felt a little less nervous, and he stepped across the frozen ground to pass Miss Goose to Faramir. He took the large toy bird and tucked her under one arm.

“Now come Lindir,” said Amrun, “let us see what you can do.”

Lindir pulled out the sword and looked at it. The weapon was crafted to look like a real sword, but the blade was of wood and blunted, so there was little chance of doing any damage. The weight however was that of a real sword, and Lindir wondered how he was going to ever be able to use something so heavy. His hand still hurt from the bite the monster had given him, and the sword was difficult to hold. Amrun noticed this at once.

“Perhaps we will start you with the staff,” he said. Krit ran to Lindir and passed him hers.

“Here Lindir, you can use mine.”

Lindir thanked her, then passed her the sword. She walked back to the group, idly swinging it with the finesse of the grown warriors. Lindir felt hopelessly out classed. The staff however was much easier to handle. He looked at it, then up at Amrun. The tall Elf came to show him how to hold it properly.

Lindir suddenly noticed Rhimlan limping to the field, moving slowly, his leg brace glinting in the dawn light, his crippled arm held close to his body. He came to sit down heavily on the bench beside Faramir. Lindir liked Rhimlan, but wasn’t certain he was comfortable looking at an Elf so cruelly disfigured by battle when he was trying to learn to fight. The implications were a little hard to bear.

“Lindir, pay attention,” said Amrun.

Lindir snapped his grey eyes to the older Elf, clutching his staff. Amrun stepped back, then drew his own staff from behind his back. “Now let’s start with the basics, shall we?”

“Aw he’s gonna wet himself,” said Meril. Polly stuck one foot out behind him and Krit used her sword to knock him over backwards.

“Shut up Meril,” they said.

“Polly, Krit, perhaps while I work with Lindir you can start the sparring with the other children?”

“Yes Master Amrun,” they said, while Meril crawled out of the snow.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” said Lindir softly.

Amrun smiled at him gently. “Lindir, you are going to do just fine. Now, just do what I do…”

Meril sauntered by, swinging his twin fighting knives, then immediately engaged Polly in combat. They danced lightly around the field, matching each other blow for blow, until Meril executed a strange move, blocking with one knife, then dropping down to hook the other behind Polly’s knee and dumping her. She landed on her backside, then swung her staff with a vengeance. It met Meril’s head with a resounding “THUD!” He dropped like a sack of potatoes. Several people applauded. Amrun rolled his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the Valar for patience.

“Narfinnel, would you mind..?”

Narfinnel scooped up Meril and took the dazed youngster to the house. Amrun doubted there was anything greatly wrong with him; the Elfling started up a stream of swearing that would have shocked an Orc.

With Meril’s departure, Amrun managed to get his class under control. He showed Lindir the basics of staff fighting, but Lindir’s style of fighting seemed to involve a lot of retreating. Eventually, tired and frustrated, Amrun called an end to the class. The group began making their way to the house, Amrun pausing once to mime beating his head against a tree.

Lindir watched them go, feeling ashamed at his poor presentation. He tried to tell himself it was okay, it was just his first practice, but somewhere in the back of his mind he heard his Nana telling him that she was right, he was just a big clumsy Elfling who had no business trying to fit in with the others, the best place for him was home. He wiped at one eye with his sleeve, then began putting his weapons back in their leather case.

He was startled by the touch of a gentle hand on his back, and he spun around to see Faramir there, holding Miss Goose. Lindir reached for her, then held her tightly against his chest.

“I was awful,” he said softly, sniffing.

Faramir smiled at him, placing his hands on Lindir’s shoulders. “Lindir, everyone is awful their first time. That is why we must practice.”

Lindir nodded, but he didn’t feel any better. It had been a disturbing and unnerving day, and it was only just beginning. He watched as Faramir picked up the weapons, then took him by the arm and began leading him to the house.

“Tell you what,” said Faramir. “After your last class of the day, you and I will spar together, all right? Just the two of us. Would you like that?”

Lindir nodded, then smiled. “Yes, I would.”

“Good.” Faramir moved his arm around Lindir, and they walked together through the snow.

***---***

“Meril,” said Elrond tiredly, “do you not think I have enough to tend to without getting yourself beaten up?”

“Wasn’t my fault,” grumped the Elfling. He was seated on the edge of the bed in the healing room, feet kicking back and forth as they dangled. He looked up at Elrond and asked with unexpected concern; “Will Mr. Legolas be all right?”

Elrond smiled. “He will be fine, Meril.”

“Mr. Gimli will be awful sad if anything happens to him.” A strange look came over his face. “It’s a terrible thing to be taken from those you love.”

Elrond was a bit taken aback by the comment. So far as he knew, Meril had never known the death of a loved one. He glanced over at Rúmil, who was looking a bit surprised as well. Their eyes met, but they said nothing. Meril himself seemed unaware of the remark. Elrond resumed examining the injury.

“You are fine, Meril, but no lessons for you today, I fear. I would like you to stay in the healing room until I am certain you are not more badly injured than you seem to be.”

“Oh I don’t want to stay in here! I hate this place! I want to go play!”

“Meril Sidhiel you shall do as you are told.”

Meril raised his head and looked directly at Elrond, fixing him with an intense expression that reminded Elrond of someone. As he was wondering who, the child smiled at him, a broad, confident grin, and addressed him in an ancient dialect Elrond had not heard since the War of the First Age.

“Giving the orders at last, are you Rondy?”

Both Elrond and Meril were shocked. Elrond stepped back, his face a mask of surprise, and Meril clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide, knowing he had definitely gone too far, addressing Lord Elrond in such a manner. Rúmil straightened up, aware the child had spoken, but having no idea what was said. He looked from Elrond to Meril, then back, confused. Elrond sank heavily to a chair, while Meril slowly brought his hands down from his mouth. Both stared at each other for a long moment, saying nothing. Then Elrond uttered a single word.

“Gil?”

Meril looked from the Lord of Imladris, then down to his hands, as though they were different from what he expected. He touched himself, then looked up at Elrond again. He grinned.

“I’m back.”

***---***

Gimli carefully opened the door and peered into the sunlit room, and smiled as Legolas slowly turned his head to look at him. Even battered, with his head bandaged and his eyes black and swollen, Gimli thought he was so beautiful it almost broke his heart.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

Legolas smiled, still sleepy. Gimli’s smile became decidedly goofy as he was overwhelmed with love for his befuddled and beautiful husband.

“Of course,” said Legolas softly.

Gimli’s smile broadened, and, as he stepped into the room, he brought from behind his back a covered tray. Legolas’ expression became interested.

“What’s that?” he asked softly.

“Your favorite! I had Sam make them for you.” Gimli raised the cloth off the tray, and Legolas smelled something warm and wonderful.

“Cream scones? For me?”

“With jam and butter, like you like. And tea.”

Legolas laughed quietly; his chest was still too sore to permit much in the way of laughing and talking. “Gimli you are so sweet!”

Gimli set the tray down beside the bed, then helped Legolas to sit up, carefully moving the Elf’s pained body. Then he seated himself on the chair beside the bed. Legolas smiled wearily.

“Gimli you are so good to me. And I remember nothing of our love. Nothing! Not even our first time together.”

Gimli looked sheepish, and began putting butter and jam on a scone for his Elven love. “Well that’s probably for the best, shan’t weep over that.”

“Bad?” asked Legolas softly.

“Ah, yes. Terrible, actually. I believe you told me that you now knew what it was like to be mounted by a Troll.”

“I’m sure it was not that bad, I am assuming I let you do it again.”

Gimli passed him the scone. “You did. Eventually we got it right. I’m hoping maybe we will again some day.”

Legolas studied the Dwarf, this veritable stranger who loved him so desperately, and felt sadness that he did not remember his love. His eyes became wet, and he looked away. There was a long silence while Legolas got himself under control. He reached up his good hand to touch his hair. He grimaced at the feel of it.

“I need a bath. I am filthy. I have been lounging in this bed for over a week.”

“I could help you with that,” said Gimli, then blushed as he realized what he had said. He cast a glance at Legolas, and saw the Elf was grinning at him.

“Well you are my husband,” said Legolas. “I think that would be all right.”

“I’ll do that now!” Gimli immediately ran off to arrange it, leaving Legolas to eat his scones and drink his tea.

It took Gimli very little time to arrange the bath. He had a tub brought into the room and filled with scented water, oils and bubble bath, then had a small table brought in with soaps and cloths and towels. Elrond came in briefly to examine Legolas, checking under his bandages to see what could and could not get wet. He finally decided the only part he did not want in the water was the badly broken leg. The cut on his head was healed enough that washing would have no consequence. Legolas was most pleased to hear this; his hair was so dirty he was considering cutting it off.

Elrond cut off the bandages around Legolas’ ribs, head, and arm, then left the pair to their privacy.

Gimli carefully picked the tall Elf up, then set him gently in the warm water, letting Legolas relax against the tub’s painted enamel side. Legolas sighed in relief.

“Thank you Gimli, I needed this very much. There is no excuse for one of the First Born to be dirty and smelly.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. “Oh no! The world would turn dark, and the birds would fall from the trees should one of you pointy-ears smell funny.”

“Wash my hair,” said Legolas, and grinned.

Gimli grumbled, but he did, pouring water over the long, gold hair from a small pitcher, soaking it. He then set the pitcher down and reached for the soap. “You’ve soap for every day of the week here.”

Legolas looked at the soap. “No I have the right amount. This is for skin, this is for hair, this is for the face, this is for softening the skin, this is for feet….”

Gimli rolled his eyes again. “Well if you have a long enough life to spent a month in the tub then that’s fine I suppose.” He reached for the hair soap.

Legolas picked up another bar. “This is for hands…”

“Enough! This will take all day.”

“Well if you have better things to do I am sure that handsome Lawsborn could come wash me…”

“No one washes my Elf but me.” Gimli began gently soaping the long hair, carefully washing it, his broad calloused hands moving cautiously over the healing wounds. He smiled as Legolas sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.

“Gimli?”

“Yes?”

“If I don’t fall back in love with you, it will not be your fault.”

“Since I cannot live without you, I will have to do all I can to win you back. Like it was easy the first time.”

“I think the second time may be easier. I had no idea you were so sweet.”

The Dwarf flushed red and grumbled. “Why do all you pointy-ears call me sweet!”

“Perhaps because you are.” Legolas gave him a sly look. “A bath would do you no harm, either.”

Legolas heard the pitcher hit the floor with a wet ‘bonk!’ noise, and grinned.

“Is that wise? You’re pretty badly hurt.”

“I fail to see the harm in a little cuddling. Besides,” Legolas smiled, “I’d like to see what made me decide to spend eternity with you.”

“Well you didn’t see that for a couple years after we fell in love.”

Legolas blinked prettily at him, and Gimli caved like an unshorn tunnel. Grumbling, he stood and locked the door, then began to undress, slowly, hanging his clothes neatly on a chair. Legolas watched with interest, very much wanting to see what as well as whom he had bonded to.

He was not disappointed.

Gimli was far hairier than Legolas liked, that was for certain, but at least it was a contained hairiness. It covered his forearms, and spread across his chest to form a trail down his stomach, but at least it was not all over his back. Legolas was not sure he could get used to a hairy back. His time in Gondor helping Aragorn to rebuild the city had shown him all the sweaty hairy backs an Elf could stomach. After a time Legolas refused to take his own shirt off while working, because his smooth, lean hairless Elven body seemed to attract the Men like furry moist flies.

Legolas suddenly realized he had actually remembered something, and was about to tell Gimli, but then thought the better of it. No need to tell his husband that his body hair reminded him of something unpleasant. He rested in the tub and watched Gimli undress.

He was broad, and powerful, big bones sheathed in heavy muscle. There was no spare on him anywhere; despite how heavy his armor made him look. Just rippling muscle from his jaw down. Then he removed his pants, and Legolas heard himself make a noise of amazement. Gimli rolled his eyes and began turning red.

“What?”

It was a moment before Legolas found his voice. “Nothing, really.”

Gimli grumbled something, then came to get into the large tub, carefully moving Legolas so the Elf could rest against him. He smiled as Legolas settled comfortably against him and closed his eyes, and he wrapped his arms gently around the battered body.

“This is nice,” said Legolas quietly.

“It is,” said Gimli. He raised one wet hand to touch the fine face, and was rewarded when Legolas turned his head to kiss him. It was a slow, lingering kiss, and when it ended the two just looked at each other for a long moment. Then Legolas closed his eyes and settled contentedly against Gimli.

***---***

“It’s come to this,” said Taelin. “I’m guarding a tree.”

“At least it’s a royal tree,” said Sildil.

“There were trees back home too but we didn’t have to stare at them,” said Novnariel.

Lúthien yawned. “Maybe if we stare at it long enough, it will do something.”

The four Elves stared. The tree didn’t do anything.

“Bugger,” said Taelin.

The four Elves were clad in the garb of the elite guards that served the king directly; his personal royal guard. They had stayed more for the new Queen than the King, whom they all remembered as a snotty-nosed pain in the ass, who liked to wait until they were asleep standing up on duty and yank the pole arm they were leaning on out from under them. The King had been justifiably reticent about assigning Elves to anything grueling or dirty, and finally put them to minding the very young White Tree. It had seemed perfect to the Elves at first, but after a couple years the assignment was getting dull. Aragorn was currently trying to find them something else to do, after having awoken the previous morning to find the Elves frolicking naked in the pond surrounding the Tree, and their garments hanging from it. Elves were silly enough on their own; bored Elves were a hazard.

“It’s still a tree,” remarked Sildil.

“Thank you for the update,” said Lúthien. She straightened up and peered at something approaching in the fading light of day. “Are Nazgûl green?”

The other three Elves peered at the blinding green and gold object, just far enough away they could not make it out. It shone with the radiance of the setting sun, glittering as it flew towards them.

“Whatever it is,” said Novnariel, “it is not a Nazgûl.”

“Giant humming bird,” said Taelin. Lúthien smacked him on the helm with her pole arm.

The object drew near. They began to make out great wings, and a long reptilian head. After a moment longer they saw what it was; a green dragon, clad in Elven barding, a rider on its back. They straightened, and watched with awe as it made its way fast towards them.

“Who in all Arda is that?” Lúthien.

“Let’s think about this,” said Sildil. “Lunatic Elf on a dragon.”

“Glorfindel,” they all said at once.

The dragon approached, a powerful beast with a wingspan that overshadowed the yard. It beat its wings hard, whipping up a great wind, slowly lowering itself onto its hind legs in order to place a small bundle it was holding on the grass. Then she settled, and looked over her shoulder at the tall Elf-Lord who dismounted her. Glorfindel removed his helm, his long white hair falling loose and wild around his shoulders. He picked up the small bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a very small Elfling. He tied the cloak wrapped around it into a sling, hanging it around his neck and putting the baby in it, then took what looked like a great pile of dark rags into his arms. He turned briefly to look at the four Elves.

“Tend to the Lady Syrdanna, she is weary with battle and hard travel.” Then he made his way hastily to the Citadel.

The four Elves stared at the tired, disgruntled dragon, who stared back. Her jaws frothed from thirst, and her hide gleamed with sweat, her great sides heaving. She snorted heavily, her hot breath ruffling their hair.

“Suddenly guarding the Tree doesn’t seem like such a bad thing,” said Taelin.

***---***

Glorfindel kicked open the door and stepped inside, then yelled in Elvish; “Estel! I have need of you!”

Aragorn had been relaxing in his study when all hell broke loose in the hall, and he realized with a start it was Glorfindel. He jumped up and ran towards the sound, finding his dear friend in the receiving hall.

“Fin?”

Glorfindel turned to look at Aragorn. “Estel I am so glad to see you. Take Erestor, he needs tending I have no idea what is wrong with him but he is very ill. Careful with him, he is with child.”

Aragorn carefully took Erestor, unable to recognize the proud advisor to Lord Elrond. The Elf was white and limp, a sickly sheen of sweat covering his skin.

“We will take him to a guest chamber, I will care for him myself. This way.”

Aragon made his way quickly to a nearby room, Glorfindel following after him. He took Estorel out of the sling and examined his small son. The child put his arms around his father’s neck and looked around at the grand building he found himself in, his eyes large and interested. Then he drew a breath.

“Dragon!” he yelled.

Glorfindel stopped short and stared at the baby. “Estorel! You spoke!”

“DRAGON!” demanded the Elfling.

“Dragon is tired, baby.”

“DRAGON!” he shrieked at a pitch that nearly sent Glorfindel to his knees.

Drawn by the chaos, Arwen appeared the large chamber, stopping as she recognized Glorfindel.

“Fin?” she said.

Glorfindel gave her a kiss and passed her the baby. “Hello Arwen good to see you you’re as lovely as ever listen give Estorel a new nappy and a bottle then take him to see the bloody dragon before he levels the place will you I have to see if my husband is all right love you.”

Arwen accepted the wet and shrieking Elfling and watched as the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower pelted after her husband. Then she smiled.

“I shall get you for this,” she said sweetly.

***---***

Rabbit watched the sun edge towards the horizon through the large hole Syrdanna had dug in the tower. Inside of him, his child rolled and flipped, all too aware of how nervous his Sia was. Rabbit sniffed the air, tense and unhappy, aware of the distant chaos in the ruined Tower; of the Orcs seeking them, and preparing for the possible return of the green dragon.

“At least Erestor is safe,” said Mouse quietly. “He was not well. And I am glad the little one is safe as well.”

“Yes, that at least is something,” said Rabbit. He paced nervously, then looked at Mouse. “I am too nervous, I am going for a brief walk around the pond to settle my nerves, I shall be but a moment.”

Mouse nodded, not questioning the Warrior. There was much tension in the small group, and not only over the searching Orcs. The two young Elves in their first cycle were stirring up strife as well, and Foxfire was getting aggressive, venting his frustrations on Wolf, who was the only available potential mate there. Wolf was certainly interested, but his attention was too focused on Rabbit to really concern himself with Foxfire. He avoided the younger Elf when he could, and Foxfire responded by returning the favour. But the tension was palpable in the air.

Rabbit loped to the pond and dove into the cold water, glad to be away from the whole mess, if only briefly. He briefly wished a small group of Orcs would find them, so Foxfire could rip something to shreds and calm down. The youngster was large, but he was younger than was common for an Elf to have his first cycle, so it was small wonder he did not know how to cope with his feelings. His natural urge was just to make the discomfort stop whatever way possible as soon as possible, but some small grain of common sense kept reminding him that he was not old enough to make a responsible Sia. So he did the next best thing. He picked fights. Unfortunately he was no more skilled at battle than he was at parenting, and had been beaten up by his sibling Firespark twice, who was in the same condition and in no mood for his younger sibling’s antics.

Rabbit swam in the cold water, swimming to the far end of the pond and emerging wet and gleaming. He hauled himself onto the shore and sat, relishing the peace, then sighing heavily as he heard Foxfire get his butt kicked for the third time that day, this time by Starlight. The fight was short and violent, ending with a yelp from Foxfire. Starlight worried him into submission, and all was silent again. Rabbit shook his head, then offered a silent prayer to Titania, Queen of Faeries, for the strength to get him through this. He flopped onto his back, arms splayed out, and felt his right hand strike something odd.

He looked to what he had struck, but could not tell what it was. It was large, but seemed brittle and dry. He wondered for a moment, then sat up and moved to examine the thing.

It was buried in centuries’ worth of dust and dirt, and there was a black-shafted Orcish arrow jutting out of it, dried and brittle from its time there. Rabbit carefully dug away the dirt, and found a body.

Whoever it was, he had been dead a very long time, and he was mummified in the position in which he passed away. Rabbit carefully examined him, sympathy filling him for this poor lost soul. His death had been harsh, and the opened wounds and badly broken shoulder were obvious. The arrow was but one of many torments suffered by this being before he died.

Rabbit cleared away the dust and dirt from the head, and saw the matted black hair, still clinging to the dried scalp, and the high pointed ears. It was the body of a Plains Elf, and it was likely one who had died in that black time when his folk were being turned into Orcs. Rabbit wondered if he knew him, and began clearing away more debris to see if he could find a name still visible upon the desiccated flesh.

When he did find the name he almost lost his mind, and the emotional blow was like a physical punch in the head. He heard himself making strange, hysterical noises, but was unable to stop himself, and all he could do was stare at the series of tattoos.

A raven on one wrist, a wolf on the other, and a bramble tattoo with three berries upon it, one white, almost identical to his own. Unlike himself, however, there was another tattoo in the pit of the throat, barely visible, of a hummingbird: the sign of one who was bonded to a clan Warrior.

It was Wolf Hunter, dead where he had fallen, nearly three thousand years ago.