The Last Homely House
Chapter Twenty Nine

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: Erestor gets three visitors, Legolas gets another makeover, and Rabbit gets mad.

Glorfindel followed Aragorn to the large guest room, closing the door behind himself before crossing the floor to the bed where Aragon had placed Erestor. The chief advisor was filthy, his clothes ragged and torn from the sharp stones in his prison, and his skin an unhealthy grey. He was sweating and shivering, and did not seem aware of those around him.

“There are some things I need,” said Aragorn. “I will return soon.”

“Will he be all right?” asked Glorfindel.

“He is ill, but I do not think he is beyond mending. I will have a bath prepared. Calm yourself my friend; I do not think there is anything wrong with Erestor that rest, a bath, good food and a little care will not mend. Stay the night, Syrdanna needs rest even if you do not. In the morning I will give you weapons, as well as a few things for those you go to rescue. Do Plains Elf folk use weapons?”

“Yes, swords, knives and bows, not unlike their kin.”

Aragorn nodded. “You watch over Erestor, I will see about having a bath and food provided.”

Glorfindel watched him depart, then looked back to Erestor. The robes were not worth saving, so he used his knife to cut them off, sparing Erestor the discomfort of needless movement. Soon servants arrived with a painted porcelain bath and buckets of heated water. The bath was quickly prepared and the servants departed. When Aragorn arrived soon after, Glorfindel was in the bath with Erestor, washing the filth of Barad-dûr from his husband’s white skin. Together they cleaned him off, treated his small injuries, and dressed him in a light garment before putting him to bed. Exhausted, Glorfindel settled into bed beside him, spooning close and putting his arm around him. Aragorn left the large chamber, leaving the two Elves to sleep.

***---***

“I liked watching the tree better,” said Sildil.

“You’re never happy,” said Lúthien.

“Just pass the bucket and shut up, would you? DAMMIT, RABBIT! Some mascot you turned out to be.”

Harvey the rabbit sat on the grass surrounding the White Tree, resplendent in his bunny-sized black and silver uniform, chewing. He completely failed to move as Sildil nearly tripped over him. The young Elf cursed as he lugged the bucket of fish over to the great green sea dragon, who was presently lounging in the stone courtyard. Sildil set the bucket down before her.

“There you go, my lady, fresh fish.”

Syrdanna stared at the contents of the bucket, unconvinced. She raised one long, elegant paw, daintily picked a fish out of the bucket and held it up, scrutinizing it. Syrdanna looked from the fish to the Elf and back again. Then, after careful consideration, she slapped him with it.

“That’s a good look for you,” said Novnariel.

“Bugger,” said Sildil, as fish scales glittered on his face.

Marilee yawned. “Serves you right for insulting my rabbit.”

Sildil began wiping off his face. “Your rabbit is a menace, and ought to be served with spring onions.”

“Harvey is a true and loyal member of His Majesty’s guard.”

“Need I remind you, that when the new King of Rohan came to visit, and King Elessar brought him out to see how the White Tree fared, that it was YOUR RABBIT caught chewing on the bark while simultaneously humping a root?”

“And who was caught last week urinating on the trunk?”

“Well I was told not to do it off of the edge of the courtyard and down onto the city, wasn’t I? Where’s Taelin? How did he get out of guard duty? He owes me three gold from the card game.”

Novnariel yawned. “He fell off his horse and smacked his head on the street. He’s in the infirmary.”

Lúthien rolled her eyes. “Fine thing for an Elf to do in front of Mortals. Was he drunk?”

“I should say so, he’d had nine bottles of that cheap rot they serve in the pubs on the bottom level.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Sildil. “He just didn’t want to pay up.” He held up another fish. “Look my lady, lovely fish. They are fresh, truly! I caught them myself but a while ago!”

Syrdanna took the fish in her paw and, with a smooth, elegant gesture, slapped him with it. Then she dropped it into the bucket and put her head down on the cool stone, closing her eyes.

“Bugger,” said Sildil.

“Syrdanna!” called a voice.

The dragon immediately got to her feet and turned to look in the direction of the voice. Glorfindel approached quickly across the dawn-lit stone in his gold and green armor. As he reached her, she lowered her head and allowed him to begin putting on her armor.

“We ride out,” said Glorfindel softly to her, and kissed her green snout. Then he glanced at something on the ground. “Why is that rabbit wearing a uniform and humping a tree root?”

***---***

Erestor slowly became aware of the sound of a light rain, and the scent of clean sheets. He was warm and dry and comfortable, and did not wish to open his eyes lest he found it all to be a dream. But there was an odd, thin, whistling sound coming from directly before his face, and finally curiosity won him over.

The pillow was large and clean, white, with small designs embroidered on it. Resting on the clean pillowcase was a very large crow, wings spread slightly, belly down on the soft surface. His beak was open slightly, and the thin whistling noise was the sound of the bird panting. Erestor stared at it, brow furrowed, trying to think what this crow was doing on his pillow. Then he felt a shock of recognition.

“Glorfinkle?”

The bird shook his head, then resumed panting. Erestor reached out to touch the black feathery body, and the crow turned his head to softly nibble the Elf’s fingers.

Something hopped onto Erestor’s hip, and he turned to see a second crow, none other than Garfindel. Peering over his hip was a third black face, belonging to Glorfunkle. Erestor laughed.

“What are you three doing here?”

“They flew in only a half hour ago, my Lady,” said a voice.

Erestor looked up, and saw an older Man in the garb of the Citadel guards. He had to think before he recalled his name.

“Amrath!”

The man smiled and bowed. “Indeed. His Majesty Elessar asked me to look after you, and tend to your needs.” The aging guard blushed slightly. “I… I apologize, my lady, for having mistaken you for a male at our last meeting.”

Erestor nearly corrected him, but then considered his circumstances. Mortals seemed to have a difficult time telling male Elves from female anyway, and his present condition would require a great deal of explanation. Simpler just to let the poor old fellow think he was a lady.

“Quite all right, Amrath.” He leaned back against the pillows, feeling weak, then slowly rolled onto his back, Garfindel managing to stay upright by scrambling onto Erestor’s large middle. He flapped his wings and cawed at Amrath.

“How did I get here?” he asked, stroking the crow.

“Your Lord Glorfindel brought you, and your little one. Quite an entrance it was! Rode up on a great green dragon. Half the city thought the Nazgûl had returned, and the other half was bracing for a dragon attack, but she was gentle as a kitten.”

“Glorfindel! Is he still here?”

“Nay, he and his dragon flew off, not sure where to. But he gave me a big wet kiss to give you. If you do not mind my saying so, my lady, your lord is a bit mad.”

“Yes he is,” said Erestor. He reached out to stroke Glorfinkle’s back. “Amrath, would you bring food and water for my birds? They have flown a long way. And where is my child?”

“Right there, my lady.”

Amrath pointed, and Erestor saw the nearby cradle. He heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the sleeping Elfling. “So we, at least, are safe. Fin must have gone for the others.”

Amrath went to fetch food and water for the large carrion crows, returning in a few minutes with servants. They were carrying a large glass bowl, and a tray laden with bits of meat. The crows waited until the servants filled the bowl, then dove on it, splashing noisily and throwing water around the chamber. Once they had soaked themselves to the point of where they looked half-plucked, they hopped soggily over to the tray and began quarreling loudly over the tidbits. The noise awakened Estorel, who sat up, rubbing one eye with his fist. He yawned, then looked around.

“DRAGON!” he shrieked, sending the birds scrambling in all directions.

Amrath picked the Elfling up, getting his beard yanked for his efforts, and brought the child over to his mother. Just then the door opened, and Aragorn stepped in. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos.

“Just like home,” he said dryly.

Erestor turned to look, then smiled. “Estel!”

Aragorn came to seat himself on the bed, reaching out to touch the advisor’s black hair. He was immediately dived upon by three sodden crows, who snapped their sharp beaks at his fingers.

“Most formidable guardians,” said Aragorn. “I hope they do no treat Fin this way.”

“They do, actually,” said Erestor.

“DRAGON!” screamed Estorel.

Aragorn reached under his cloak, and pulled out a large, floppy green dragon with gold eyes and large wings. Estorel snatched it with a delighted noise and buried his face in the soft, silky fabric.

“With luck that will stem the screeching for a while,” he said. Aragorn took Erestor’s hand. “You were very ill my friend. Your health is still not good. I fear you will be my guest here for quite a while, at least until your child is born.”

“I can think of worse fates,” said Erestor. “Where has Fin gone?”

“He and the dragon Syrdanna stayed the night, then rose early this morning to fly back to the ruins of Barad-dûr, for those who are still trapped there.”

***---***

Legolas heard the door open, then the quiet sound of someone creeping up on him. He was almost too sleepy to open his eyes, and his body felt as though it was made of lead. He was tired, and Elrond had given him something to make him rest. It was all he could do to open one eye. He managed for a brief moment to keep it open and look at the two who had entered his room.

It was Veet and Liritar, and they had their make-up kit with them. Not that they ever used cosmetics themselves, they hoarded them for making over their younger brother, and various hapless guards on duty. More than once King Thranduil had been greeted in his hall by growling warriors in matching frilly lavender frocks. Thranduil never gave his daughters anything anymore that would not look good on his guards.

“You two wouldn’t dare,” he managed to say, his voice soft and drowsy.

“Shh,” said Veet. “You’re having a nightmare.”

Legolas made a quiet sound of agreement, then drifted off into a deep slumber just as he felt something soft and cool touch his face. Liritar watched Legolas fall asleep just as Veet touched the cosmetics to his face.

“Great,” she said. “You killed him.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

"Nago nin."

"Bado na Ûdun."

“You first.”

“What are you two doing?”

Veet and Liritar looked up, startled, as they heard Glóin’s voice behind them. Still with her cosmetics in hand, Veet said to her sister; “You know what to do.”

“Right.” Liritar grabbed up the rufflie purple and orange dress and began heading towards Gloin with a gleam in her eye. Glóin did what any reasonable Dwarf would; he fled, Liritar in hot pursuit. She chased him as far as the door, then closed and barred it, knowing Glóin would not dare bang on it with Legolas asleep. She dropped the dress onto a chair, then came back to assist her sister, while outside the door Glóin kept up a quiet stream of dire Dwarven threats.

Lindir found him, still stewing, about an hour later. Lindir had a tray of medicines and salves and other such things, which meant Lord Elrond would be arriving shortly to inspect his patient. Glóin loved Veet and Liritar as much as he did Legolas, but had to admit he was looking forward to seeing them get a dressing down for picking on their brother while he was so ill.

“Hello Lindir.”

“Hello Mr. Glóin. Why are you in the hallway?”

“Because I did nae want to wear a frock. I look stupid in orange ruffles.”

Lindir was about to ask how Glóin knew this, when Gimli arrived and quietly knocked on the door. A moment later they heard the bar move, and Glóin braced himself for the screaming and bloodletting that would surely follow when Gimli saw his beloved husband and companion laid out like a clown. Gimli stepped into the room, but there was no screaming. Cautiously, Lindir and Glóin followed, and paused as they saw the figure on the bed.

Legolas was laid out in a clean white nightshirt, his long, pale gold hair combed and braided in proper Elf fashion. The horrid bruises around his eyes were carefully hidden by the cosmetics, and for the first time in days he looked as he had before the Troll attack. He slept peacefully in the afternoon sunlight, one hand across his chest, lips parted slightly.

“He’s so pretty!” said Lindir softly, blue eyes large.

Gimli walked quietly over to his husband, sitting down of the chair beside the bed, reaching out to gently take his hand. The Elf stirred, blue eyes opening briefly. He turned his head and looked at Gimli, and a brief smile crossed his face as he saw him. Then he was asleep once more.

Glóin took Liritar’s hand. “That was a nice thing you did for your brother,” he said.

Both Veet and Liritar blushed, then Veet grabbed Glóin by his beard. The old Dwarf grinned as the young Elf woman leaned forward to come face to face with him.

“We did it for Gimli, not Legolas. So don’t spread any rumors about Lir and I caring about him. Or worse, being kind.”

“Of course not,” said Glóin. “No one will ever think of you as anything but troublesome trollops with the manners of a ditch digger’s dog.”

Liritar hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Khazad-Ada. We love you too.”

***---***

Rabbit spent the night by the body of Wolf Hunter, feeling the grief of all the centuries washing over him. He had hoped, of course, that Wolf had by some miracle escaped, knowing it was not likely. To find him again had been more joy than Rabbit had ever expected. He loved Wolf, and would not have parted with him again. He had been toying with the idea of asking Haldir if he would consider letting Wolf into their family as another lover, knowing Haldir would likely have a fit at the idea of sharing Rabbit with anyone. A foolish idea, perhaps, and one now that did not require considering. Wolf was dead. Rabbit sat and stared, almost too overwhelmed by his grief to live. Then he heard something: voices.

He raised his head, listening intently, green eyes narrowing. The two who were speaking were not far; just behind the wall of crumbled rock he sat beside. It was likely they had no idea Rabbit was so close, and the clan warrior listened intently. The first voice was that of Foxfire.

“I am glad that, at last you understand, I am not too young for you.”

Rabbit growled very quietly, and began prowling stealthily towards the sound of the voices. He bared his teeth at the sound of the second voice. It was Wolf. Or rather, Wolf’s imposter.

“I could not approach you sooner, you know this. I had to wait for Yar to lower his guard. He was a dear friend to me once, though I never loved him. But he is jealous, and would not tolerate me finding someone to love, even though he has someone new.”

“I have long suspected he is not right in his mind,” said Foxfire, with the cold flippancy only a teenager in the presence of a new lover can manage. “But tell me, there is no truth to what my brother says, is there? That you court him as well? He says you have already lain together twice now.”

Rabbit felt a rush of nausea, and a cold fear as a horrid understanding hit him with the force of a brick. The Buyer wanted Elflings to corrupt. What would be easier to corrupt than something he himself had fathered? And how better to mate with young Plains Elves than to appear as one of their own?

The world seemed bathed in blood, and Rabbit was so angry he thought he had lost his mind. His teeth creaked as he ground them together, and he heard a snarl, not realizing it was his own. This thing had captured his people, tormented them, taken on the form of someone Rabbit had loved so dearly, and now meant to use Foxfire’s youth and idiocy against him.

This ended now.

Rabbit came over the outcrop like death, baying like a mad hound and landing on top of the creature pretending to be his beloved Wolf. The blow rolled it, and it tried to get up, but Rabbit was on it, chewing, shaking his head, rending chunks of flesh from it with his teeth and bare hands. It screamed like one of his own kind, but there was no ruse left that this creature could use to save its life.

Foxfire sat up and yelled Rabbit’s name, but was sent fleeing back to his elders with a swift blow from the back of the Warrior’s hand. Foxfire fled, hiding behind Starlight and Mouse, watching as the two Elves tore each other to bleeding rags.

Rabbit crunched his teeth down onto the being’s forearm, and there was a roaring bellow that was not the sound of a Plains-Elf in pain. Slowly the creature Rabbit fought transformed, becoming burning cold and withered, but powerful. It was somewhat Elven in shape, but was no Elf they had ever seen. It was a screaming thing of evil, shrieking and trying to deflect Rabbit, to get time enough to summon its servants. Even now things within the ruins of Barad-dûr turned to run towards the hidden grotto, but they did not know where to find their fell master. For the first time in millennia, the Buyer would have to fight his own battle.

The creature’s flesh burned Rabbit, leaving frozen, smouldering scars on the Plains-Elf’s body, but Rabbit was beyond feeling. For centuries he had dreamed of this moment, and mere pain would do nothing to stop him. He fought like a rabid dog, all teeth and claws, a creature of hell, and gave his victim not so much as a second to find his bearings. At last the Buyer had but one chance for escape, and he took it. Breaking free of the battle, he ran for the opening the dragon had torn in the wall, Rabbit right behind him, relentless and raging.

***---***

Rabbit hounded the thing, feeling neither pain nor cold, nor even his own brutal injuries. He bounded after it, blood flowing from his nose and mouth, eyes luminous, his breath frothing in the cold air. He had no idea as to where the thing was fleeing; he did not care. If he died on his feet it was of small consequence. He would hunt it well after death and to the depths of the realms of the dead if need be. Ahead of him the Buyer ran, afraid for the first time in many, many centuries. He just now was coming to realize how very much he had overestimated his own power, and underestimated Rabbit’s.

At last it could run no more. Away from its base of power and servants, its strength waned, and its only hope now was that the Plains Elf was too battered and exhausted to defeat it. Finally, it turned to face Rabbit.

Rabbit hit it full on, and they fell into the mud, tearing at one another like dogs. The ground was stony mud, and the shards of rock cut the two combatants badly, their blood mixing in with the black, sickly soil. Rabbit was mad with rage, with centuries worth of pain and sorrow, and with the finally outrage that this creature tried to deceive him with the face of one he had loved so very much.

The Buyer managed to get one searing cold hand around Rabbit’s throat, but the slick mixture of mud and blood made it near impossible to hold him. Rabbit lunged forward, teeth missing the creature’s face by barest of fractions, saliva flying from his jaws like the foam of a rabid dog. The burns that appeared and bled and oozed did nothing to stop Rabbit; they seemed to do little more than raise the level of his frenzy. Then the hand slipped, and this time Rabbit did get his teeth into the Buyer’s face.

Rabbit shredded chunks of meat, leaving a bleeding skull that screamed obscenities and curses at him. The flesh burned and pained him, but Rabbit paid no heed; if he did not survive this fight, that was of no consequence. His only duty to his clan was to make certain they never had to fear this monster again.

The Buyer screamed and clawed at Rabbit, opening burnt, bleeding rents in his flesh. Rabbit bit down onto the wrist, then yanked back with his entire body, gathering every ounce of weight and strength he had and shaking the screaming monster, feeling the bones break. The Buyer raked him with the claws of his other hand, then tried to incapacitate him with the sickly stench it had used to render the Elves helpless once before. But the wind blew most of the stink away, and the only effect it had on Rabbit was to make him go for the creature’s throat.

The Buyer managed to fling Rabbit down to the mud and kicked him hard, stomping on him, but the blows did not stop Rabbit. He managed to dodge the worst of the blows, leaping aside. He was finally getting tired, and finally beginning to understand he was not going to survive this fight. But he was at peace with that. His people would be safe, as would be Bramble. The child inside of him would be born in the Faery Realm, and together they would hunt by the green rivers for crayfish, under the kind gaze of Titania, Faery-Queen.

The Buyer sensed an opportunity, and came up with a rock, catching Rabbit full in the side of the head. Rabbit spilled into the mud, stunned, and felt the great talon-like claws it had on its feet shred the flesh of his throat. The blood came fast and heavy, and Rabbit knew his time to defeat this creature now grew short.

He struggled up to all fours, but the Buyer hit him again, and Rabbit once more felt rage take hold of him. He had to get up, had to kill this thing, or there would be no peace for him in the Faery Realm: only a grim waiting for the next horror, and the next fight.

His hands sunk into the mud, and suddenly Rabbit felt something beneath his fingers. It was sharp and metallic, though he had no idea what it was or how it came to be there. He grasped it, then summoning the last of his strength he lunged, and drove the thing straight into the Buyer’s breast.

It shrieked, and the noise nearly made Rabbit deaf, cutting through his ears and mind, burning him. There was a horrid stench of something dead far too long, and then the Buyer collapsed, its body turning to dry rot and maggots in the mud. Bleeding, broken, and with no strength left. Rabbit staggered a few feet away, then dropped down into the mud as well. The world became very quiet and grey, and his green eyes began to glaze over as the blood flowed out of his broken body.

***---***

Thranduil raised one hand, and brought the group of Wood and Plains Elves behind him to a halt. Ahead of them in the distance, approaching quickly, was a small group of beings. Behind him Warrior Moon stood up on his horse’s hindquarters and studied the small group.

“It is them! Crossing the ground towards us! Mouse, Starlight, Firespark, and Foxfire. I do not see Rabbit and Erestor. Firespark seems injured.”

Haldir felt fear clench his gut, and he urged his horse forward, galloping towards the group. The four Plains Elves were terribly glad to see their friend approaching, and screamed out a greeting. Haldir rode up to them, stopping his horse and dismounting, smiling as he was pounced on by the small group. He put an arm around Firespark, then looked at his bandaged forearm.”

“What has happened to you?”

“Too much,” said Mouse. “Our young warrior here was attacked by an Uruk named Gothmog, posing as a friend. He was no friend, I tell you. He lies dead in the tower now.” He looked past Haldir. “I do NOT believe it. Is that my Warrior on a horse?!”

Mouse bounded towards his lover, leaping on him. Starlight likewise went to bounce on his own lover, Shade. Then Firespark and Foxfire both pounced on Rain Chaser, their Sia, come to rescue his two children.

Haldir looked around. “Where are Rabbit and Erestor?”

Mouse looked at Haldir. “Glorfindel arrived on Syrdanna and took Erestor and Estorel away. I do not know where Rabbit is.”

“He went that way,” said Starlight, pointing in the direction Rabbit had gone. “He was chasing something. We thought it was another Plains Elf, but Rabbit attacked it, and it changed into something old and foul and twisted.”

Firespark huddled against his Sia, who stroked his hand over his child’s hair. Haldir swung himself onto his horse’s back. “I must go after Rabbit.”

“Not alone!” said Thranduil. “Take those with you as can ride swiftly. I will take those remaining and our newly returned companions back the way we came.

The group split up, and Haldir set off across the plains with Ilinuil, Amaris, Ecthelion and Ithilian, as well as several Plains Elves. Thranduil watched them depart, then began guiding the remaining Elves away from the Tower.

***---***

The voice was soft, gentle, full of warmth and love, and he heard it very clearly.

“Do you know where you lie, Ta’Na Yar?”

Rabbit made no move, said nothing. He was more dead than alive, and cared nothing for the world around him. He watched with disinterest as the creature moved in front of him. It was a grey shadow, thin and vague, in the shape of one of his own kind. The long hair blew, wild and ragged, and it was naked. The only definition was the eyes, which were luminous green. Rabbit knew then who had come for him. It was the Far Walker, the shadow of death, come to lead him home.

The shade did not seem perturbed by Rabbit’s lack of answer. “You lie now where once you bore Frost. This was the birthing hut. Do you not recognize it? You have come home.”

Rabbit sat up, and looked down at the badly beaten body he had inhabited, feeling nothing for it. Then he looked at the Far Walker.

“There is no village here anymore, spirit of death.”

The green eyes were wise and calm and deep. The shade had no mouth, but it spoke all the same.

“There was. There will be again. As there will be Golden Elves once more in the trees of Lothlórien. And you and your Glaur-Iy Haldir will sit here one day and sing to the Three Horses.”

“But, aren’t I dead?”

The shade seemed amused, then looked up at the sky. “You certainly will be if your silly yellow Elf does not hurry. I will keep you company. We will talk, thee and I, Sia of shamans and warriors. You whose Sia was First-Born among all your kind. Look in your hand, at what you slew the hunter of our kin with.”

Rabbit turned his head and looked down at what lay in the hand of the Elf dying in the mud. It was silver, and finely made. Once it had been the point of a shaman’s spear.

“Once that was Fox Walking’s. You have avenged many ghosts here today, Ta’Na Yar. For that you will be graced by the Queen herself. If you live of course.” The Far Walker sat calmly, watching the horses approach quickly. He settled himself onto his haunches like a ragged and lean wolf, watching. “Your friends are many. Half the clan has come for you, and the King of the Spider Realm. Gracious, your love is a chubby one, is he not?”

Rabbit growled, and the spirit laughed. “There is my great warrior. Your battle is not done yet, your name not fully written. There will be much between your kind and the Glaur-Iyre. They will need your wisdom.” The Far Walker looked at Haldir again. “Chubby but not without beauty.”

“He is not chubby, you insolent ghost. Clothes do not suit him.”

“Ah the cry of many a lover. Fret not, he is beautiful, and wise. Oh, give the spearhead to Dances With Crows. I think he will appreciate it. Now lie down, child. They have come for you. I will stand watch.”