The Last Homely House
Chapter Thirty

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: Rabbit gets better, Cirdan rues losing a game of Tablero to Fin, babies are born and found, friends are parted for a while, Thranduil makes a friend and Fingon learns to keep his hands to himself.

Rabbit slowly awoke.

He was weak, and his entire body hurt. He was lying on his stomach, unable to move, and he panted with the effort of trying. He was on something soft, but he did not know where he was; his surroundings were unfamiliar to him. He knew none of the smells or sounds, and he felt as though awakening was a long battle out of a nightmare.

He raised his head and growled, managing to thrash his legs, but the movement was sporadic, weak. His growl became a snarl, and he shook his head. Not far away, a frightened mortal voice called out.

“King Elessar! It’s waking up!”

Rabbit threw his head back and made a horrific, savage noise, lips pulled back, teeth gleaming. The Man called out again.

“KING ELESSAR!”

Rabbit was confused, and his body was not responding to his wishes. He uttered a horrendous roaring noise, then snapped at the air, confused and in pain. He heard the door open, and someone came towards him, someone whose scent he knew. He sniffed, moving his head back and forth, tracking it. Then as the scent drew closer, he lunged and snapped. Aragorn moved out of the way in time to avoid having his face removed.

“Your majesty?”

“I am well, Amrath, do not trouble yourself.”

“Sire that thing is dangerous!”

“He is not a thing, Amrath. He is an Elf, and he is injured and frightened.”

“I thought Elves were pretty and gentle.”

Rabbit snapped, teeth connecting with naught but air. He tried to lunge, but his body refused to move. He panted, growling quietly, lips drawn back over his sharp teeth, listening as Aragorn spoke soothingly to him in Elvish.

“Be at peace, warrior, you are safe. None here shall hurt you. Be not afraid, you are among friends….”

Rabbit listened, still with his teeth bared, still snarling very quietly. He could smell the warmth of Aragorn’s body, and waited for him to draw near. Then he snapped, catching cloth and slicing it.

“Your majesty, you will do your people no service feeding yourself to a demon-Elf.”

Aragorn’s voice sounded amused. “You may have a point, Amrath.”

Rabbit tried to get up, but only succeeded in dragging himself a short distance.

“Your majesty, he is very slowly escaping.”

“So I see. Rabbit, listen to me, I pray. You will not be harmed. Haldir is coming, you are quite safe. Please, do not strain yourself.”

Rabbit uttered a horrible baying noise that made Amrath clamp his hands over his ears and cry out in fear. Aragorn stepped back, uncertain what to do. Then the door flew open and in stepped Haldir, dirty and wet with snow.

“Rabbit,” he said softly, relief in his voice.

Rabbit turned towards the sound of Haldir’s voice and made an odd, keening noise that the Wood-Elf had never heard before. It was full of fear, and pain and sorrow, and conveyed the battered Plains-Elf’s emotions better than words ever could.

Haldir made his way quickly to Rabbit, taking his face between his hands, resting his brow against his lover’s. “I was so worried. When I found you on the ground, I feared you were dead.”

Rabbit purred at him, a low frequency sound more felt than heard, as Haldir stroked his hair. He relaxed against his husband, reaching up one large hand to clutch the sleeve of Haldir’s tunic.

“I cannot see!” said Rabbit.

Haldir kissed his nose. “You have a large bandage around your face.”

Rabbit sighed at his own silliness. “Is that what that is.”

Haldir laughed quietly, stroking Rabbit’s hair. “I thought I had lost you.”

“I feared I would never see you again. The others, are they well?”

“They are fine. You have nothing to concern yourself with. Estel says you will be fine.”

“How did I get here?”

Haldir removed his cloak and let it fall to the floor, then seated himself on the bed. “We found you lying in the mud, nearly bled to death. You were white and cold. Ilinuil used the coldness of his own hand to burn your wounds closed, but still we did not know if you would survive. Then Glorfindel arrived on Syrdanna, and we put you on her back, so that you might reach aid swiftly. Then I followed on horseback as quickly as I was able. I have only just now arrived. None too soon, it seems, as you were about to devour Estel.”

“He needs to learn not to approach an injured Thrayre-Iy.”

Haldir smiled. “I think he has learned that now.”

Rabbit felt weak and exhausted, and he was sore from straining his injuries. “Lie beside me, Haldir. I need rest, I cannot if you are not here.”

Haldir undressed, then slid into bed beside Rabbit, who settled against him, resting his head on his chest. He felt Haldir put an arm around him, and Rabbit raised his head to kiss him. Then he put his head down once more, and felt his eyes grow wet as emotion overwhelmed him. Haldir held him more tightly, then kissed his brow.

“Calm yourself. We are together again.”

Rabbit nodded, then said softly; “I have something that needs saying.”

***---***

It was a week after Rabbit’s awakening that Elrond received word from Gondor.

Elrond had been at his desk all day, dealing with household matters, and writing an angry letter to some twit in Lake Town who was under the impression Thranduil had fled Mirkwood with the intention of leaving some rather large bills unpaid. Elrond had no dislike for Mortals in general, but this one in particular made him want to declare war just on principle. Now as he finished writing the letter and putting his seal to it, another letter arrived in the form of a large hawk carrying a small scroll case. The hawk dropped the letter unceremoniously onto his desk, then skipped over to the platter that held the Elf-Lord’s lunch. Hopping onto a piece of cold roast chicken, the bird began to feast. Elrond sighed heavily, then reached for the scroll case, opening it and retrieving the note inside. He recognized the handwriting immediately; it was from Glorfindel.

Greetings from Minas Tirith!

This really is a frightfully ugly city, has anyone ever mentioned that? From the air it greatly resembles a moldy wedding cake.

My fair beloved Erestor and beautiful son are well and safe, praise the Valar! We lost none to the Buyer, and the Buyer himself lies in pieces on the fell plains of Mordor. I have but one thing to say about what Rabbit did to him – Ech.

Rabbit is well. He is injured, and has lost a good deal of blood and lies in a weakened state, or what counts as weak for him, anyway. This fair, gentle, and timid creature of the Faery Realm has so far bitten two healers, a chambermaid, and the High King of Gondor. Estel has since put Haldir in charge of his care and issued war gauntlets to his cleaning staff. All is well, however – I found the Tablero board.

We had a bit of a fright when Foxfire revealed he had lain with this Buyer, believing it to be another Plains Elf. Fortunately it was his first cycle, and, as with most first cycles, so I am told, it was a false cycle. So he is not with child, but he has a tale about losing his virginity few can top. Ai! I dare say it even beats you and Gil getting caught by your Ada in that lady’s wardrobe. What WERE you two thinking?

Speaking of wondering what people are thinking, you will never guess who we found on the road. Gaelemir! He’s all in white now, with weapons given to him by none other than Tulkas. He has repented his old ways, and is now well and truly an Elven Warrior worthy of song. Quite an amazing transformation. Not amazing enough for the lovely Ilinuil, mind. They are unbound, and will not seek each other’s company again. Amaris was seen dancing a jig of despair over this news, as you can well imagine. Not that he is without competition. Ai what fools Men and Elves make of themselves over one who is fair! The worth of the gifts of jewelry, furs, and other strange and precious objects he has been given could finance the building of a new city. What Ilinuil calls a jewelry box I would call two trunks and a wardrobe. Erestor thinks he dumps all his trinkets on the floor at night and sleeps on them, breathing smoke.

What was I talking about? Oh yes. Wondering about what goes through the minds of some folk. Gaelemir was seen last night with wine and gifts in hand heading for the room of His Highness Thranny the Irritable. Good bloody luck to the both of them.

Erestor and I are staying here until our child is born. Erestor’s health is rather fragile from his ordeal. Rabbit and Haldir are returning as soon as Rabbit can get up, and Estel shan’t cry over that. He has seventeen Plains Elves in his castle, and of the group Rabbit is the best behaved. Warrior Moon caught some visiting diplomat flirting with Arwen and decided it was his duty to protect the king’s mate. Ilinuil kindly donated a portion of his treasure to the offended party to smooth over relations between the two kingdoms. Luck was with us – we found the fellow’s nose under the bookshelf.

What else? Syrdanna seems to have been up to some nonsense, though I can’t think when. She has piled debris in the middle of Estel’s courtyard and laid a clutch of eggs, five in all. Pretty things, like gemstones. She is currently sitting on them like a big green predatory chicken. Eomer dropped by to visit, came up the steps into the courtyard, saw her and promptly fainted. He woke up being licked by a dragon and getting his leg humped by a rabbit in a Gondorian uniform.

Have I mentioned Estel has been playing Tablero a lot lately?

Well that about wraps it up. I hope all is well with you. Look for Erestor and I in the spring. Be well.

- Love, Fin.

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then sighed heavily. Raising his head, he looked towards Rúmil, and realized that his husband’s silence had nothing to do with his being on duty.

“Rúmil, are you quite all right?”

“I am well, my Lord.”

The Elf-Lord rose to his feet, and crossed the office to close the door. Then he came to face Rúmil, reaching out to gently touch his face, finding him damp and feverish.

“You are not well, my beloved, you are, to quote our dear Faramir, ‘sick as a dog’.” He looked into Rúmil’s green eyes, taking note of the fevered glaze in them. “Come along, to bed with you.”

“I am not ill!” protested Rúmil. “Just….off.”

Elrond stroked Rúmil’s long hair, then softly kissed him. “Come sit with me. Please.”

Rúmil let Elrond lead him over to the couch. They settled on it together, Rúmil laying his head on Elrond’s shoulder, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of his husband’s hand stroking his hair.

“Tell me what is wrong,” said Elrond softly.

Rúmil shook his head, then pressed closer. “Everything and nothing. I feel weary and restless and irritable. The sun is too bright, the walls are the wrong colour, I am hungry but all the food in the kitchen looks perfectly dreadful. I broke my favorite comb this morning and actually cried. Ridiculous.”

Elrond smiled. “Sounds to me like nothing more than exhaustion, and injuries not quite recovered.” He stroked the heavy bandage over Rúmil’s cracked sword arm.

“You are right, I think. There was the preparation for our binding ceremony, then the battle, now the wait to find if our Plains Elf kin are well… there has been little rest.”

There was a knock at the door, then it opened slightly, and Frost poked his head inside. “Lord Elrond there is a fellow here from Lake Town to see you. I think he is mad, shall I feed him to Mauburz?”

Elrond smiled. “No Frost, that will not be necessary.”

“Shall I kill him for you my Lord?” asked Rúmil.

Elrond’s smile spread into a grin. “No, my most loyal guardian.” He kissed him. “Frost, give us a moment to regain our decorum and then send in the maniac, would you?”

Frost smiled. “Your wish is my command.” He closed the door and departed.

Rúmil slowly got off the sofa, moving as one burdened by much weariness. Elrond watched him limp towards his post, thinking there was something terribly familiar about his symptoms; the stiff-legged walk, the listless movements, the light sensitivity. He had seen this before, but could not recall where. He did not have long to ponder it, however, before the door flew open and in strode a rather angry Man. Rúmil flinched at the noise, but regained his composure and drew himself upright.

The Man looked from Elrond to Rúmil, jaw working, plainly confused. Deciding at last that the Elf in the elaborate, and plainly ancient garb, with the huge weapon was NOT the one he had come to speak to, he turned to face the elegantly dressed Elf seated on the embroidered sofa.

“Lord Elrond, I presume?”

Elrond stood up, rising above the balding head of the Man. He offered a quick and silent prayer of thanks to the Valar that he was only half mortal. “I am Lord Elrond. This is my personal attendant, Rúmil. You may have noticed him, he is the Elf by my desk with the weapons.”

The Man looked at Rúmil. “That’s a male?”

Rúmil made a quiet sound, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. The Man turned back to Elrond.

“My Lord if you have any idea where his Majesty King Thranduil of Mirkwood is, I would greatly appreciate you telling me.”

“King Thranduil is currently in Mordor. Shall I give you directions?”

The Man was not amused. “He owes me a sum of well over seven thousand gold!”

Elrond was bored with this debate already, and was far more interested in what was affecting his husband. “Does Thranduil not have others who handle these matters for him?”

“Ordinarily, yes, but they seem to have all left for Valinor!”

Elrond found it hard to believe Thranduil would intentionally leave a debt unpaid. Certainly he had his shortcomings, but running out on his obligations was not one of them. “I can assure you that his majesty has not reneged on his debts.”

The man stared coldly at Elrond. “If I were you, I would pray that he has not.”

Rúmil raised his head. “Is that a threat?”

Elrond made a gesture with his hand towards his guardian, and was surprised when Rúmil did not back off. Man and Elf faced each other, and Elrond had the odd feeling that Rúmil was not paying attention to him.

“Rúmil ...”

Rúmil was most certainly not minding his master. He stalked over to the Man, who was a head shorter than the Elf. “Was that a threat?” Rúmil demanded again.

“Away with you, you perfumed… ACK!”

Rúmil drew his twin fighting swords and lunged after the Man, screaming and blazing with white light. The Man turned tail and fled for his life, Rúmil in heated pursuit, screaming threats. Elrond sighed heavily, then chased after them. He reached the hallway, and met up with Orophin.

“Shall I catch him, my Lord?” asked Orophin.

“Yes and bring him back here, and see that Mortal gets on his horse and departs or I shall let Rúmil finish him off.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Elrond watched Orophin chase after Rúmil, wondering what in all Arda could possibly have gotten into him.

***---***

Gimli had been sitting beside Legolas’ bed, smoking his pipe and watching the fire, when he sensed the Elf had awoken. He glanced towards Legolas, and smiled as he saw the sleepy blue eyes gazing back at him.

“I had a dream,” Legolas said.

“Did you?” said Gimli. “What about?”

Legolas yawned. “I was working in a smithy, and there was a crazy man with bad hair and a red bandana, and some woman named Elizabeth.”

Gimli chuckled quietly. “I cannae picture you working in a forge. No place for an Elf.”

Legolas carefully pushed himself into a seated position. “Ithilian is a smith. So was his cousin, Celebrimbor, who forged the Elven Rings.”

“Fine, a forge is no place for my Elf.”

“Oh, your Elf, am I?” Legolas smiled at him. “And why would you want an Elf with no memory?”

“Because I have a memory. And I remember you.” He gently touched Legolas’ face, then glanced up as he heard someone race past their room, screaming, with Rúmil in hot pursuit, and Orophin chasing after both.

“This place is a madhouse,” grumbled Gimli. He returned his attention to Legolas, touching him once more. “How do you feel?”

Legolas shook his head and closed his eyes. “Not well, but not bad. I have never been injured before, not this badly. I do not like it.”

Gimli gave him a kiss. “I pray it never happens again. I swear it took fifty years off of my life seeing you laying in a pool of blood.”

Legolas smiled. “The last conversation I clearly recall having with you before waking up in this bed, you were calling me a pointy-eared pain in the neck.”

“Well I was only defending myself, you called me a hairy wart on the backside of Middle-Earth. Actually, it was worth the insult to see Boromir laugh wine out his nose.”

Legolas laughed quietly. “I do remember that. I thought Aragorn would wet himself he was laughing so hard at poor Boromir. I recall how Boromir stood and adjusted himself like a proper son of Gondor, and began walking to the river to wash the wine from his face, only to trip over Pippin. Sometimes I would give much to go back to those days. They were hard and full of fear, but such times are often full of friendships and merriment that can be only found in a crisis.”

“Aye, that is very true. But these are good days also.”

Legolas smiled, then reached out to take Gimli’s hand. “I have spoken much with Lord Elrond. He has told me of the strife our love has caused between myself and my father.”

“I did not wish to speak of that,” said Gimli quietly. “That was one thing I wished to leave forgotten. I do not like to see a father and son at odds.”

“He told me also I bound myself to you without asking your consent, and apparently believing you did not know what it was I was doing.”

Gimli gave him a wily look. “That’s the trouble with you Elves, you forget other races are not as thick as we act.”

“Lay beside me, I have something to ask you, and I can’t get up to do it properly.”

Gimli shrugged, then got out of the chair. Slowly, carefully, so not to jar any of the Elf’s broken ribs, he lay on the bed beside him, and let Legolas take his broad, calloused hand in his small Elven one.

“Gimli, dearest friend, most loyal companion, you who have done your best to remind a battered Elf of the love you have for him, would you do me the courtesy of embarrassing yourself before all Imladris by binding with me, properly this time, and not in the hayloft at four in the morning while drunk?”

Gimli leaned forward and softly kissed him. “I cannae think of anyone I would rather be embarrassed by.”

In the hallway they heard the Man run by once more, still screaming for aid, this time with Orophin in hot pursuit, screaming that no Mortal would dare to call his baby brother a lunatic, while Rúmil chased after both and tried to prevent bloodshed.

“Should I go intervene?” asked Gimli.

Legolas laughed. “I think someone had better, and soon! That Mortal will not be able to outpace those two for much longer.”

Gimli softly kissed the Elf, then slid off the bed, grumbling as he made his way to the door. On the way he picked up his axe.

“And what do you need that for?” asked Legolas.

“I found the best way to slow down Orophin once he is angry is with a swift blow to the skull.”

“Gimli!”

“Fine I’ll just break his ankle.” Then the Dwarf left the room.

***---***

Elrond seated himself on the couch once more and sighed, feeling weary. He rubbed his eyes, then was startled by the feel of a gentle hand touching his hair. He sat back, surprised, and saw Meril standing before him, studying him with those eyes so disconcertingly familiar.

“Tired?”

Elrond sat back and sighed. “Painfully so.” He studied the Elfling before him. “Gil, there is something I do not understand…”

Meril seated himself on a chair beside the couch. “I shall explain if I can.”

“Gil there is something not right about the way you have appeared… and Glorfindel swore he saw you still in Mandos’ Hall...”

“I am there. I am here as well. You needed me, so I came. I’m simply borrowing Meril’s body, I will give it back when I am done.”

“Borrowing? But why that body? Why not the body of a grown Elf?”

Meril smiled, and Elrond felt a thousand emotions wash over him as he recognized every gesture, every movement. “Because that would be too much temptation for both of us. In this body I must behave myself, and do what needs to be done before I return.”

“I want you here. I need you here.”

Meril shook his head. “It is not my time yet, but fear not, dear Herald. I will be back.” The child that was also the High King reached out and took his hand. “My time here draws short, so I will speak. Rabbit has won a victory that has earned his people a place on the shores of Valinor, and will be put into song by the bards of Elves and Men. The Wild Elves are still wild, but they are no more only our secret. The time of hiding for them is past.” He smiled. “Rabbit is not an Elf even I would dare tangle with. He knows no king, but his heart is most loyal. He will follow you, and for Haldir he would endure anything. Even the trip to Valinor.”

“Then the time has come for us to depart.” Elrond sat back, a look of sorrow on his strong features. “I did not wish to go. This valley has an enchantment to it, and all who come here go mad in a most delightful way.”

“It will not be forever,” said Meril. “Our life force is tied to that most sacred land. We must return to renew ourselves, but in time, we will come back here. The gift of shelter you gave to our Wild kin has forced us in some small way to become like them. We must go to Valinor to ensure our life forces do not fade, and they must return here for the same reason.”

Elrond smiled. “A most merry band of gypsies we shall be. But the band will not be complete without you.”

“Oh, fear not, dear Rondy, I shall be back, and more handsome than ever. Námo has graced me with most fair and excellent parents, and I await only to be born.”

Elrond grinned, a facial expression he only ever seemed to show to Gil. “And can you tell me who the blessed couple are, so that I might send you a birth gift?”

Gil grinned, the gesture plainly showing on Meril’s young feature. “Now Rondy, you know better than that.”

“Yes, I do, but I cannot help myself. I miss you, more than I can express. Your guidance and friendship mean so much to me.”

Meril chuckled quietly in Gil-galad’s low, soft voice. “Patience, young Rondy. Now, about this recently dispatched monster…. I am not permitted to tell you straight out what I wish to say, because the Valar do not want any being to know all ends. But I can give you a riddle, and trust you will solve it. Then I must be gone again. Meril has a lot of growing to do, and I am interfering.”

“I don’t suppose Námo will trade you for him? No, do not answer that, I know it is wrong. Tell me the riddle.”

“It is not much of a riddle, I fear. ‘What Sauron did, so too did the Buyer’.”

“You’re right, it is not much.”

“You will solve it, I always had faith in you.” He smiled sadly. “Now I really must go. I will return as soon as I am able.”

Meril stood, and Elrond felt his heart break. “I miss you so much.”

The child put his arms around Elrond’s neck, and Elrond embraced him hard, feeling his eyes grow wet. Meril stroked his hair.

“Do not cry, Rondy, I pray.” Then he whispered in his ear, so softly the Elf-Lord barely heard. “Besides, wait until you see me. I’ll look just like my Sia.” Then the spirit was gone, and all Elrond was holding was a very confused Elfling.

Meril pulled back, eyes wet, his face a mask of fear and confusion. “Lord Elrond?” he said, his voice small and afraid. “Lord Elrond I am so sorry I don’t know why I called you Rondy in the healing rooms. I know I’m a bad Elfling but even I know better than that and then I don’t remember anything else!”

Elrond laughed, his own eyes wet, and he moved back on the couch, putting Meril in his lap. “Meril, you had been struck rather forcefully, so you were not quite yourself. So I will let it go, but do not do that again!”

Meril shook his head. “No Lord Elrond.” He looked around. “How did I get here?”

“You were a little confused. Shall I take you back to the healing room?”

“Can I go see my nana first?”

Elrond stood up, the child still in his arms. This was not easy, as Meril was no longer quite the size for carrying around. “Tell you what I shall do. I shall take you to the healing rooms, and have someone go for your nana and ada. I know they would both like to see you.”

He nodded. “Okay. I really am sorry I called you that. Ada would really get angry if he knew I acted like that.”

“Tell you what Meril, it shall be our little secret. Fair?”

He nodded. “Okay Lord Elrond.” Then he put his head down on the Elf-Lord’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Elrond carried the child back to the healing room and got him settled in bed, then quietly instructed an Elf to go find Saelwen and Minuial. Then he departed, meaning to go find Rúmil. As he left the room, he paused in the hallway as a thought sank in. Quietly, he asked himself a question.

“Did Gil just say ‘Sia’?”

***---***

The days passed peacefully in Imladris. Elrond decided to wait for Thranduil to return with the other Elves before he mentioned they were departing for Valinor. In the meantime, he sent a letter to Glorfindel, telling him of the impending departure, then sent off a second letter to Círdan the shipwright, letting him know they would require a ship. Círdan apparently had heard about Glorfindel’s fondness for loud colours, and sent Elrond an assortment of colour samples in the most eye-burning shades ever inflicted upon Elf or Man. Elrond promptly wrote him back saying that green and grey would be quite acceptable for the ship, thank you.

Rúmil’s ailment, whatever it had been, had passed after only a few days, and he was back to his usual self, much to Elrond’s relief. He had lost two loves, each of whom had been very dear. While Rúmil had been ill, the Elf-Lord had been an absolute wreck, caring for him, worrying, pouring over books and scrolls and tomes to try and learn the nature of his ailment. Elrond did not eat nor rest during the entire time, although in truth Rúmil’s ailment did not seem terribly serious to any of the other inhabitants. After four days, the Galadhrim shook it off and was himself. Elrond, however, needed sedating.

Legolas was also better. His ribs were healing well, though his leg was mending much more slowly. He was getting around on crutches, making his husband and Glóin, known fondly to his Elf-children as ‘Khazad-Ada’, crazy with worry.

Legolas had been ‘escaping’ down a hall when he slipped. He managed to catch himself, and thus avoided falling hard, but sat down gracelessly with a thump. Gimli and Glóin found him in the middle of the hall, sitting on the rug. Gimli ran to his side, while Glóin crossed his arms, staring at the Elf.

“Are ye tryin’ to break that leg again, laddie?”

“I’m bored,” pouted the Elf.

“Well break the other one, I’m sure that will be plenty exciting, providing ye learn to piss out the window from ten feet away while you’re bed-ridden.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. “DA’! Will you just help me get him up, please?”

“All right. You wait here, I’ll get a winch.”

“DA!”

Glóin laughed, then walked over to Legolas, taking one arm. Gimli took the other, and they began helping the young Elf to his feet. Faramir came around the corner, saw what was going on, and grinned.

“May I lend a hand, my good Dwarfs?”

Glóin shrugged. Gimli growled and grumbled, then finally nodded, as he was not tall enough to get Legolas on his feet. Faramir gently lifted the slender Elf, standing him up until Gimli could get his crutches under him. Lindir arrived just then, eyes bright, Miss Goose under one arm. He was wearing his weapons-training garb, his long hair tied back, and he was hopping with excitement.

“King Thranduil has returned, with Haldir and Rabbit, and the others!”

Frost must have been close by and heard Lindir, because suddenly he shot past them, heading for the main door. He ran outside, then leapt down the stairs. Already the Plains Elves riding with Thranduil were calling out to their kin, and the Elves in the small village set up a shriek in response that made the blood run cold. Bramble came down the hall next, unable to keep up with her tall half-brother. Faramir caught the child and lifted her up.

“Is it Sia?” she asked, her small voice trembling with emotion.

Faramir smiled at her. “Yes child, it’s your Sia. Come along, I shall take you to him.”

They walked to the door together, Man, Elves, Dwarfs and child. Bramble spied her mother before any of them did, and burst into tears. Faramir set her down and watched her run to Rabbit. He drew a breath at the sight of the battered Plains Elf, and beside him Lindir made a small gasp of horror. Rabbit was a road map of battle scars, most barely healed. The worst were three slashes across his neck, which seemed to have been burned shut. He had another deep gash across his face and eyes. How he had not lost his sight Faramir could not imagine, but the green eyes were as vibrant as ever.

Faramir watched Rabbit and his little family with envy as he held his crying daughter in one arm, his other arm around his tall white son. Beside them Haldir looked on, seeming relieved to have his child and mate together again. Frost playfully wrapped his jaws around Haldir’s face, a gesture Faramir had never seen him do before. Haldir grinned and put his arms around him, undaunted by this creature who could kill him so easily.

Legolas slowly hopped to the open doorway, leaning heavily on his crutches, and looked out at the gathering crowd. He glanced down at Gimli as he felt the Dwarf’s hand on his back, but looked back to the group assembled in the courtyard as he heard his name called.

“Legolas?”

Thranduil stepped out of the crowd, mouth open in shock as he stared at his son. Legolas smiled, a quick, uncertain gesture. Thranduil stared at his son, shock plain upon his face. Finally he remembered to speak.

“Legolas by the Valar I thought you were dead!”

It was now Legolas’ turn to look surprised. “Dead? No I just broke my leg.”

“And your ribs and face and head and dislocated your shoulder and….” muttered Glóin.

Thranduil ran up the steps and moved towards his son, embracing him, and said again; “I thought you were dead!”

“No Ada, I’m fine…”

Thranduil stroked his son’s long hair, then hugged him, careful of his partly-healed injuries. “I was so afraid for you. I am so sorry, for all the things I have said and done. I know you will not understand, but all I wanted was for you to be safe and carefree. Keep the damn tunnel-duster if he makes you happy. Have children with him if you want. Just do not ever scare me like that again!”

Gimli opened his mouth to object to the ‘tunnel-duster’ remark, but Glóin put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Just be quiet boy, I think that’s as good as we can expect.”

***---***

Winter settled peacefully over Imladris, and as the snow gently covered the large house, all within seemed calm and content. All that is save Elrohir.

He had taken to his shaman duties well and easily, though when he agreed to take over for Frost he had not realized just what was involved. Most of his duties were fairly simple. However some of them involved teaching the ways and myths to the young Plains Elves, and as the myths were not written down, that meant hearing them from Frost many times over to get them right. He also had to care for those who were pregnant, which could be most distressing when both the Sia and Aie objected to his presence.

Mouse was close to delivering, and neither he nor Warrior Moon cared to be looked after by a Glaur-Iy, no matter whom the Glaur-Iy was bound to. Elrohir had arrived that day in the village, only to have Warrior leap out of the hut, pounce on him and pin him to the ground, baying full into his face like a demon.

That had only been the start of what came to be a full day of nipping, harassment, and intimidation by Warrior, and now as Elrohir dragged his wet and cold frame to his personal chambers, his humour was less than cheerful. Elrohir closed the bedchamber door behind himself, then spied Frost lying on the rug before the floor like a great silver hound. Suddenly his temper got the better of him.

“MUST YOU LIE ON THE RUG WHEN WE HAVE A PERFECTLY DECENT BED?”

Frost raised his head and looked at his young husband, his expression puzzled. “I like the floor. Why are you so wet, and dare I say, testy?”

Elrohir dropped his sodden robe and cloak onto a chair. “Two words. Warrior Moon.”

“Ah. Gave you a bit of a woof, did he?”

“If you call having that damn monster sit on my chest and bay in my face ‘a bit of a woof’, then yes. He is a foot taller than Glorfindel if he’s an inch, and having him lunge at me was nearly more than my nerves and bladder could withstand. I don’t care if Mouse gives birth to a half dozen three-legged trolls, I shan’t help him. In fact I may hex him into birthing a pony.”

Frost laughed quietly, then got up and approached Elrohir. He put his arms around him and gently kissed him. He placed his brow against the young Elf’s and said softly, “He is challenging your authority.”

“Well yes I can see that but what am I to do about it? Ask him nicely to be good, all the while staring him directly in the navel?”

Frost actually giggled, and kissed Elrohir again. “No. Let me tell you a bit about Moon. He is ancient, aia-nen, so old that all the lives and wars of this land are but passing moments to him. He and Fadai are true First Born, and they remember the time before Elves were given the graces of our people. Elves they are and always will be, but there is a harsh, primitive side to them. My Sia has much of that in him as well, though he is third generation. But he grew up with the old ways, and can be fierce. But it is all show, my beloved. Moon would no more hurt you than he would me. He wants you to challenge him back.”

Elrohir blinked. “Challenge him back? But how can I do that? He’s enormous!”

“You need only stand up to him. He will back down, you will see.”

“What if he eats me?”

Frost kissed him. “Then your ada and I will give him a very severe case of indigestion indeed.”

Elrohir leaned against Frost, sliding his arms around his slim waist. He thought about Warrior Moon and Fadai, lounging like antediluvian wolves in the center of the village. Of the two, Fadai was the more frightening, with his horrific facial scars and one missing eye. He had very nearly been turned into an Orc by Sauron, but somehow managed to escape that fate. However Elrohir doubted much of Fadai’s sanity remained. He did little anymore save guard the village. But Fadai had never bothered Elrohir, unlike Moon, who made it a full-time occupation.

Elrohir sighed. “Very well, I will do as you suggest.” He rested his head against Frost’s broad chest and held him tightly. “I am sorry I snapped. I do not like to see you on the floor.”

He stroked his hands down Frost’s back, enjoying the feel of him. He brought one hand around to touch the white flesh of his lower stomach, but Frost tensed slightly. Elrohir kissed him, moving his hand. Frost was seven weeks along in his pregnancy, and he was tense and nervous, refusing to even discuss the situation with Elrohir, or anyone else for that matter. Both knew that this was usually when Frost lost his children, and the large Plains Elf’s whole focus was on the child inside him, and whether this would be his first born or sixth lost.

Elrohir sneaked a touch of Frost’s belly, disappointed in its flatness. Haldir had told him there would be no indication there was even a child in there until six weeks before delivery, when Frost would likely begin eating anything and everything in biting range. Elrohir had been hoping there was at least some sign, but Frost was as lean and rangy as ever.

Frost turned Elrohir towards the bed, and they walked over to its welcoming warmth. Elrohir dropped the rest of his wet and muddy clothes, then settled under the covers with Frost. “How is Rabbit?” asked Elrohir, snuggling against his husband.

“He is well, surprisingly. Weak, sore, damaged. He should have stayed in Gondor until he was better, but of course Sia will not suffer the cities of Men. I dare say Estel was glad to be rid of him. Sia can be most disagreeable. Odd that he tolerates your father so well.”

“Ada has a way with people. Folk like him. I suppose Rabbit senses his kindness. But I would say that Rabbit’s heart belongs to Rosie. That Hobbit-woman could stand in the jaws of a dragon, and the dragon would let her. She walked right in when Ada was cleaning that big wound on Rabbit’s head, and you know what he did? He made that yip-yap noise your folk do when greeting one another. He doesn’t even do that for Haldir.”

“Did he? That is… amazing!” Frost laughed.

There came a knock at the door, and Elrohir sighed. He gave Frost a quick kiss, then got up and went to answer, snatching a robe off a chair and wrapping it about himself. He opened the door and saw his brother.

“And what do you want?” asked Elrohir.

“To be an only child,” said Elladan. “But failing that, I thought I should let you know Ada is having a gathering in the Golden Hall tonight after the evening meal. All are to be there, which I suppose includes you.”

“Your braids are uneven.”

“And you have mud on your nose so there.”

“Be gone from my sight, or I will point out you have two different coloured boots on as well.”

Elladan’s blue eyes grew large, and he looked down at his feet. “Aw why didn’t Orophin say something?”

“Because he thinks every stupid thing you do is cute. I have no idea what you did to addle his mind so. I think you’re a twit.”

Elladan kissed his brother on the nose, then departed. Elrohir shut the door and turned to look at Frost.

“I wonder what Ada has to say?”

***---***

There was a soft knock on the door, and Gimli grumbled quietly. He had just got Legolas settled in bed, and did not appreciate the disturbance. He got up and began walking to the door, but before he reached it, it swung open, and in stepped Thranduil. Gimli paused, and there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

“I would like to speak to my son, if I may.”

Gimli grumbled, then turned to look at Legolas. The Elf was lying in bed, looking tired after his day of limping about the halls, and Gimli’s instincts all told him to toss Thranduil out and protect his beautiful husband. Legolas however struggled into a sitting position.

“We will be all right Gimli,” he assured him gently.

Gimli growled quietly, displeased, then walked over to Legolas. He bent and kissed him softly. “I will be back soon.” He turned and left the room. Legolas watched Gimli depart, smiling, then he looked towards his father.

“Please come sit, Ada.”

Thranduil walked quietly over to the bed and seated himself on it, looking into Legolas’ eyes. He reached out and touched his son’s face.

“I was so worried. To see you looking so well is more than I dared hope for.”

Legolas smiled. “I am glad just to have you speak to me.”

Thranduil rose to his feet and walked across the room to the small cabinet that held the wine and glasses. He poured himself a glass of mead, then turned to face Legolas once more. His eyes however were on his glass, and he slowly ran the tip of one slender finger around its gilded rim.

“My child I owe you an apology. My fears for your welfare so overwhelmed me that I did not stop one moment to consider your feelings.”

Legolas looked surprised. “Fears for my welfare? But why, Ada?”

Thranduil shook his head. “It is not important. What is important is that you are happy, though it took seeing you lying mangled in your own blood to awaken me, to make me understand that.” He looked up at his son. “So tell me of your tunnel-duster.”

Legolas was about to get angry, but spied a glint in his father’s eyes that he recognized from long ago. He was trying to rile him, but it was all in fun. Legolas leaned back against his pillows and smiled.

“It is an odd sort of love, Ada. Lady Galadriel said to Lord Elrond that Gimli and I did not see each other as Dwarf and Elf, we only saw each other’s hearts. I suppose that is true. Sometimes when I think of him, he seems taller than I, great and brave and wise. Oft times I am shocked to notice he is short and hairy.”

Thranduil laughed quietly. “Then I suppose when he thinks lovingly of you, he sees you as short and wide, with a beard to your knees.”

Legolas laughed. “Perhaps. I do not care if he pictures me as a cave troll.”

“Well I do! Ai think of the scandal should word get out I fathered a troll!”

Legolas laughed harder, and for a time was unable to speak. “Ada I love him, and I know if you spoke with him, that you would care for him as well. There is a wisdom to him that surprises me. He has taken me to places, and shown me starlit pools that lay deep in the earth. He has taken me to great carven halls, and places of such beauty I thought my heart would break. Such beauty dwells in him as well. It is easy to look at him and see only a great beard and coarse features, but his heart is of Mithril. And when he is wrong he learns from it, he does not begrudge the lesson.” Legolas looked down at his hands, and picked at the silk coverlet over him. “And when I lost my memory and recalled nothing of the strife between you and I, he said nothing of it, for he did not wish to see you and I at odds.”

“So he has grace of spirit, as well as wisdom.” Thranduil drained his glass and set it aside, then walked over to his son. He seated himself on the bed once more, and took Legolas’ hands between his own. He waited for his son to look at him, and he smiled at him.

“You chose well, Legolas. And I am happy for you. If you choose to bind yourself publicly to Gimli I will not oppose it.”

Legolas threw his arms around his father’s neck and hugged him. “Thank you Ada.”

Thranduil laughed, then gently pushed Legolas back to the pillows. “You rest. Lord Elrond has called a meeting for this eve, and I mean to be there. I will bring you word of what happens later.”

“Yes Ada.”

Thranduil kissed his son on the brow, then rose and departed the room. He closed the door behind himself, then looked to the Dwarf that stood in the hall. Suddenly, before Gimli could react, Thranduil had him by his shoulders, and he felt his back hit the wall. It took Gimli a moment to realize why he could look the Elf-King in the eye; Thranduil was holding him off the floor.

“Hear me, Dwarf,” he growled, and for one of the few times in his life, Gimli was afraid. This was no mere Elf, this was not ‘Thranny the Irritable’. This was King Thranduil of Mirkwood, a warrior tried and true, in full blaze of his strength and wrath.

“Hear me,” he said again, his voice soft, but cold as stone. “My son loves you a great deal, and I will not oppose his choice. But if you hurt my baby then I warn you that there will be no hole that you and all your kin can dig that will be deep enough for you to escape my wrath. Do you hear me?”

Gimli was actually shaking. He had seen Elves get angry, but he had never been on the receiving end of that rage. Suddenly he did not find it so strange a concept that a Nazgûl would flee from one. Finally he found his voice.

“Yes, Lord.”

Gimli was set down on his feet, shaken but unhurt. Thranduil arranged himself, smoothed down his hair, and left the Dwarf in the hallway. Slowly, looking as though he had aged decades in the span of a moment, Gimli made his way to his chamber, vowing to never cross Thranduil.

***---***

They met in the Golden Hall after the evening meal, all the inhabitants of Imladris. The Plains Elves assembled near their warrior, who loomed behind his Wood-Elf husband, menacing in his scars and tattoos. Across from them were the Wood-Elves, fair and quiet, elegant in their robes. Near the fireplace were gathered the Hobbits, the Mortals, and one huge Uruk-Hai. Together the assembly watched as Lord Elrond entered and took his place at the head of the group, seating himself in a large, carved chair. Rúmil came to stand behind him, resplendent in his formal and ancient garb.

“My friends,” said Elrond. “I have called you here to give you the message I have received from the shores of Valinor. The time has come, we must depart.”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Ithilian stepped forward, his long hair tied back in a loose knot.

“But Lord Elrond, I thought we would be here a while yet!”

Elrond silenced the little smith with a gesture of his hand, and Ithilian stepped back. As he did so, two strange Elves stepped forward. One was Círdan the Shipwright. The second was Mirinhal, the dark-haired Herald of the Lords of the West. He bowed to those assembled.

“I have come from Valinor with Círdan to quell any fears your… unique… little household may have.”

Rabbit yawned and shook his head, then lightly bumped into Haldir, unimpressed with the Herald or the proceedings. Haldir smiled and reached up a hand to quiet his lover.

“Behave, you,” he chided gently.

Rabbit nibbled Haldir’s fingers, then raised his head and tried to pretend he was interested in what Mirinhal had to say. Mirinhal eyed the large and predatory creature nervously, then resumed speaking.

“This journey to Valinor will not be forever. You have been granted the right to return, for you have taken those into your household who are bound to this land, and will fade if not permitted to return.”

“How long will we be gone?” asked Thranduil.

“Twenty years, Thranduil-King. Hardly a blink.”

“To an Elf perhaps,” said Thranduil. “But there are those among us who are mortal, and to them twenty years is quite a long time indeed.”

“Well they hardly need concern themselves over being torn from their homes, as they are not coming.”

This remark was greeted with dead silence. Finally Amrun spoke.

“Then I shall not be going.”

Anna looked at him sharply, surprise on her fine face. She had been spending a great deal of time with the tall, red-haired Elf, and had hoped he cared for her. However to hear him make such a statement filled her with both joy and fear.

“Nor am I,” said Lawsborn, who had become fast friends with Faramir.

“Me either!” piped up Lindir, crossing his arms in a stance he hoped was firm and defiant. The image was somewhat lessened by Miss Goose peeking out of his grasp.

“I also shall be staying,” said Rhimlan. “For I will not leave my wife behind.”

Mauburz hugged Rhimlan close to her immense bosom, while Mirinhal looked distressed.

“But then you will all fade!”

“Then we fade,” said Orophin, “speaking for myself, I will not leave companions behind.”

“Then I am staying as well, for I will not abandon my husband,” said Elladan.

Elrond noted that he had raised a bunch of stubborn, willful children, who would one day drive him out of his mind, but he said nothing.

Ecthelion put an arm around his small lover. “I say we put it to a vote. The mortals may not wish to go with us. We are as much a community as a family. What say ye?”

There was a pause, then Sam stood up, looking around nervously at those assembled. “Begging your pardon, but Rosie and I would like to go back to the Shire, if you go on to Valinor. I’m sure it’s very nice there, but I would like to go back to the Shire.”

“As would Pip and I,” said Merry.

“So speak the Hobbits,” said Elrond. “What say you, Man of Gondor?”

Faramir looked nervous, and cleared his throat before he spoke. “I have no family. My mother, father, and brother are all dead. If I may, I would go with you.”

Lord Elrond nodded, then fixed Anna with his penetrating gaze. “What say you, Anna? Long have we known you, and your parents, and theirs before them. Now you live in our house. Do you stay, or will you depart with us?”

Anna looked at Amrun again. To say she felt that an Elven lover was above her was an understatement. Amrun was tall, graceful, slender. He was a young Elf, not much more than a child by their reckoning. She did not dare to hope he cared for her, but as she looked at him, and he smiled, she made up her mind.

“I will come,” she said.

Anna’s mother suddenly whacked Amrun with a small pouch she carried. “You are not taking my daughter anywhere, you skinny brute.”

Amrun sighed heavily, the look on his face suggesting this was not the fist time he had been subjected to such treatment.

“Mother!” said Anna, shocked. “Mother for the Nth time, do not hit Amrun.”

“I vote we leave Mother Esmerelda behind,” said Ecthelion. He grinned and stepped aside, pretending to hide behind Ithilian as the old lady threatened him with her bag.

“Well what if I married her, would that make you happy?” asked Amrun.

Anna drew a loud gasp. Esmerelda whacked him again.

“Why did it take you so long to ask?” she demanded.

Amrun turned to face her, seeming to grow larger. “My dear lady, do not make me forget my manners lest I take that bag and stuff it up your…”

Anna leapt up with a happy screech and threw her arms around him, crying.

“Ai!” said Ecthelion. “Another has fallen on the battle field. I will raise a glass and think fondly on your memory, Amrun.”

Amrun grinned, hugging Anna. Lord Elrond smiled.

“It would seem Anna and fair Esmerelda shall join us as well.” Then he turned his gaze to the massive Orc standing quietly with her crippled husband. “Now we come to you.”

Mauburz hung her head. “No need say. Me know. No Orc go to sacred Valinor.”

Elrond smiled, then stood up and crossed the room to stand before her. He reached out to take her huge hand, and spoke to her gently, with much fondness.

“My dear Mauburz. You, who were born to be an instrument of evil. You who have slain Elves, but took no joy in it. You, who at first opportunity, left your dark ways, saving my sons, risking your life to bring them here. You, who have taught yourself herbalism, and the ways of healing, and wisdom. My dear Mauburz, if you have not earned your passage, then none of us have.”

Mirinhal looked nervous as the Orc suddenly threw her arms around Elrond, hugging him tightly.

“Me go too?”

Elrond patted her back comfortingly. “You go too. I will not leave my dearest perfume-maker behind. Though, perhaps it would not be a bad thing to leave the last batch of the Eau d’Mordor.”

“Me leave it. Maybe by time we get back, it stink less.”

Mirinhal shook his head. “I will bring word of this to Valinor, though I do not know what they will say.”

“The choice is theirs, this I know,” said Elrond. “But we too have a choice. We have built a community here in this valley. We will not sunder it needlessly.”

Mirinhal bowed. “As you wish, my Lord.”

***---***

Elrohir stood in the snow, transfixed, as death approached.

It moved with long strides, powerful, effortless, and silent as a grave. The young Elf felt his knees shake as he watched Warrior Moon head straight for him, snarling. All seemed to move in agonizing slowness, and Elrohir could see every tiny detail of the impending attack. He watched the huge Plain’s Elf’s muscles ripple, watched his eyes roll back in his head, protecting the delicate irises from the blood and debris that would be spilled. He watched as the lips drew back and the jaws slung open in a grotesque, one hundred and eighty degree gape, exposing the fang-like cutting teeth, which were the ones that did all the slashing damage. He stood, watching, fear turning his guts to sludge as the howling demon-Elf bore down on him.

Then he swung the club.

The blow took Warrior completely by surprise. It threw him off his trajectory, and he crashed headlong into the slushy, icy-cold mud at the side of the pond like a four hundred pound missile. Dead plants, mud and water sprayed in all direction as Warrior rolled and skidded several yards before finally coming to rest in a tangled, dirty heap at the foot of a tree. Then all was silent.

Elrohir dropped his club and took a tentative step towards Warrior, feeling a sense of relief as he saw him begin to slowly pick himself out of the mire.

“Warrior?” he asked in a small voice.

Warrior got to all fours and shook his head, nearly falling with the effort. He was plainly stunned, and he shook his head again, trying to sort himself out.

“Warrior?” said Elrohir again, then froze as he heard Warrior begin growling at him. There was a tone in it Elrohir had never heard before, and as it rose to a shriek of unabashed hate and rage, the young Wood Elf gathered his robes up and made for the house as fast as he could.

“Challenge him my ass!” he said, pure terror driving him back towards Imladris faster than he had ever moved before, hearing Warrior pounding after him.

He flew into the yard and up the stairs, hearing Warrior’s boots skid on the steps after him. Elrohir made straight for the first door he saw, darted inside and slammed it shut. A bare second later the oaken door shuddered as Warrior hit it full on with a resounding BOOOOOMM! Something dropped to the floor, and then there was silence. Cautiously, Elrohir opened the door and peeked out.

Lying on the floor, glassy-eyed and stunned, was Warrior. Not taking any chances, Elrohir hiked up his robes, stepped lightly over him, and headed for his own chambers. He glanced over his shoulder once to see Warrior slowly getting up, all the fight taken out of him for one day. Slowly, the large and ancient Elf began limping back to his hut. Elrohir hurried to his own chambers, closing the door and leaning against it, then spied Frost once more lying on the rug before the fire.

“I want a word with you, oh beloved husband of mine.”

Frost rolled over to look at Elrohir. “Gave you a woof, did he?”

“A woof? He gave me a woof all right, then he chased me from the grotto to the house, up the stairs and would have had me if I had not escaped into the study fast enough!” He dropped his cloak, then sat down on the rug beside his husband. “What is with him? He has met me before, we have spoken on several occasions and he has always been perfectly decent. Why is it the moment I pick up my spear and head for his hut he turns into a monster?”

Frost smiled warmly at Elrohir, then leaned forward and kissed him. “That, aia-nen, is at the very heart of who we are. Do you know how the Plains Elves came to be?”

Elrohir shook his head. “I thought the same as we had.”

“No,” said Frost softly, “not quite. For when Melkor disrupted the music of Ilúvatar, he opened a doorway, into a secret place that even they did not know about. From that secret place came a wild thing. He was lean and hungry, and his hair was black, as is the hair of all things from the Faery Realm, and his eyes were the colour of the sunlit leaves, yellow and green both. And he roamed all over Ilúvatar’s new world most disrespectfully, for he was wild, and knew no better.”

“Sounds like your mother,” said Elrohir dryly. Frost grinned.

“The wild thing roamed, and ate the fish and the geese, and he played in the rivers, and it was a very long time indeed before anyone noticed him, for he lived as the other creatures did, and so left no trace. When they did finally notice him, they saw no reason to chase him away, for he did no harm. So they left him, for by now the Golden Elves had come into being, and were awaiting their graces.

It was on the very day that Ilúvatar was about to give the Elves their graces that the wild thing showed up, and he watched all that was occurring. Ilúvatar noticed him, but when he extended his hand to him, the wild thing bit him.”

Elrohir gasped. “BIT him? Bit Ilúvatar?”

“Indeed he did. And the other Valar were most angry, but Ilúvatar smiled, and told the Valar to forgive this creature, for he was wild and knew no better. So Ilúvatar decided then to give this creature the same graces he gave his Golden Elves, for he saw it was an Elf as well, though he did not recall making it. So he gave it all the graces an Elf should have. Then he extended his hand to it again. And once more the creature bit him.”

Elrohir was horrified. “Bit him again?! But why? Wasn’t he aware of what he was doing now, and to whom?”

“Precisely the question Ilúvatar put to the creature, aia-nen. And the creature said; ‘I know who you are, but you did not make me. I am of the Faery Realm, and I was happy being wild. Now I am not wild, but I am not a Golden Elf either, and I shall bite you again, for you did not ask me if I wished to be made aware.’

Ilúvatar agreed this was so, and for a time he thought. Then at last he decided to leave this creature aware, but to give it back its wild, faery nature. And so we are all as we were on that day; Elves on the outside, with all the graces of an Elf. But inside we are still Faery creatures, and will always be wild things.”

Elrohir sighed. “So I am going to have to put up with him trying to bite me.”

“Absolutely not, the silly bugger knows better than that. I’ll have a word with him.”

Elrohir laughed. “Faery Elves. I shall never get used to it.”

Frost kissed him. “All will be better after your initiate’s ceremony, nen.”

“Yes about that. Does it hurt to get tattooed?”

“Yes.”

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Well thank you for your honesty, anyway.” He leaned against Frost and sighed. “It will be good to have this over with. Yule Eve you said it will be?”

“Yes. Yule Eve, the night of the winter solstice.”

He smiled. “I can’t wait.” He sighed heavily and ran his hand over Frost’s powerful arm. “I hope Ada doesn’t get too upset.”

***---***

Fin watched his husband as he lay on the bed, the winter sun turning his flesh to gold. Erestor was sleeping a lot lately, and Fin found it worrisome. He had been out of Barad-dûr several weeks now, and Erestor had seemed to be doing well. But now as the solstice approached, he seemed to get weary and listless again, and Fin was pretty certain he knew why.

Erestor wanted to go home.

He had not said as much, of course. Erestor would never admit to so silly and childish a thing as wanting his own bed in his own room on the Yule Eve. However holidays had always meant a great deal to Erestor, and he was lonely in Gondor, confined as he was to bed. Now as Glorfindel watched him sleep, he made a decision. They would go.

He rose from his chair and quietly left the room, seeking Estel. He found him in the private gardens, and approached him, reaching out and taking his hand.

“Estel, please do not think me ungrateful for your hospitality, but Erestor and I must go.”

Aragorn nodded, understanding in his deep eyes. “Yes. Erestor is suffering, I can see that. And he has mentioned he wishes to bear his child in his own bed.”

Fin nodded. “He has said nothing to me but I guessed as much as well.” He hugged his friend. “Care to help me get Syrdanna into her tack?”

“Of course. But what of the dragon eggs?”

“I have already discussed that with her Ladyship. The eggs shall ride along in my tunic and stay warm.”

Aragorn grinned. “Then I shall pray for a smooth ride. I doubt Syrdanna would care for scrambled eggs.”

“Ai! Don’t even joke about it! Doubtless she would throw me off of her back, and whatever talents I may have, I cannot fly!”

They went to the courtyard, where Syrdanna was still on her nest. She seemed as anxious to leave as Erestor, and when Fin picked up the bridle and headpiece, she let him place it on her without fuss. Aragorn reached out and stroked her neck.

“Only you could talk a dragon into agreeing to be a mount.”

Glorfindel smiled as he bucked the heavy leather straps. “The Lady Syrdanna is no mere mount. She is my friend. She tolerates me because it amuses her to do so. Rest assured, Estel, I may be arrogant, but not even I would dare to presume upon a dragon’s good will.” Glorfindel hoisted the heavy, cloth-lined golden fur that protected Syrdanna’s skin from the saddle. “Your blanket, my lady, if you please.”

Syrdanna rose off of the nest to permit Fin to put the blanket on, and Aragorn began gently placing the gem-like green and gold eggs into a basket, lined with hay and goose feathers. Beneath the hay was a small, enclosed metal pan, containing live coals to keep the eggs warm. Aragorn gently packed the eggs, all too aware of Syrdanna’s breath on the back of his neck. Finally done putting them away, he passed the basket to Syrdanna, then finished getting her into her tack while Glorfindel went for Erestor.

Fin quietly entered the room, and smiled as he saw his husband sitting up. His hair was at all angles, and he was bleary from having just awoken.

“Hello my lovely darling.”

Erestor made a face at him, then put a hand on his stomach. “This child of yours is practicing his combat tactics.”

Glorfindel came to sit on the bed, facing Erestor, and kissed him. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I hope it’s not food, I could not eat a bite.”

Fin smiled at him. “No love. I discussed it with Estel, and he agrees. We are taking you home.”

Erestor’s eyes lit up. “Home? Really?”

Fin nodded. “Home.”

“Oh I am so glad! I did not want to say anything, but….”

Fin leaned forward and softly kissed him. “You get dressed, have a bite to eat, and I will pack. We will be on our way in no time, and will be home in time for Yule.”

Erestor threw his arms around his neck and kissed him, then got out of bed and began dressing. Soon they were ready to depart, and they left the great Citadel, crossing the courtyard. Erestor was carrying Estorel, wrapped in a fur, and cradled in a large sling to be certain he did not accidentally fall. Syrdanna was ready to go, and the December morning sky was clear and blue. It was a fine day for flying.

Fin walked over to Aragorn, and hugged him tightly, then kissed his face. “You know we are returning to Valinor,” he said. “I may not see you again for quite some time.”

Aragorn nodded. “But we will always be friends. And we will see each other again one day.”

Glorfindel studied the face of this man he had first seen as a small child, whom he had helped raise, and trained to fight. He hugged him hard, not wanting to think of him ever being gone, knowing that one day age would claim him. It was a terribly depressing thought for the Elf, and he held Aragorn tightly, reluctant to let go. Finally he released him, and stepped back.

“I will see you again,” he said.

Aragorn smiled at him. “I know you will.”

Erestor stepped forward and hugged Aragorn as well. “Be well, but do not get too complacent. We shall be back to trouble you ere you know!”

“Hopefully by then I will have rebuilt my army.”

Glorfindel laughed, then led Erestor over to the dragon to help him onto her back. Taking the small, closed basket containing the precious dragon eggs, Fin slid them inside his tunic, then grasped the saddle and swung himself into position behind Erestor. Taking the reins, he waved once more to Aragorn.

“Take care, Estel. Be well and happy.”

Aragorn waved back, unable to speak as he watched his friend gently turn the dragon. They walked to the end of the great outlook that Denethor had thrown himself from, and Syrdanna unfolded her huge wings. Moments later a wind caught them, and she was lifted straight up with the sound of ship’s sails. She banked gently in the direction of Imladris, and caught an updraft, settling in to ride it as far as it would take her. From the courtyard, Aragorn stood watch until he could see the dragon and her riders no more.

***---***

Life was good.

Rúmil lay in his large bed, snuggled deep under covers of silk and down. He was warm and content, languishing in the relaxed feeling that came with having just made love with his husband, who was currently in the adjoining room getting ready for the day. Soon Elrond would return to the bedroom, where they would have breakfast together, then possibly get on with the day, or just make love again. Either way, life was very good.

The door slammed open, and Orophin came tearing in. He leapt onto the bed, and began jumping up and down, bouncing his brother around in a tangle of blankets.

Rúmmi! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Guess who’s coming?”

Rúmil sat up and stared coldly at his brother, hair askew, a disgruntled expression on his face. “WHAT?”

Orophin dropped down onto the bed, grinning. “Nana and Ada. They are coming on a ship from Valinor to take us home.”

“They are? Delightful! But why?”

“They probably fear letting their widdle baby-waby make such a BIG trip all by his widdle self!” Orophin pinched Rúmil’s cheek.

Rúmil slapped his hand away. “Elrond! Orophin is undermining the dignity of my station!”

“That’s nice dear,” said Elrond.

“Elrond! Look what is the point of having married an Elf-Lord if my brother can still treat me like an Elfling?”

“Orophin stop undermining the dignity of your brother’s station,” said Elrond in the bored tone of a parent who has dealt with such antics many times before.

“Yeah!” said Rúmil.

“Brat.”

“Plebian.”

“Sycophant.”

“Dwarf.”

“DWARF?!” yelled Orophin. “If I am a Dwarf them you are a Hobbit, your feet are certainly large and hairy enough!”

“They most certainly are not!” said Rúmil, pulling the covers over his feet.

“Hairfoot.”

“Depart, knave, or I shall have you posted to the outer perimeters. And while I’m at it stay away from my stepson. You are a rotten brother, I can only shudder at the thought of what sort of a mate you are. AI! I just had a horrid thought! You are now my son-in-law!!”

Orophin threw his arms around Rúmil’s neck. “ADA!”

“Oh get out of here! You are wrinkling my blankets. When do Nana and Ada arrive?”

Orophin kissed him noisily on the cheek. “Late March, with the ship we are to take to Valinor. Time enough for you to learn to dress yourself and stop ‘weeing’ in Lord Elrond’s bed.”

“Time enough to hide your dead body, not that they will search for you!”

Orophin kissed him noisily again, then got off the bed and departed. Rúmil flopped back down to the pillows, and looked towards Elrond, who was just entering the chamber.

“You have not seen your parents in a long time, you must be delighted.”

“I am,” said Rúmil. “And yet not. I love them dearly, but Nana fusses over me too much. I think it hurts Orophin. He was still very young when I came along, and I think he never quite forgave me for it. It makes it worse when Nana fusses. And Nana fusses because Ada never seemed to really want me about, so I think she feels she must.”

Elrond seated himself on the bed. “I should think your Ada would love you all equally. You have all grown into fine brave Elves.”

“Oh I know he loves me. But I think my arrival was the cause of some strain. Orophin was too young to recall, but Haldir was older. He says they had many quiet but heated discussions after I was born.” He plucked at the cover. “Apparently there was even talk of giving me away to another. I am not supposed to know this, of course.”

The shock plainly showed on Elrond’s face. “Give you away? How could a father even contemplate such a thing!”

Rúmil shrugged, and was startled when Elrond threw his arms around him, pulling him close. “I could never give away a child, and it grieves me that you know such a thing about yourself.”

Rúmil kissed him. “There is no need to grieve. They did not, and I was a happy child.”

Elrond nodded. “Very well,” he said softly. “But it displeases me to think of you being treated so harshly.”

“That is all passed now. Whatever strife was caused by my birth is lost to history.” He kissed the end of Elrond’s nose. “What’s for breakfast?”

Breakfast for Elrond was coffee from the Sutherlands, fruit from the Shire and Rúmil from Lothlórien. Leaving his most beloved guard to start his day at his leisure, he took himself to the healing rooms by the most indirect route he could think of. However, as he was pausing in the gardens to carefully inspect the plants in their winter sleep, he heard a great roar from the direction of the room and decided it was best just to check on Rabbit and get it over with.

Rabbit was recovering nicely. He had a few breaks in the bones of his face from where the Buyer had struck him with the stone, but they would mend. His main problems were the great slashing wounds that were healing far too slowly, and the other great slashing wounds he was attempting to inflict on anyone within biting distance.

Elrond heard the low, hellish snarl suddenly turn to a yip, and smiled at the sound of Rosie’s voice.

“Such a ruckus, and over what? Feronil is just trying to help.”

“Damned if Feronil does it again,” said Feronil.

Elrond arrived just in time to see Rabbit snap at Feronil, missing him. Feronil picked up a reflex hammer to defend himself with, but Rabbit made no move to try to get off the bed and go after him. Instead, he focused his attention on Elrond, who stopped abruptly at the sight of Elrohir standing beside the huge Plains Elf, calmly braiding his thick, heavy hair.

“Elrohir...”

“Hello Ada.”

“Elrohir should you be in biting distance?”

“Rabbit won’t hurt me, Ada. I came by to ask you something.”

“Did you.” Elrond reached out to examine Rabbit’s head wound, and flinched as Rabbit wrapped his jaws around his wrist. However there was no pressure, and he released Elrond and put his head down, letting him examine his wounds while Rosie helped Feronil change the sheets.

“What did you wish to ask me?” said Elrond.

Rabbit snapped again, but by now Elrond had figured out that his mood was playful, bordering on downright goofy. He still did not speak often, or to many, but Elrond sensed that Rabbit was terribly pleased with himself for having single-handedly defeated an agent of Sauron. Elrond gently pulled his hand out of Rabbit’s mouth and examined the large injury on his face that had nearly cost him his eyes. Rabbit sat up and put his head back, and since he was taller than Lord Elrond, he could now no longer see the injury.

“Rabbit,” said Elrond, “let me get a closer look.”

Rabbit’s mouth was suddenly around his face, and Lord Elrond did indeed get a far closer look at the slashing back teeth than he had ever cared for, as well as the odor of crayfish. He sighed.

“Not the fangs, the face.”

Rabbit complied, and let Elrond check out the wound. Beside him, Elrohir cleared his throat.

“I am going to be initiated as an apprentice shaman at the coming Yule Fest. I wanted to know if you would attend.”

Elrond smiled at him. “Of course I will attend, if you wish me there. I would not miss it for anything.”

“Thank you Ada.” He shifted again. “Um… so… you and Frost and Elladan can help design my tattoo!”

Elrond paused, then looked at his son. “Your tattoo.”

“Yes.”

“Not on your face I hope.”

“Oh no, this will be a name tattoo and go on my upper chest, near my shoulder.”

“Good.”

“The face tattoo I have to design myself.”

Elrond sighed heavily. “I do not suppose I can talk you out of this.”

“Sorry Ada.”

“Very well, penneth, run along. I shall try to think of something fairly dignified for you to carve into your flesh.”

Elrohir kissed his face. “Thank you Ada.”

Elrond watched his son depart, then turned to look at Rabbit. “Your child has been a very bad influence on my child.”

Rabbit said nothing, biting onto Elrond’s flowing sleeve and holding it as the Elf-Lord finished examining him.

***---***

While Elrohir was off speaking to Elrond, Frost went into the kitchen and began looking through the cupboards. Not finding what he sought, he began looking through the earthenware jars in a cabinet by the stove, and made a small sound of satisfaction as he located what he sought. He put on a kettle to boil, and began mixing herbs and other ingredients on the counter. He heard someone enter the room, and he looked up to see Gaelemir.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Gaelemir said softly; “Friends? For real this time.”

Frost smiled, returning to what he was doing. “If it is for real, and not merely to get me away from Elrohir?”

“No, not this time. I came to apologize for my actions.”

Frost took the ingredients he had selected and measured and put them in a pestle to grind. “I am glad to hear this. I do miss your friendship. There were times when I was living in the village that I felt you were my only friend.”

Gaelemir smiled. “You had many friends.”

“I did until I became pregnant.”

Gaelemir shook his head and sighed. “I cannot believe any Elf would do such a thing. Even at my worst that was not a thought I could conceive of.”

“They were afraid, Gaelemir. Fear makes folk do terrible things.”

He felt Gaelemir come up behind him and place his hands on his shoulders. “It was wrong, you did not deserve it.” He peered over Frost’s shoulder, watching what he was doing. “I hear you and Elrohir are expecting.”

Frost shook his head. “I do not even wish to think of it, Gaelemir. I have lost five others, I am terrified this one will die as well. I will feel better when it is born, not before.”

Gaelemir squeezed his shoulders comfortingly. “I am sorry. I will say no more about it.”

Frost smiled slightly, listening as Gaelemir set about making himself tea. He finished grinding his herbs, then poured them into a mug and added boiling water from the kettle. He put in a generous dollop of honey, then began slowly stirring, watching the liquid turn dark. He breathed in the wonderful scent, then picked up the mug to sip the tea.

Suddenly Gaelemir grasped his wrist in one hand, and pulled the mug away from Frost with the other. “What are you doing! Are you mad?”

Frost turned to glare at him. “Do you mind terribly? I have been sick to my stomach since I conceived. That tea helps with the nausea.”

Gaelemir’ expression was one of horror. He looked at the tea, then Frost. “Do you know what this is?”

Frost blinked in surprise. “A folk remedy for nausea. Hannilgil’s nana showed me how to make it.”

Gaelemir’s knees buckled, and he sat down heavily on the floor, eyes fixed on his old friend, his expression unreadable. He pointed to the mug in his hand. “Frost, this is what the Men of Rohan give their mares when they are too old or infirm to bear foals.”

Frost stared at Gaelemir, his jaw hanging open. He dropped to his knees, then sank to the floor, stunned. “What?” he asked, his voice rough. “Gaelemir, are you saying I killed my own babies?”

Gaelemir abruptly moved to Frost, taking his hand. “No,” he said firmly. “No you did nothing. Frost you are wise in the way of herbs, why did you not know?”

“The old Shaman died before I was fully taught, and there was no one else to show me! I know much, but not all.” The yellow-green eyes filled with tears, and his voice cracked when he spoke again. “Why did she do that to me?”

Gaelemir pulled him close and held him hard. “I do not know, but may the Valar curse her for doing something so foul! Mir I am so sorry.”

Frost threw his arms around Gaelemir’s neck. For a long time they just held one another, saying nothing, while Frost cried.

***---***

Glorfindel and Erestor arrived late in the evening. Syrdanna landed in the yard, exhausted. She had just strength enough to let Glorfindel removed her armor, then she sank to the ground, falling asleep where she sat. Glorfindel took her eggs with him, since she was in no state to care for them, and walked his equally exhausted husband and sleeping child to their cottage.

“Are you well?” Glorfindel asked.

Erestor nodded. “I am fine, just terribly weary.” He smiled at his husband. “It was good of you to indulge me so.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “There is nothing to thank me for darling. You are suppose to be resting and becoming well, you can not do that if you are pining for your own bed.”

Erestor sighed. “I will be glad to be in my own bed. I do love Estel, but…”

Glorfindel kissed his face. “I know my love. Look, here we are.”

He opened the door to their little cottage, and walked Erestor into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself and leading Erestor over to the bed. He helped him to sit, then knelt before him, kissing him, touching his long hair. “You get ready for bed. I must put Syrdanna’s harness away and make certain she is well.” He kissed Erestor again. “Then I shall return and do your every bidding.”

Erestor kissed him back. “All I wish is to have you hold me close.”

“This I shall do.”

Erestor watched Glorfindel leave, then rose to his feet, carrying Estorel to his crib. He cleaned the child, changed his nappy and put him in his little nightshirt. Then he changed his own clothes, slipping on a light sleeping garment before settling his ponderous body into bed. By the time Glorfindel returned, he was deep in sleep.

***---***

Erestor awoke slowly to the sound of birds, and Estorel quietly playing with his rubber squeaky pony. Spooned against his back was Glorfindel, an arm about his middle, his large hand resting on his stomach. Erestor slowly rolled onto his back, watching his husband sleep. He kissed him gently, then smiled as he saw Glorfindel open one eye.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly.

Glorfindel snuggled closer, putting his head on Erestor’s chest and making a sleepy noise. Erestor laughed, then kissed his face. “My big brave monster-slayer.”

“Tired.”

“Shall I let you sleep, or would you like breakfast?”

Glorfindel thought. “Sleep,” he finally said.

Erestor stroked his long hair, and kissed him. “Very well.”

He pushed the covers back and got out of bed. He dressed, then went to get Estorel, picking him up and taking him to a table to change. Finally they were both ready to face the day, and Erestor stepped out of the bedroom.

Sam and Rosie both stared in surprise as the sight of the Elf emerging from the bedroom, for they had not heard him return. “Master Erestor! Bless you, you’re home!”

“Hello Sam,” said Erestor. He put Estorel down on a blanket on the floor, then looked around. “Where is Lindir?”

“At his lessons,” said Rosie. She took Erestor’s hand. “Come, sit! You shouldn’t be on your feet!”

“Lessons? My, things have changed since I have been gone.”

Sam served Erestor breakfast. “I guess you haven’t heard that all the Elves are refusing to go to Valinor unless Faramir, Anna and Mauburz can go too.”

Erestor laughed. “No I had not, but I am not terribly surprised. Folk here have become quite close. Still I am not sure I wish to fade, not with a small Elfling and another on the way. I hope that some sort of understanding is reached.”

“Lord Elrond said we would know by Yule Fest.”

Erestor nodded. “Well that is in a fortnight. We can wait that long.”

“Yeah, that’s not too long,” said Sam. He poured tea for Erestor, who had turned to watch the first small flakes of snow begin to drift passed the window.

***---***

The days passed in gentle peace. The snows fell, muting the land in a white blanket, shrouding the bushes and trees. Syrdanna dug herself a new nest beneath Imladris, and now all that was to be seen of her was the end of a green muzzle protruding from beneath the foundation, softly exhaling steam. Meanwhile, inside the great house, preparations were being made for the Yule, as well as for another ceremony, that of Elrohir’s initiation.

Frost had not told Elrohir about the potion. He was far too disturbed and shaken by the truth to speak of it. He contented himself with the thought that at last the horrid mystery was solved, and he need not worry about it anymore. When next his stomach acted up, he sought out Lord Elrond for assistance, but did not tell him or anyone else of the potion. Only Gaelemir and Frost knew the truth, and neither were talking.

Gimli and Legolas chose to renew their vows in relative privacy, with only a few in attendance. Thranduil secretly was glad. It was one thing to have one’s son wed to a Dwarf, it was quite another to have every Elf Lord and Lady in attendance. Instead, it was witnessed only by himself, Glóin, a few relatives, and Veet and Liritar, both of whom were highly displeased that their suggestions for the garb of the happy couple had not been taken. Thranduil said the whole thing was stressful enough without having to talk a Dwarf into putting pink ribbons in his hair. All in all, it was a charming little ceremony, and afterwards all went into the Golden Hall for a party. Thranduil got quietly drunk with Glóin, both watching their mad children and shaking their heads. Towards the end of the evening, little Balin climbed onto Thranduil’s lap and fell asleep. Rising quietly, the Elf-King of Mirkwood took his adopted grandchild to his own chambers to sleep, giving his son an evening’s peace with his newly remarried husband. He set the baby on the bed, and covered him over, then kissed his brow.

“Bloody mad, the lot of us,” Thranduil said quietly. “And if you tell anyone I am getting soft, I shall deny it.”

Balin used his fist to scratch the end of his nose, then sighed in his sleep. Taking this as a promise to keep the matter secret, Thranduil made ready for bed.

***---***

Elrohir stood before the mirror, bathed in the festive lights of the coloured glass lamps, hardly recognizing himself. “Ada will not be pleased,” he remarked.

Frost stood behind him, his large hands on his young husband’s shoulders. “Your Ada is not the one who must be pleased. This night is for you.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I do not know what compelled me to pick this design.”

Frost looked over Elrohir’s shoulder, to gaze upon his reflected face. The design the young Elf had chosen was a traditional one, elegantly simple, and, in Frost’s opinion, very enticing. It was the pattern of the Fox, an animal much admired in their culture for its wit and beauty, and said to be the bringer of the gifts of herb-lore and prophecy. Frost himself had painted on the design, and while Elrohir was pleased with the result, he was still nervous about the whole affair.

Elrohir leaned forward to get a better look at the fine, sweeping lines beneath each eye, giving him a sensual, crafty look. The lines began about halfway up his nose, moving up, then following the curve of his lower eyelid, finally terminating about a quarter inch past the far corner. In the pit of his throat was painted the stylized image of the fox, and on his upper left arm was the double fish and goose symbol of the shaman.

“You do not have to do this if you are unready,” said Frost gently.

Elrohir shook his head. “No, I am ready.” He smiled at Frost’s image in the mirror. “I want to do this.”

“Very well, aia-nen.” He picked up his spear. “I shall meet you by the grotto.”

***---***

Elrond stood near the grotto, clad in fine robes of silver and blue, the light snowfall touching his clothing with glittering specs. To his left stood Rúmil, and to his right were Elladan and Orophin. Assembled behind him was all Imladris, including Glorfindel and Erestor, who would not miss seeing the child they had helped Elrond to raise ascending to such an important position. Beside them stood Rosie and Sam, who were equally excited and interested, watching with awe as the rangy forms of the Plains Elves loomed out of the trees.

Quietly their shadowy figures moved to the grotto. The night was dark and silent, save for a soft glow from the festive lights emanating from the house. Snow was falling, and all the world had a surreal calm to it, and was charged with the energy of powers as old and wild as the folk who worshiped them.

There was a collective gasp as Frost appeared, silver-white as the snow, clad only in a short leather kilt, inlaid in silver with a strange design of repeating knots. He moved silently and gracefully, his hair long and loose, blowing slightly with his movement as he stepped into the river. He raised his spear to the moon, though it was hidden by cloud.

“He’s so pretty,” breathed Anna, not wishing to disturb the scene. She stood before Amrun, who had her wrapped in his own cloak so that his body could keep her warm. He kissed her ear.

“My Lady you are not supposed to be admiring other Elves,” he teased quietly.

She smiled. “I only stated the obvious, I did not say he was more fair than you. Look, there is Rabbit.”

Amrun looked up and watched the proud Warrior come to take his place in the circle. Amrun then looked around for Elrohir, not seeing him. Beside him, he heard Erestor say; “I thought they did these ceremonies nude.”

“It is referred to as being Sky-Clad,” said Elrond quietly in his deep voice. “Perhaps they do not appear so for this ceremony.”

“I hope not,” said Lindir softly. He heard Faramir chuckle briefly, and took his hand, smiling broadly when the Man gave it a light squeeze.

Frost lowered his spear, then walked slowly around the group of Plains Elves, completing a circle, then raised his arms once more in the direction of the North. Those watching were startled by the sudden sound of the deep voices of the Plains Elves as they began their chant.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun.
Anata ya cunin a bre tya nin. Anata ya cunin a tya amun.”

The Plains Elves took a step back, opening up the circle slightly. Elrond had seen this ceremony before, and knew how it went. But this time it was slightly different, and he watched as all the Plains Elves save Frost went down on one knee, heads bowed. Then from the icy water of the grotto, someone began to emerge.

He was slender, and his dark hair went down past his slim hips. He slowly spiraled up from the pond, silver water spraying as he rose, naked, dripping silver icy jewels from his slender form, then reached out to take the spear from Frost’s hand. Raising the spear and gracefully turning to face the North, Elrohir continued the chant.

“Tya syna, a mre rekha. Tya rekha a mre athulin.”

Elrond felt his eyes go large and his jaw drop as he recognized his son, naked in the snowy pond. Nearby he heard Thranduil remark dryly; “Fine looking young Elf you raised, Lord Elrond.”

Elrohir did not miss a beat. He had rehearsing this blessing with Frost for weeks, and knew it as well as he knew his own name. He stared straight ahead, snowflakes settling on his white skin, then turned to face the West, Frost turning with him, and the Plains Elves rose up to resume their chant.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun.
Anata ya cunin a bre tya nin. Anata ya cunin a tya amun.”

They performed the entire ritual flawlessly, and when it was over Elrohir passed the spear back to Frost. The Plains Elves took a single step back, opening the circle further, then once more went down on one knee, heads bowed as Elrohir began singing a haunting refrain in an ancient tongue.

Elrond watched, his initial horror at the idea of his baby naked for all Arda to see replaced by fascination and pride. Elrohir performed the ancient rituals as if he had been born to them, and there was a power and grace surrounding him that Elrond had not noticed before. His child had indeed grown up.

The chant ended, and the Plains Elves quietly vanished back into the forest, leaving Frost and Elrohir alone in the pond. The tall white Elf stepped towards Elrohir, and held up a string of leather. Hanging from it was a fox amulet, flanked on both sides by knot symbols made of silver, and three beads of white quartz.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun. Anata ya cunin, sil un.”

He hung the charm around Elrohir’s neck, then from a sheath drew a long, ceremonial dagger made of black metal, covered in strange runes.

“Bre tya nin. A tya amun. Anata ya cunin, sil un.”

Frost gave the dagger to Elrohir, who took it, then dropped to one knee before Frost, lowering his head.

“Sil un, Yaehei.”

Frost took his hand and brought him up, then laughed and embraced him tightly. “Perfect, my aia-nen. I did not do so well at my own ceremony.”

Elrohir laughed, as much with relief as delight, then kissed Frost. He took the grey simple robe he offered him, and pulled it on before running out of the pond to hug his father.

“I did it, Ada!”

Elrond laughed, and held him tightly. “You certainly did. But I think you could have warned me you were going to be showing up in your skin.”

Elrohir laughed again. He was beginning to shiver, and his long brown hair had ice forming it. Though Elves did not commonly feel cold, standing naked in a pond during a snowfall was a bit much even for one of the Fair Folk. Elrond put his own cloak about his shoulders, then said “Come, let us get you inside.”

Frost came to walk with Elrohir and Elrond, while the rest of the household either followed or went their own ways. They had only just reached the steps leading up to the great house, when they spied someone standing on the landing above them. As they drew close, they saw that it was Mirinhal, returned from the Havens. He smiled, and stepped forward to meet them.

“I bring word from Valinor,” he said. “The Lords of the West have made their decision.”

“And, what did they decide?” asked Elrond.

Mirinhal bowed his head. “They see no reason to deny your friends coming to Valinor, as their stay is not forever, though they doubt your sanity in this matter.” He looked from Elrond to Elrohir, who was shivering, his brown hair stiff with ice.

“Young Lord, are you quite all right?”

“Of course,” said Elrohir. “Nothing like a midnight swim in a half-frozen pond for the appetite.”

Elrond held back a grin, and led his child into the house.

***---***

Yule Fest passed, and all Imladris began preparing for the journey to the Havens. Lord Elrond decided to invite the Rangers to come stay in the house while they were gone, to give them a place of retreat should they be ill or injured. Faramir volunteered to bring word to the Rangers, which caused Lindir no end of distress. He took to following the Man around, plaguing him with questions. The day Faramir was to actually leave, Arda’s Oldest Elfling had graduated to Arda’s Biggest Pest.

“But why do you have to go?”

“Because I am a Ranger, Lindir, I know their ways.”

“Well why can’t someone else go?”

“I believe I just explained that.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Faramir shrugged. “A couple weeks, not long.”

“A couple weeks?! That’s forever!”

Faramir stopped packing and sighed, then looked over his shoulder at the young Elf. Lindir had taken to wearing the garb of an adult, and his hair was braided as that of a minstrel, but he was still not much more than a big confused child. Suddenly an idea came to Faramir.

“Lindir, would you like to come with me?”

Lindir’s eyes grew large. “Go with you? Into the Wild, to find the Rangers?”

“Yes. It can be your first real adventure”

“I’ll be ready in a minute!”

Faramir watched him run out of the room and sighed. He had a feeling he would regret this, but it would probably help Lindir to grow up a bit more. Setting aside his packing for the moment, he sought out Glorfindel. He found him playing Tablero on the landing with Círdan and Pippin.

“Lord Glorfindel!”

“Hello Faramir, care to join us?”

“I would, but I must depart on an errand for Lord Elrond.”

“Ah yes, you’re off to find the Rangers.”

“I thought I should let you know that I invited Lindir to come with me.”

Glorfindel slowly turned to look at him, as though uncertain he had heard right. “I beg your pardon?”

“If it is all right with you of course.”

“Well I do not mind, no. And Erestor can use the peace, he’s not been quite well since Barad-dûr.” He thought for a moment, then said “I think it would be good for Lindir to do a little traveling. You will have to help him pack, however, he has no experience. Good luck to you, Faramir. I dare say having to mind Lindir for two weeks will likely cure you of any future desire to have children of your own.”

Faramir laughed, saying nothing as Círdan took advantage of Glorfindel’s lapse in attention to move a few glasses about on the board. Glorfindel, however, was far too cagey a player.

Cheat!” he called.

“Ah I am disgraced,” said Círdan. He drained his glasses and refilled them before passing Glorfindel the dice. He tossed them, and moved his glasses into position. Círdan peered at the seven glasses on the center line.

“I refuse to take that.”

“Ah you must.”

Círdan stared at Glorfindel. “You, sir, are a most foul, foul Elf.”

“That’s what you get for cheating. All right, I shall let you out of it, but you owe me a favour.”

“Anything, so long as I do not have to sit here and fake an orgasm while downing seven glasses of miruvor.”

Glorfindel grinned, his eyes bright with mischief. “You may regret not simply taking the line,” he said.

“Of that, sir, I have little doubt!”

Faramir left the Elves to play, returning to his chambers. He had nearly reached them when Lindir came running up.

“What do I need to bring? I thought I should take my pajamas because it will be cold but where will we be sleeping? In an Inn? I don’t think I should be in a place like that.”

“We will be outside, Lindir.”

Lindir’s blue eyes became large. “Outside? In the snow?”

“Well we will have a tent.”

“But…”

Faramir looked at Lindir, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Lindir, listen to me. It will be cold, and wet, and it will be snowing, and raining, and it will be days of walking through the wild, carrying only what we must, and hunting our food. If we do not catch something, we will not eat that night. It will not be fun.”

Lindir thought about that. He had never slept outside before. Certainly he had slept in a talan in Lothlórien, but that was hardly the same as being in a small tent in the middle of nowhere. It sounded scary, but at the same time it sounded terribly exciting.

“Show me what to bring,” he said.

***---***

Lindir and Faramir departed to find the Rangers on January the tenth. The day was clear, and the sun was shining brightly on the snow. Lindir was clad in boots, leggings and a tunic, and a long grey cloak with fur trim. In his pack were the few necessities Faramir had instructed him to bring. Seated on the pack in her matching traveling jacket and bonnet, was Miss Goose.

“Damned fowl has more clothes than I do,” Elrond remarked quietly to Rúmil.

“Are you really going to let him do this?” asked Sam, who had come to see Lindir off.

Rúmil shrugged. “He is a grown Elf, whether he knows it or not. The Wild is safe enough for an Elf these days. A bit of travel will do him no harm. Indeed I think it will help prepare him for the trip to Valinor.” He looked at Sam. “When are you and our other three Hobbits returning to the Shire?”

“We leave after Master Erestor’s baby arrives,” said Sam. “I will miss this place, but I do want to be home.”

“Quite understandable,” said Elrond. He looked down at Sam and smiled. “We shall miss you.”

Sam blushed, but said nothing else. He stood on the landing with the Elves, and watched Lindir and Faramir walk out of sight. Then he returned to the cottage.

Sam entered the cottage, finding it quiet. There was usually silence within the small building these days; Erestor had only eight more weeks until his next child was born, and his health was not good. He exhausted easily, and any small stress seemed to send him to his bed early. Erestor was there now, Glorfindel spooned against him, his large, scarred hand resting over his lover’s large midsection.

Rabbit also had only eight weeks before delivering, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his health. He had begun eating, as Haldir said he would. In another two weeks he would show the first signs of actually being pregnant, and at that time his appetite would become truly frightening. Haldir was already insisting the larder be kept well stocked with meat, and the hunters were doing their best. Sam personally had brought Rabbit a brace of skinned conies, and had been horrified to see them go down his throat in their entirety, bones and all. It reminded him just a little too much of somebody else, and he departed, feeling a bit green inside.

Currently Rabbit was lounging on the floor before the hearth like a great fell hound, his daughter beside him. She had a small artists’ board on his back, and was drawing a picture of a horse. Seldom did Bramble let her Sia out of her sight these days. There was no need to ask where Haldir was; Sam knew well enough the Elf was out hunting.

Rosie put a pot on the stove and poured milk into it, and Sam rolled his eyes as Rabbit’s head came up. No matter what his mood, Rabbit would drop well nigh anything for a mug of Rosie’s hot chocolate.

“Sia!” said Bramble impatiently as her chalk spilled off Rabbit’s back. Rabbit settled down once more, and Rosie laughed.

“Never fear, Rabbit, you shall get your chocolate.”

Haldir arrived, entering the cottage, looking weary and rather out of sorts. He brought in the haunch of a moose and presented it to Rabbit.

“Perhaps this will hold you for a few minutes, my dearest love?”

Rabbit said nothing, merely commencing to eat. He did not chew, he simply tore hunks of flesh off of the bone and swallowed them whole. Haldir removed his cloak and seated himself wearily on the couch.

“Sia, you’re wiggling!” said Bramble.

Haldir picked the child up and placed her beside himself. “Sia has to eat, Bramble, so your brother or sister can be born.”

Bramble kicked her feet, looking unhappy about something. Then she looked up at her father and asked; “Are you going to give me away?”

Rabbit stopped eating, looking towards his child. “Certainly not! Your father and I love you.”

Bramble kicked her feet idly, watching her small feet swing. “Meril said after the new baby was born you would give me away because you really wanted a boy, not a stinky girl.”

Haldir stroked her long hair gently. “Meril is just trying to worry you.”

“Well it worked,” said Bramble, pouting. “I don’t want to be given away, not even to Rosie and Sam.” She thought about that. “Maybe for a little while, but not forever!”

Sam thought about trying to explain Bramble and her Sia to the crowd at the Green Dragon. Rabbit himself suddenly got up. He placed his haunch of moose meat on a platter on the table, then looked at Haldir.

“I think perhaps it is time to worry Meril.”

“Rabbit, please, do not bother.”

“I shall only be a moment.”

“Rabbit…”

Rabbit left the cottage. Moments later they heard a blood-curdling scream, accompanied by a horrid roaring noise, then the sound of a small Elf-boy running as fast as he could.

“Well I can’t say I have never wanted to do that,” said Haldir.

Sam grinned but said nothing. Rosie added chocolate to the milk, then peered out the window to see what Rabbit was doing. He was chasing Meril, but it was clear he had no real intentions on the child.

“Speaking of children,” said Rosie, “did you hear about young Lord Elrohir and Frost?”

Haldir looked up, feeling slightly ill. “Do not tell me they lost their child.”

Rosie shook her head. “Not at all. Frost is now four months along. That is the longest he has ever carried. Perhaps all he needed was rest and peace after all.”

“One can but hope this time the child will be born,” said Haldir. He looked down at his daughter. “Are you excited to be getting a cousin?”

Bramble kicked her feet. “Only if he’s not like Meril!”

***---***

“Ada you’re Queen!”

“If I must be, child.”

Veet seated herself at the Tablero board, her sister Liritar sitting opposite her. Liritar scooped up the dice and passed them to her father. He rolled them.

“Queen’s number is five,” said Veet. “Is that okay with you, Ada?”

“I suppose I can suffer with it.”

Thranduil sat back in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him, his feet on the stone railing. Beside him sat Glóin and Amaris, and together they idly watched over the small group of children nearby. Balin was walking, though his progress was slow and unsteady, and frequently interrupted by sudden drops to his bottom. Likewise Estorel was taking his first few steps, assisted by Bramble. Polly and Krit were there as well, and her ever-present furry cat. In the midst of this, rising seemingly miles over the heads of the children, was Glorfindel.

“If he falls,” said Amaris, “there will be a dreadful mess.”

“He won’t fall,” said Glóin, pouring Amaris a little more wine.

Thranduil watched Balin, who was following one of Master Erestor’s crows with great interest. “Tell me Amaris, how go things between yourself and Ilinuil?”

“Very well,” said Amaris.

“You do not fear the competition?”

“I do not fear rivals who arrive with tongues lolling and an erection in their pants. Ilinuil is seeking higher things.”

“He means a bigger erection,” said Glóin.

Amaris gave Glóin a withering look. “I always suspected there was a reason Dwarfs live underground, and now I know why. They were seeking a place lower than their humour.”

Glóin chuckled. “All right, I’m sorry. So what do you have that these others do not?”

“I offer him friendship and a place to confide, and I do not judge him on his parentage. Ilinuil is accustomed to being desired, he wishes to be loved.”

“He is beautiful,” said Thranduil. “Speaking of parentage, did we ever learn of Balin’s?”

Glóin sipped his ale. “I’ve been thinking. You know, he looks a bit like a young woman I knew a few years ago.”

“What became of her?” asked Thranduil.

“She… ah… moved away from the Clan house. She had troubles with her father.”

Thranduil nodded. “Interesting you should say that. I met a woman only three or four years ago. A mortal woman. She too had left her home because of troubles with her family.”

Amaris looked towards his brother. “I recall her! Merrilee, I believe her name was. You and she became quite close.”

“Yes, we did.” Thranduil smiled. “She was hired to work in the kitchen. Before long she was a tale-weaver by my hearth. Ah she could spin a good lie. I recall nights she would have me laughing fit to fall out of my chair. The entire room lit up when she entered, she was so full of merriment and life.”

Glóin gave Thranduil a puzzled look. “Describe her for me.”

Thranduil grinned, his thoughts far away. “Oh, I don’t know. Like any other Mortal I suppose. Shorter and wider than most of their women. A most ample bosom, with a roundish figure. Brown eyes, long brown hair, very thick, almost coarse. Not fair by any means, but full of inner beauty. We were all very, very fond of her. She was our little gem.” The smile faded from his face, and his eyes became distant and sad. “Believe it or not I was considering marrying her. But then one day she was simply gone. She took her belongings and departed. I had the door to her room boarded up and spoke no more of her.”

Glóin pulled out his pipe and began stuffing tobacco into it. “Did you lay with her?”

Thranduil turned on him, eyes blazing. “See here, I fail to see how that is any of your concern!”

Glóin raised a placating hand. “You’re right, it’s not, but I did nae mean any disrespect to the lady by asking.”

“Then why DID you ask?”

Glóin pointed to little Balin with the stem of his pipe. “I think your tale-weaver and my acquaintance were the same person.”

Thranduil looked completely shocked, and it was some time before he could get a word out. “I beg your pardon? No, that is not possible. Merrilee was of the race of Men, not Dwarf-kind. She had no beard.”

“Let me speak,” said Glóin, and Thranduil fell silent. Glóin finished filling his pipe and lit it, then resumed his tale.

“I did not tell you the full truth when I spoke earlier, as it concerns a family I am associated with, but I will say more now, as I think this affects you too. There was a young lady, name of Crystal. She was born to Fredar, a Dwarf of some standing with our people. He was wise in the ways of business and running a clan house, but as a father I can think of better. He had five sons and one daughter, and while he loved his boys well enough, to him she was naught but a bargaining chip to use to marry off to the wealthiest suitor, and so increase his own holdings. She became rebellious and angry, and when he announced she would wed a wealthy Dwarf-Lord she disliked immensely, there was a terrible fight. That night when all were asleep, she left. We knew not where she went. When she returned, it was only to say to her mother that she had met someone she loved, though she did not tell us who, and to say she was with child. She was very close to her mother, and wished her to know she was happy. Her mother was ill, however, and passed away only hours after seeing her daughter again. Then her father learned Crystal had returned, and had her locked away, so she could not return to this mystery lover. By the time the other folk learned of this, the child was born, and Crystal had died in childbirth.”

Thranduil looked puzzled. “That is truly sad, and it saddens me to hear of such tragedy, but I still fail to see how this Crystal is connected to me.”

“Well answer me this. If you were hiding from someone, would you use your own name, or another?”

“Well another, certainly.”

Glóin nodded. “The daughter’s name was Crystal, but her mother’s was Merrilee, and that is the name she had been using.”

Thranduil was once more rendered momentarily speechless. “But… that cannot be! MY Merrilee was not of Dwarf-kind! She was a mortal!”

“Because she had no beard, right?”

“Yes!”

Glóin drew on his pipe. “Thranduil, in Fredar’s line, many of the women never grew a beard until they passed child-bearing age, and some not even after that.”

Thranduil was visibly shaken. “But she left me no note! No message of any sort! If she meant to return why did she say nothing?”

“Perhaps she did leave a note,” said Amaris. “The Hall in Mirkwood is prone to drafts, it may have been blown away.”

Thranduil stood suddenly. “I must go, I must see her room. I must know if they are one and the same, and if they are I must have words with this Fredar.”

“Not alone you’re not,” said Glóin. “I’m coming with you.”

“Then you had best know how to sit a horse, Master Dwarf, for I have no time to walk!”

Veet and Liritar had heard the conversation, but said nothing throughout it. However as their father rose, so too did they. “We’re coming, Ada.”

“As am I,” said Amaris, rising.

“No,” said Thranduil. “No, please. Let me do this myself. Glóin and I will go back to Mirkwood Hall and find Merrilee’s note. Then, if need be, we will go on to the Kingdom Under the Mountain. We shall return in good time to accompany you to Valinor, but this is a riddle I must have an answer to.”

He paused suddenly, looking down at the tremendously ugly little child, hanging off Glorfindel’s leg, being dragged through the snow and laughing until he hiccupped. Then Thranduil looked back to Amaris.

“Look after my son,” he said, then was gone.

***---***

Faramir?”

“Yes, Lindir?”

“Can we… um… stop for a few minutes?”

“Oh I suppose so.”

Faramir lowered his pack and sat down on a log, then reached into his pocket for a piece of lembas bread. Taking it out, he nibbled it, savoring the flavour, and wishing he had some tea to go with it. Glancing up at the sky, he decided it was late enough that they could stop for the day. He put aside his lembas and began setting up camp for the night.

Traveling with Lindir was not turning out to be as bad as he had feared. True, Lindir was completely inexperienced as a woodsman, and he was costing Faramir a great deal of sleep by sitting up all night in complete terror over what may be roaming the woods. Then there was the matter of how any hunting Faramir may have been able to do normally now had to be done while Lindir was paying attention to something else. But, over all, he was not the worst companion Faramir had ever been saddled with.

Boromir had been FAR worse.

Faramir could only hope that his noble brother had spared the Fellowship his ability to belch on command, frightening away any game, and refrained from waiting until they were settled in their tents for the night before farting. Faramir suspected his older brother had saved these ‘abilities’ for torturing him alone. Even after all this time, whenever Faramir took aim at a deer, he expected the air to be shattered with a resounding ‘BOOOORRRRRRRRRAAAAAAPP!’

“You are remembered, brother,” said Faramir softly, “though doubtlessly in ways other than what the scribes will put down on their scrolls.”

“Faramir?”

“Yes, Lindir?”

“This tree is full of centipedes.”

“That’s all right, Lindir. It is winter, a centipede must find someplace to while away the cold.”

“Yes but some fell in my hood while I was… um… some fell in my hood.”

Faramir slapped his hand over his face and shook his head. “Then turn your hood inside out and they will fall out.”

“But they’re ugly!”

“Lindir, are you certain you are an Elf? All right, pass me your cloak.”

Lindir stepped out of the bushes and passed Faramir his cloak. He took it, and shook out the centipedes, which were still curled in hibernation. Feeling sorry for them, Faramir put them under a bush, where they would be sheltered. “There, all gone.” He passed Lindir his cloak once more.

Lindir took his cloak and put it on, then set about helping Faramir make camp. They had been traveling nine days, and had yet to see any sign that Rangers were anywhere about. As the camp was set up and dinner was simmering over the small fire, Faramir decided that if they did not find them within another week, then they would turn back for Imladris and try again when the weather was a little warmer.

They had tea and a bite of lembas, along with some roast rabbit, then, as the night settled over them, they retired to their tent. One thing Lindir was good for at the very least was keeping him warm. Faramir settled into his bedroll, and sighed quietly as he felt Lindir shove up against him for another night of huddling in terror against imagined monsters.

“Are there Balrogs out here?”

“No Lindir, Balrogs do not like forests.”

“Mr. Fin fought a Balrog.”

“Yes I know.”

“It sounded really scary.”

Faramir yawned. “I’m certain it was very scary indeed.”

“Did you ever fight a Balrog?”

“No. I have never even seen one, and have no desire to.”

“What about ghosts? Are there ghosts out here?”

“Lindir, go to sleep.”

“Elves don’t sleep, you know that.”

“How silly of me, how could I forget.”

“What about Oliphants?”

“I think we would hear it coming.”

“We might not. It could be wearing slippers.”

Faramir thought about that, then looked at Lindir. “Slippers?”

“Mr. Fin says that Oliphants wear slippers so not to wake the neighbours while leaping from tree to tree.”

Faramir screamed with laughter, rolling on his back in hilarity. “Lindir, do you have ANY idea how big an Oliphant is?! Look, if I were you, I would not take anything Fin has to say on the subject too seriously. Let’s just say that if an Oliphant were close at hand, leaping about from tree to tree, we would certainly hear it, slippers or no.”

Suddenly there came a voice from outside the tent. “At the very least, the Oliphant would hear you!”

Lindir yanked the covers over his head. Faramir got out of his bed and peered outside.

“I hope you come in peace, because I am tired.”

The man laughed. “I come in peace. I am Aradan, Ranger of the North. I hear tell you come seeking us.”

Faramir got out of the tent and stood up, facing him. “Well met, Aradan. I am Faramir, and my companion within the tent is Lindir, an Elf of Imladris. Come share my fire.”

Faramir and Aradan both sat at the fire, and Faramir passed him a hot mug of tea. “Lord Elrond is departing for Valinor, taking his household with him. He offers the use of his house to the Dúnedain, for he knows many are without a home of their own, so they may take rest there, and mend if they are ill or injured.”

“That is most generous of him! But you say he offers the use of his house, not the house itself. Does this mean he will one day return?”

Faramir nodded. “Yes. The departure of the Fair Folk is not forever.”

“This makes my heart glad. Middle Earth would be a cold and sad place without them. Very well, I shall spread this message to the other Dúnedain I may find. You must thank Lord Elrond for his generous offer.”

“I shall. Now, tell me how things fare in the North.”

Faramir and the Ranger spoke far into the night, halting only when the first light of dawn finally appeared. Then Aradan departed once more, and Faramir went back into the tent for a few hours sleep. He had only just lain down when he heard Lindir speak.

“Are we going home now?”

“Yes Lindir.”

“Good. Are you tired?”

“Yes Lindir.”

“You want me to let you sleep?”

“Yes Lindir.”

“Okay.”

Faramir felt guilty at the sound of the pout in the young voice. Sighing heavily, he put his arm around the Elf and drew him close, so that Lindir could place his head on his chest. Faramir kissed his brow, and said; “Let us just get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” said Lindir quietly. He settled against Faramir, hearing his heart beat. He listened to its steady rhythm, then carefully slid his arm around Faramir’s waist. As he felt Faramir finally fall into sleep, Lindir decided that this moment was the best part of the whole trip.

***---***

The winter slowly passed. January became February, then February became March. The snow was finally starting to melt, and on a fair day the weather was actually warm. New life began to awaken from the blanket of snow, and the Elves and Mortal of Imladris delighted in these first faint signs of spring. The Bruinen was swollen in its banks, and its current was swift and noisy, making it hard for Syrdanna to find the fish she sought.

Debate had been going on in the house about whether or not her eggs had hatched, and it was Orophin who decided to settle the argument once and for all. He dared to venture into the dragon den whilst Syrdanna was out fishing, and came back after only a few moments, carrying something that looked like a skinny green lizard with crumpled and flopping wings. He showed the tiny thing to Elladan, then quickly returned it to the nest before it became cold.

“Hardly looks like a dragon at all,” said Elladan to Orophin as he emerged once more from the den. “How many are down there?”

“Five,” said Orophin, “and all hungry.” He grinned and showed Elladan his tunic sleeve, which boasted several new rips.

“Well Fin will be pleased, I think he is as attached to that dragon as he is to his own family. Let us be away from here. Syrdanna is patient enough, but I dare say even her good nature has limits!”

Thranduil and Glóin had departed from Imladris on January the twentieth, and had been gone six weeks. However as Orophin and Elladan now made their way back to the house, they saw two riders approach, taking their weary mounts towards the stable.

“That is Thranduil and Glóin,” said Elladan. “I wonder what quest they have been on?”

“One of importance to their family,” said Orophin, “though that is all I know. Thranduil does not look happy. Let us leave him in peace.”

Orophin and Elladan made their way into the house, while Thranduil and Glóin took their mounts to the stable. Glóin was on a sturdy mountain pony, while Thranduil was on his tall white horse. They left the animals in the care of the stable hands, Thranduil saying nothing as he and Glóin left the stable and walked to the house.

Thranduil had said very little since leaving the Mountain, and even Glóin was not certain what the Elf-King had learned from Fredar’s family. He knew only that Fredar had been slain by a troll shortly after Yule Fest, and his eldest son Freyar was now in charge of the Clan. As much as Glóin desired to know what had been said between Thranduil and Freyar, he did not dare ask.

They stepped into the entrance hall, and Thranduil paused, looking down at the Dwarf who was now his friend. He put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

“I thank you for your assistance in this matter, Glóin.”

Glóin nodded, though he was uncertain of what use he had been, save to gain Thranduil an audience with Freyar. Saying nothing, Thranduil turned away and began walking in the direction of his own chambers. Glóin watched him go, knowing Thranduil would speak of the matter when he was able.

Slowly, Thranduil walked to his own quarters, entering them, then closing and bolting the door before making his way over to a table. He removed his pack and set it on the table’s inlaid surface, then opened it. Carefully, as though removing a great and fragile treasure, he brought forth a handful of objects, placing them with reverence on the table. There was a leather bound book of tales, a scroll containing the history and blood-line of the Fredar Clan and Balin’s place in it, and at last a small, framed painting of a woman with long brown hair, and merry brown eyes. Thranduil gazed upon it for a long moment before placing it down as well. Then his legs buckled and he sat down hard on the floor, weeping into his hands.

***---***

The King of Mirkwood had been alone for a few hours when he heard a gentle knock at the door. He knew he was a mess, but he did not care, he was lonely and desired company. Slowly he moved from the chair by the table, crossing the floor to unlock and open the door. He half expected to see Glóin, and was pleasantly surprised to see Gaelemir before him.

“Mae govannen, Gaelemir.”

“And to you, your majesty.” Gaelemir bowed his head in greeting.

“Just Thranduil, please. I was hoping for some company, perhaps a game of Tablero?”

Gaelemir looked surprised. “If you like. I would be delighted to play with you.”

Thranduil felt immensely relieved Gaelemir had accepted his offer. “Then pray, join me.”

Thranduil motioned for him to enter, and Gaelemir stepped into the lavish chamber. Thranduil closed the door, and as Gaelemir went to set up the board, Thranduil chose two rather large bottles of miruvor before coming to sit at the gaming table.

Gaelemir eyed the large bottles. “I came to see how your journey went.”

“Worst of my life,” said Thranduil. He uncorked one bottle and handed it to Gaelemir, who took it.

“May I ask what happened? I realize it is none of my concern.”

Thranduil was too soul-weary to argue, and he longed to unburden his heart. He sat down in one of the four elegant chairs surrounding the small table. “The child Balin is mine, born to a woman I loved, and lost through the treachery of a father so blinded by his own pride he could not bear to summon a midwife to help her, for fear the identity of the child’s father may be learned.” He gave Gaelemir a tired smile. “Seems that the love of Dwarfs runs in the family.”

“So was it this Fredar who abandoned the child on the doorstep of an inn?”

Thranduil nodded. “Aye, it was he who did it. Too petty to give the child to his rightful father. I am glad at least the Men who found him had sense enough to bring him to where he would be loved and cared for. Poor baby has not even a name. A friend of Merrilee’s… Crystal I mean, said that she wished for him to have both an Elvish and Dwarfish name, though she had yet to decide on such when he was born.”

“Well he has his Dwarf name. I suppose all that needs deciding is his Elven name.”

“I shall think on it,” said Thranduil. “When I have made my choice I will have a proper naming ceremony for him.” He stood up to pace the room. “Ah Gaelemir my heart is torn, and my emotions are naught but a tangle. Above all I am weary, but I do not wish to be alone in my grief.”

Gaelemir went to Thranduil, gently catching him and pulling him into his arms. “You do not need to be alone. I am here.”

Thranduil looked into Gaelemir’s eyes, as though seeing him for the first time. After a time he spoke, his voice quiet and rough. “Stay with me. Please.”

Gaelemir smiled, reaching up to stroke Thranduil’s long hair. “I shall.”

Thranduil nodded, then reached up to place his hands on Gaelemir’s shoulders, leaning close for a soft, lingering kiss. He felt Gaelemir gently pull him close, stroking his hand down his back, and drew back slightly, looking rather surprised at his own actions.

“I never kissed a male before.”

“Really?” said Gaelemir. “I should think your life has been full of lovers, male and female.”

“No,” said Thranduil. “There was never time for lovers. And, I admit, I took care to isolate myself. I did not wish to befriend a young Elf only to send him off to battle. I do my best as King, but it never seems to go right. My Queen did her best to ease the load, as did Crystal, but I am without them both now.” He looked into Gaelemir’s eyes. “Are you certain you wish to curry my favour? It is no easy thing to love a King, especially, I hear, this one.”

Gaelemir smiled. “I do not love a King, I love you. You merely happen to be King.”

“This I am glad to hear. So shall we sail away to Valinor and set up our own little realm, full of impossible folk and the occasional Dwarf?”

“I quite like that idea.”

Thranduil smiled, and kissed him again. “Then lie with me.”

Gaelemir grinned. “So do I carry you, or do you carry me?”

“I’m King, I’ll carry you.” Thranduil stepped back and looked at the very large warrior. “No, on second thought, let’s walk together.”

“A wise decision, your majesty.”

“Wisdom has naught to do with it, I do not wish to cripple myself in an attempt to lift you.”

They went to the bed and fell onto it, holding each other close and kissing, occasionally flinging off bits their clothing. Soon both were naked on the pale gold sheets, the firelight playing strange shadows over their fair bodies.

Gaelemir reached out and pulled open the drawer of a small table by the bed, then felt inside. “You seem to be out of oil.”

“What would I need oil for?”

“You really never have been with a male before, have you?”

“I told you I hadn’t. But if you need oil…” Thranduil leaned over the side of his bed, grabbing up his leather gauntlet. From inside he pulled forth two small vials of the cleansing oil that archers kept to tend to small nicks. He passed them to Gaelemir, who took them, and grinned.

“Oh yes, this stuff. I have many fond memories of wintergreen oil.”

“I am not interested in the least in hearing them.” Thranduil got back onto the bed and took one of the vials. Gaelemir pouted.

“I thought I was getting on top.”

“I’m King, I’m getting on top.”

“You, sir, are a knave.”

Thranduil kissed Gaelemir, lying over top of him, stroking his hands over his large, strong body. “That is ‘Your Royal Knaveness’ to you, sir.”

“Oh! Forgive me, Your Royal Knaveness.” Gaelemir dumped Thranduil onto his back and kissed him, stroking his large hands over his hard body. He kissed his way down Thranduil’s throat, breast, and stomach, then grasped his hips in his strong hands before swallowing down the hard penis before him.

“Mind the teeth!” said Thranduil. Gaelemir mumbled what may have been an apology; it was difficult to tell since his mouth was full. Thranduil groaned with pleasure, tangling his hands into Gaelemir’s hair. He felt his lover draw his lips off of his penis.

“You may release my ears, my lord, I know what I’m doing.”

Thranduil laughed. “Sorry.” He gasped again as once more the heat of Gaelemir’s mouth closed around him. He stroked his long, gold hair, closing his eyes, losing himself in the pleasure of it. He gasped again as he felt one hand slide further beneath him, touching him between his buttocks, carefully seeking entry.

The hand moved away briefly, then returned, touching him, stroking the warm, fragrant oil over his anus, then gently pressing inside of him. Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I was getting on top.”

Gaelemir drew his lips off Thranduil’s penis. “We all have our delusional moments.”

Thranduil shrugged. “I suppose.” He gasped again as the finger pressed deeper into him, and he uttered a soft moan. He draped one leg over Gaelemir’s broad shoulder, moving his hips slowly. A second finger slowly entered him, and Thranduil jumped, crying out.

“Gaelemir?”

“Yes?”

Thranduil was panting, his golden body shining with sweat. “Come inside of me, now.”

Gaelemir kissed his lower stomach, then moved over top of Thranduil, settling onto him, stroking the Elf-King’s long hair. Thranduil slid his arms around Gaelemir’s broad shoulders, kissing him, parting his lips to let Gaelemir’s tongue invade him, drawing his long legs up to permit his hard penis into his body.

Thranduil broke off the kiss, gasping, wrapping his arms around Gaelemir’s neck, losing himself in the passion and pleasure of their love-making. He knotted his fingers into his lover’s gold hair, biting his shoulder, his throat, then kissing him.

They made love passionately, intensely, the sound of their quiet gasps and cries mingling with the scent of wintergreen and that of their warm, musky bodies. Their flesh gleamed in the low light, fine trails of sweat like molten gold tracing shining lines over their skin. Gaelemir kissed Thranduil, pushing back his damp hair from his fine face, his fingertips exploring the arch of one high cheekbone, the curve of his jaw, then moving down to leave streaks over his heated flesh.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down against himself, burying his face in Gaelemir’s heavy hair. He clawed the flesh over his shoulders, then threw his head back, gasping as the force of his passion overwhelmed him, and Gaelemir felt the hot wetness of his semen splash over his belly.

He kissed Thranduil hard, thrusting within him, taking care not to get too rough with his lover. Then he cried out as he felt his own orgasm begin to overwhelm his senses, and he cried out hoarsely as he drove himself into him, his large body shuddering as he climaxed. Then Gaelemir collapsed on top of Thranduil, and for a long moment there was only the slow hiss of the fire, and the sound of their heavy breathing. Finally, slowly, his body trembling from the force of the exertion, Gaelemir moved off Thranduil. The two lay on the bed, recovering their strength.

“It would seem I have been denying myself much,” said Thranduil.

Gaelemir knew that if he opened his mouth right then, he would not say anything particularly brilliant. He closed his eyes and waited for his breathing to steady, feeling Thranduil get up and make his way to the Tablero table, hearing him pour them each a drink. Then he returned to the bed. Gaelemir made himself sit up, and took the glass with a shaking hand. Thranduil raised his glass in a toast.

“To lovers, past and present,” he said softly.

Gaelemir smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

***---***

Glorfindel entered the cottage, pausing at the uncommon quiet. He had been absent all day, patrolling the boarders, and now as night fell he expected to find the cottage full of light and life, and the smell of dinner cooking. But all that greeted him was silence. Rosie was sitting in a rocking chair, and Sam was busy writing in Bilbo’s old journal, while Lindir quietly practiced his mandolin. Glorfindel stepped into the room and looked about, puzzled.

“Who died?” he asked.

Rosie smiled. “No one, fortunately! Master Erestor has been asleep all day. Estorel is with Frost and Elrohir.”

“Asleep?” Glorfindel looked towards the bedroom door. He removed his cloak and boots, then quickly made his way to the bedroom.

He entered the darkened chamber, closing the door behind himself, making his way quietly to the large bed. He climbed onto it, and crawled to Erestor’s still form, lying behind him and spooning against his husband. Glorfindel gently kissed the back of his neck, then stroked the long black hair.

He felt Erestor take his hand, and gently draw it down to his large belly. Glorfindel smiled and spread his fingers, his large hand spanning much of the round abdomen. His breath caught as he felt the muscles beneath his hand contract slightly.

“You’re having a baby!”

“I am working up to it, yes.”

“How long until it comes?”

“I do not know. It will be some time yet. Stay beside me, please?”

“Of course.” Glorfindel stroked his hand over Erestor’s stomach. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just stay with me.”

“Very well,” said Glorfindel. He kissed the back of Erestor’s neck again, then settled against him to await the birth of their second child.

In the distance, there came an Elven voice in the still evening air. “Rabbit, dammit, you did this to me last time! Well I am not hunting all over Arda for you. You can come out right now!”

Silence. Erestor began laughing quietly. “It would seem that our child will not be the only one born tonight.”

“Oh poor Haldir,” said Glorfindel, “he must be beside himself.”

Erestor laughed again. “I am quite sure Rabbit has not gone far, he loves Haldir, he would not wish to worry him.”

Outside, Haldir muttered, then made a reasonable attempt at the ‘where are you?’ cry. Erestor giggled, then laughed out loud as the reply came from mere feet away, within their very room.

“Oh charming,” said Glorfindel. “Mae govannen Rabbit, sorry I did not see you lurking on the floor.”

Rabbit made a few growling mutters in his own tongue and shifted to a more comfortable position. Moments later the bedroom door flew open.

“Rabbit?” said Haldir.

“Haldir!” said Glorfindel. “What a lovely surprise, come on in, invite your brothers if you like, we’re having a group birthing session.”

“I am most sorry for my intrusion. Rabbit are you all right?”

Rabbit’s response came as a series of grumbling growls and snarls. Haldir went to sit beside him, stroking his hair. Glorfindel meanwhile looked to Erestor. “Do you mind all this nonsense going on around you?”

“Not at the moment, but I suspect that will change once the child actually begins to come forth. There are some positions I do not care to be seen in.” He looked up at the wall thoughtfully. “I have an idea. Bring in one of the partition curtains from the healing rooms. Then I can have privacy and Rabbit need not move.”

Fin kissed him. “My love, your intellect is sadly underestimated.” He kissed Erestor’s nose. “I shall return in a moment. Haldir? Care to come help?”

“Yes Lord Glorfindel.” Haldir looked at Rabbit. “If you promise not to run away?”

“I promise nothing.”

Haldir made a sound of exasperation. “You are, without a doubt, the single most irritating, hard-headed and disagreeable Elf in all Middle Earth!”

“No I am sure there must be someone worse somewhere.” Rabbit smiled at Haldir and kissed him. “But I promise not to disappear on you.”

“Thank you.” Haldir returned the kiss, then departed with Glorfindel, leaving Erestor alone with Rabbit.

Erestor shifted onto his back, trying to alleviate some of the pain he was in, then sighed heavily. “This is all your fault, you and your damnable potion.”

“And who told you to help yourself to my wine? And who told you to go tie Glorfindel to the bed afterwards?”

“I still say it is all your fault.”

“Be that as it may. I want chocolate.” Rabbit pushed himself into a sitting position, then in a wheedling, childish tone Erestor never would have expected, called “Ro-sie!”

A moment later Rosie poked her head into the room, then walked over to Rabbit, making motherly, sympathetic sounds. Erestor noted that Rabbit seated was still a foot taller than the little Hobbit-woman. She stroked his hair, and he bumped his brow against hers.

“What do you want, pet?”

“Chocolate.”

“I’ll bring you a mug. Would you like anything, Master Erestor?”

“Yes. A dagger. I would like to kill myself before this nonsense goes much farther. Failing that I would like some water.”

“Water you may have. Lindir!”

Lindir peeked into the room. “Yes Miss Rosie?”

“Fetch Master Erestor some cold water, from the well.”

Lindir looked towards Erestor. “Are you sick Master Erestor?”

“No, Lindir, I am having a baby.”

Lindir froze, his blue eyes large. “You are? Um… that’s lovely. I’ll bring the water and then go sleep in the music room.”

Rosie turned on him. “Oh no you will NOT, young master Elf! You will stay right here where I need you. Now go for the water, Sam will help you.”

Lindir sagged. “Yes Miss Rosie,” he mumbled, then shuffled out of the room.

Rosie sighed. “Honestly, men-folk are such cowards.” She kissed Rabbit’s brow. “I’ll bring you your chocolate.” Then she left.

***---***

Rabbit sat on the bed beside Erestor, regarding the two small babies before them.

“There has to be a mistake,” said Rabbit.

Erestor laughed quietly. “There is no mistake, cousin. This one is mine and that one is yours.”

Rabbit looked from his own child to Erestor’s and back again. “No there has to be a mistake. I think someone has switched children on us.”

Erestor could certainly sympathize with Rabbit’s confusion. One of the babies was small and frail, toothless and helpless. The second was already sitting up and looking around, and even making her first clumsy attempts at crawling. The problem was that the helpless one had come out of Rabbit, and the one trying to crawl was Erestor’s.

“Definitely a mistake,” said Rabbit. “I do not know what to do with this! I shall break him!”

“You will not break him. He is stronger than he looks.”

“He has no teeth! How is he supposed to chew?”

Erestor made a grab for his white-haired daughter before she scooted off the bed. “It would seem the Valar were in a particularly silly mood last night.” He grit his teeth as the infant clamped her sharp baby teeth onto his finger. “I think I understand why Plains Elves do not breast-feed.”

Rosie came into the room just then, placing a bottle and a basket of crayfish on the bed. Rabbit and Erestor exchanged glances, then picked up each others’ children to feed.

“This is going to get very silly very fast,” said Erestor.

“And the situation is not silly now?” said Rabbit.

“Point taken. I think perhaps you and I should stay close until we get a handle on how to take care of these two.”

Bramble entered to bedroom and climbed onto the bed, looking at her usurper with a pout on her little face. “I’m cuter than that. He’s all wrinkly.”

Rabbit raised an eyebrow and smiled. “So were you.”

“I’m still cuter.”

“You are both equally cute. What shall we name him?”

“Poo-head.”

“I believe that name is Orcish in nature,” said Erestor. He looked at Rabbit. “Perhaps since Bramble has her Plains Elf name before her Wood Elf, you could switch the two with this child.”

“Haldir has been hinting rather broadly he likes the name Rivil. He tells me it is the name of a river. I thought perhaps to combine that with Lar, which means ‘Spirit’ in our tongue, and so get ‘River Spirit’. Rivil-Lar.”

Erestor smiled. “An admirable name for one of combined heritage.”

“Lembas-Face,” muttered Bramble.

“Bramble, are you jealous?”

“No.”

“I think perhaps yes.”

“I just don’t see why you need another baby when you have me. And Frost is going to have a baby soon too and you’ll forget about me.”

Rabbit smiled at his small daughter. “Bramble, I could never forget about you. Ever. Nor could your Ada. You are very important to the both of us.”

Bramble pouted. “Okay.” She looked up at her Sia, a glint in her yellow-green eyes. “Can I have a puppy?”

Rabbit and Erestor exchanged sidelong glances, and Rabbit smiled. “You may have a puppy.”

Bramble hugged her mother. “Thank you, Sia.”

The door opened, and Glorfindel peered into the room. “Can I come in?”

“Of course you can,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel entered the room, carrying Estorel. He was pursued by five tiny, squeaking dragons, chasing after him as fast as their wee feet would take them, their wings dragging on the floor. Glorfindel sat on the bed, and the hatchlings immediately climbed up his feet and clung to his legs.

“Babysitting?” asked Erestor dryly.

Glorfindel shrugged and grinned. “Well she did me a favour by letting me ride her around like a warhorse, the least I can do is guard her brood while she is fishing.” He watched Rabbit feed his daughter, reaching out to touch her white hair.

“Looks just like her Ada,” said Erestor.

“I think perhaps she is a little fairer,” said Glorfindel.

Haldir entered the room, Isa as usual about his neck. He came to the bed, and gently took his new son from Erestor, settling down into a chair to hold him. He glanced up at Rabbit.

“Have you considered a name?”

“I thought Rivil-Lar,” said Rabbit.

Haldir nodded and smiled. “A good name for an Elf with faery blood, I think.”

Erestor’s daughter lost interest in eating and turned to look at her father with blazing yellow eyes. Glorfindel picked her up. “And what shall we name you, little maid?”

She grabbed his finger and bit it. Glorfindel made a small sound of pain and pulled his finger away, shaking it.

“I was thinking something delicate,” said Erestor, “befitting a lady of such a gentle and timid disposition.”

“Fang,” said Bramble.

“Dragon!” enthused Estorel.

“Actually I was thinking ‘Silivren,” said Erestor.

“Silivren is nice,” said Glorfindel. “Perhaps Silivren Nimbrethil?”

Erestor nodded. “Silivren Nimbrethil it is then.”

“Aw I like Fang,” said Bramble.

“Well then that is what you can name your puppy,” said Rabbit.

“Puppy?” said Haldir.

Rabbit tried to look innocent. “Did I say puppy?” he asked.

“Sia said I could have a puppy!” said Bramble.

“Charming,” said Haldir. “Very well, you may have a puppy.

Just then the door flew open and Orophin leaned in, grinning broadly. “I just received word. Nana and Ada will be here in two weeks on the new ship to take us to Valinor. Oh is that your new baby?” He stepped into the room, reaching for the child.

Rabbit snarled. Orophin backed up. “Ah, perhaps I shall just admire him from afar.” He grinned nervously at Rabbit. “Greetings, little mother.”

Rabbit snarled again. Haldir rolled his eyes. “Surely the child can see his uncle.”

Rabbit made a strange series of growling sounds, which Haldir knew to be more noise than serious threat. He stood up and passed the baby to Orophin, who cradled him carefully against his breast. He looked at Haldir, then leaned forward and gave his brother a kiss on the face.

“Nana and Ada will be beside themselves.”

***---***

Haldir smiled, then gently warded his lover off as Rabbit playfully snapped at him. The jaws closed around his hand, but there was no pressure. After a moment, Haldir pulled his hand free and resumed dressing Rabbit.

“I want you beautiful,” he said.

Rabbit tossed his head, making the hematite beads in his heavy black hair rattle. “I am beautiful!”

“Well I want you more beautiful.” Haldir finished adjusting the belt around Rabbit’s middle, then kissed him. Even after all the children he had borne, Rabbit was still as lean as a snake.

Haldir stepped back to look at his feral lover, and felt a warmth around his heart. Rabbit was stunning. He was clad in the leggings, tunic and tall boots of Wood-Elf kind, all black. His hair was beaded with hematite, and braided to show his status as Warrior. Beneath it all, however, he was still the wildest of all wild things, and he flung his hair back, his movements like those of an unbroken colt, uncertain at how he felt with his new gear. Haldir stepped forward and caught him, kissing him hard, feeling the large Elf’s arms go around him. They kissed deeply, passionately, then slowly broke the kiss off.

“Just stay dressed long enough to greet my parents, then you can take this off, okay? I will help.”

Rabbit kissed him again. “Very well. I will behave for your Sia. As well as I am able.”

Haldir laughed, and they left the little furnished cave they called home, stepping out from behind the glittering waterfall. Rabbit promptly broke into a run, still acting the unruly colt fighting his harness. Haldir smiled and followed after him, having long ago despaired of ever taming this wild being. They reached the House, and Haldir grinned as Rúmil and Orophin greeted him, Elladan and Elrond standing nearby.

“They are here!” said Orophin, “All the way from Valinor! They are in the Golden Hall.”

The happy group made their way there, Orophin leading the way. Once they reached the Hall, he bolted inside and leapt on the male Elf there, wrapping his arms and legs around him and nearly sending the older Elf onto his backside.

“ADA!”

“OROPHIN! You’re too big for this game!”

“I missed you!”

Rodwen Sunleaf set his grown son down, then hugged him. “You were a rotten child then and you are a rotten child now.”

“Love you too Ada.” Orophin kissed him, then went to greet his mother, pretending he was about to leap on her as well, but the very small Elf-woman backed up.

“Don’t you dare, you brat!”

He hugged and kissed her. By now the others had caught up. Rúmil’s greeting was a little more dignified. Orophin stuck his tongue out at his younger brother as their mother fussed over him. Rúmil was the youngest, and would always be her baby. She then looked around.

“And where’s my Haldir?”

Haldir stepped forward and hugged his mother. She embraced him, then got straight to the point.

“Where are my grand-babies?”

“Napping. As soon as they awake, I shall let them run all over you.”

“And where is their nana? I’ve been dying to meet her!”

Haldir dreaded this part, and the inevitable long-winded explanation that went with it. He could only hope his mother and father did not have the sudden unpleasant reaction to Rabbit that some Elves had. There was much between the Plains Elves and Wood Elves that needed mending, and understanding would go a long way towards that.

Rabbit stepped forward, beautiful, wild, tall, a stallion among ponies. Haldir felt his breath catch, and his heart melted as it always did when he saw his lover. He never got tired of looking at him.

“Mother, Father, this is Rabbit.”

Rabbit, Rodwen, and Minuialwen all stared at each other. Then something happened no one expected. As Haldir, his brothers and their mates watched, the three just stared at each other. Minuialwen was sheet white, and her husband was slowly turning rather red in the face. Slowly, carefully, like a great cat, Rabbit began backing up. Then Rodwen Sunleaf pulled his sword and pointed it at Rabbit.

“I’ve been looking for your sorry hide for nearly fifteen hundred years!! Sleep with MY wife, will you, you skinny bastard!”

Rabbit bolted, Rodwen hot after him, waving his sword and screaming, while Minuialwen burst into tears, leaving the group assembled around her flabbergasted. Haldir then began running after his father.

“What is going on around here?” said Orophin, “Do you know each other?”

Minuialwen nodded, still crying. Suddenly a thought hit Rúmil rather hard.

“Fifteen hundred years?” he yelled. He pointed to the hall down which Rabbit had fled. “Nana! Did Ada just say Rabbit was with you 1500 years ago?!”

Minuialwen began wailing and sobbing as she nodded. “Forgive me Rúmil, I should have told you….!!”

Orophin put his arms around his mother and hugged her hard. “It’s okay Nana, we all make mistakes. We still love you.”

Rúmil was beside himself. “RABBIT’S MY ADA?! RABBIT?? NANA!”

She nodded. “It’s a long story but your Ada had been called to Mirkwood and I was frightened and lonely, and the Wild Ghost of Lórien was down by the river Silverlode one day when I went to bathe, and….”

Rúmil had gone from upset to hysterical. “I’M PART PLAINS ELF?!” He turned and pointed at Elrond. “YOU’RE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH FROM NOW ON!”

Rabbit shot into the room, sliding to a halt at the far end of the chamber, trapped. Rodwen hurtled in after him, Haldir desperately trying to catch his father. Orophin intervened, and between the two of them they tried to wrest the sword away from Rodwen, while Elrond went to consol his hysterical husband. Rúmil did not fall apart easily, but his voice had reached a pitch that was causing Ilinuil’s pet wolf to howl from the other side of the House. Orophin looked at Haldir, still wrestling with his father, his long gold hair falling over his face.

“Nice to have the family together again,” he said sarcastically.

Haldir watched Rabbit take advantage of the situation to bolt, fleeing down the hallway once more. Elrond was taking away Rúmil to the healing room to sedate him before he had a nervous collapse, and Minuialwen was sobbing into her hands. Elladan was just standing in the midst of all this, shocked, mouth open, saying nothing.

“Lovely,” said Haldir dryly.

***---***

Elrond took Rúmil to the healing rooms and poured him a draught to calm him. He drank it in one swallow, eyes glazed and staring. He had been screaming on his way to the rooms, but now he seemed unable to say anything. Elrond gently took the glass from his hand, and was leading him out of the room when Rúmil found his voice once more.

“Do not touch me, just… do not TOUCH me!”

Rúmil pulled away from Elrond, then fled down the hallway to their room, slamming the door behind himself. Elrond made his way quickly after him, relieved to find the door unlocked. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself. Rúmil was on the floor in a corner, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. He was shaking.

“This cannot be true,” said Rúmil.

Elrond slowly approached, seating himself on the floor before Rúmil. He reached out to touch him, but Rúmil jerked his head back.

“Do not touch me.”

“But why?”

Rúmil shook his head. “I can’t ever let you touch me again, never! Never!” He raised his head, and Elrond was shocked at the fear he saw there.

“Rúmil …”

“I have to leave, I have to go, I cannot stay…”

“NO!” Elrond felt his own fear rise, and he grabbed his lover by the arms. “No, do not leave me!”

Rúmil pulled back, and the two stared at each other for a long time. Then Rúmil lowered his head. “I am afraid,” he whispered.

“Tell me what frightens you! Please!”

Rúmil shook his head. “No. Not now. I cannot. I…” He raised his head once more to look at his husband. “I am so confused.”

Elrond put his arms around Rúmil, holding him, stroking his hair. “Very well, you need not speak of it now. This has been a terrible shock for you.”

Rúmil held Elrond tightly for a brief time, then pulled back again. “Please, just let me be. I just want to sleep. I promise you I will not depart. I just… need to be alone.”

Elrond nodded. “Very well,” he said softly. “I will see no one disturbs you until such time as you wish to see them.”

“Thank you.”

Elrond smiled, reaching out to touch Rúmil’s face. “You have looked after me for so long. Now it is my time to look after you.”

Rúmil said nothing, not looking at his husband. Elrond stood and left Rúmil alone. He stepped into the hall, and was met by Minuialwen, who was very anxious to see her son. She took Elrond’s hand, looking up at him with beseeching eyes.

“I have to talk to him, he must understand…”

From behind him, Elrond heard the door lock. Judging from how clearly the sound of the tumblers could be heard, he could only assume Rúmil meant for his mother to hear it.

“Your son has much on his mind right now, and does not wish to be disturbed.”

She pushed past Elrond and pounded on the door. “Rúmil!”

The door was unlocked and yanked open with such violence that Elrond feared Rúmil was coming out armed. He was blazing with wrath, and even Elrond dared not face him in such a mood.

“Go away, Nana, I think you have said quite enough to me for one day!”

Elrond backed off, not wishing to become involved in this fight. Minuialwen seemed desperate for her son’s forgiveness. “Rúmil, please, I am your mother…”

“Are you?” he asked coldly, then slammed the door in her shocked face and locked it once more. She stood, speechless. Elrond was also without words, and did not know how to comfort her. He was very glad to see Orophin arrive and gently take her by the arm.

“Come with me, Nana, I shall take you to my rooms. You may visit with Elladan and I for a while”

She allowed her middle son to lead her away, moving slowly. Then Elrond quietly made his way to his study.

***---***

It was a fair evening in early April that the Elves of Imladris set out for the Havens.

The sky was just turning to dusk, becoming a deep indigo, and the first silver stars could be seen high above, looking down over the silent procession moving in the faint shimmer of Elf-kind. Frost walked with his people, Elrohir beside him, pausing occasionally to look back towards the house where his life had been lived. Rabbit walked with them, Haldir beside him, leading a horse with Bramble perched on its back. Rabbit was carrying Rivil-Lar, having over come his fear of handling the seemingly frail infant. Ahead of them was Erestor on Ithil, Estorel perched before him, Silivren settled in a sling about his neck. Glorfindel led the horse, looking a little teary-eyed.

Erestor leaned forward slightly. “Oh Fin, are you crying over leaving that dragon behind?”

“No,” pouted the Balrog-Slayer in an unconvincing tone.

Erestor laughed. “We will see her again, my love.”

“I know, but… who will hatchling-sit for her?”

“She has lots of kind Rangers to look after the hatchlings, you need not worry.”

Glorfindel wiped at one eye but said nothing, then looked over at Legolas and Gimli, together as always on faithful Arod. Gimli was seated behind the Elf, his arms about his waist, his head resting on his back. He was snoring. Beside them rode Thranduil on his great black hunter, Balin on the saddle before him, his trio of hounds following. Beside him rode Glóin on his pony. The two were speaking quietly to one another.

“Always knew there was something odd about that family,” said Fin. “Pervy Dwarf-fanciers, the lot of them.” He glanced to a figure, hooded and cloaked on a grey horse, riding beside Elrond. “I wonder if Rúmil has spoken to his Nana yet?” he asked softly.

“No,” said Orophin, who was walking near Fin, leading Elladan’s horse. “He has said a word to no one that I know of, though Haldir thinks he may be speaking to Rabbit. But as far as I know he has said nothing to anyone, not even Elrond.”

Glorfindel tried to think of something comforting to say. “He will come out of it, it must have been a terrible shock to him.”

Orophin nodded. “I think fear perhaps is more of a factor than anger.”

“Fear of what, if you do not mind my asking?”

Orophin moved closer to Glorfindel. “When he was but a very small Elfling, there lived a mortal woman and her husband on the outskirts of the Golden Wood. I know not how they came to be there, but they were kind and loving folk. We all became very fond of them, and I daresay we Elfings were a plague upon them. They never seemed to mind, however. We were always welcome in their house. Rúmil especially seemed to like being there. Well one night a great storm blew up while he was visiting, and he dared not come home in it. The woman’s husband was away on business. She was with child at the time, and that night she went into labour. I know not the full tale, only that when we found them, she had died in childbirth and Rúmil was hiding in the woodshed. I think, perhaps he must have stayed with her until she passed. It must have been a horrid thing to witness. He spoke not a word for two years, and even after that it was a long time before he began to laugh and play like the other children.”

“Poor Rúmil!” said Erestor. “I never knew.”

“He does not speak of it,” said Orophin. “When he became older, he shunned women altogether. I asked him why once, and he muttered something about not wishing to be the cause of another’s death. Now I think perhaps he fears finding himself in that position.”

“Is there a chance of that?” asked Glorfindel. “Surely Lord Elrond would know by now if Rúmil was capable of bearing a child.”

“Perhaps not,” said Erestor. “Frost said that often with half-bloods like myself, the female organs lay dormant, and that they do not develop and the birth canal does not open and reveal itself until after the half-blood has bonded. That is certainly what happened with me.”

“And Frost says Lord Elrond witnessed Rúmil showing symptoms like a false cycle,” said Orophin. “He may be experiencing an awakening.”

Erestor sighed. “My heart bleeds for both of them. I can only hope things go well for them.”

“I only hope Rúmil forgives Nana,” said Orophin. “Her heart is broken over this. And I fear Ada may actually be fool enough to attempt to harm Rabbit, which will certainly not improve matters.”

“No,” said Glorfindel. “That must not happen. Do not worry Orophin, we will make certain your ada does not do anything that he and Haldir will regret.”

Orophin sighed quietly with relief, then nodded. “Thank you Lord Glorfindel, your words bring me much comfort.”

***---***

Quietly the procession made its way to the Havens, moving silently past the town of Bree, then down into the Shire, where they met up with Merry, Pippin, Sam and Rosie, who meant to accompany the Elves they had befriended as far as the harbor. It was a sad, quiet journey and the sun was just peering over the horizon as they reached the great ship. The group paused, and there was a long silence as they all gazed upon the vessel that would take them to Valinor.

It was Gimli who broke the silence.

“The bloody thing’s PINK! We can’t ride in a PINK ship!”

The ship was indeed pink; vibrant, sunrise pink, with gold and green accents. Along the trim was painted a repeating pattern of a glass on a square, and on the bow was painted a plaque with the ship’s name, ‘The Tablero’. All eyes were suddenly fixed on Glorfindel, who looked very pleased with himself.

“I like it,” he said, “and I beat Círdan fair and square.”

“Ai,” said Elrond, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fin” said Erestor, “when it comes to Tablero, there is no such thing as ‘fair and square’.”

“It’s pretty!” enthused Lindir.

“There, you see? Lindir likes it.”

“I cannae be seen riding a PINK ship!” bellowed Gimli.

Legolas looked over his shoulder at the Dwarf. “But if you do not ride the pink ship, who will keep me warm at night?”

Gimli sighed, then held Legolas a little more tightly. “Very well, if I can survive the Paths of the Dead, I can survive this.”

Elrond hear a snicker, and looked to the Elf beside him. It was Rúmil, cracking up with laughter at the pink ship. Elrond reached out and took his hand.

“To hear you laugh, my dearest love, I would ride naked on a barrel to Valinor.”

Rúmil shook his head. “No need for that. I am sorry if my state has disturbed you. I have much to think over.”

“I understand,” said Elrond softly. “Take all the time you want, I shall be here for you when you come to a decision.”

Lindir slid down from his horse and ran over to the pink ship, heading up the gangplank, then up the nearest mast. “You can see forever from up here! Let’s go, I’ve never been on a ship before!”

The group began loading their horses and few belongings onto the ship. This did not take them long, and within the hour, they were prepared to embark on the trip to Valinor. The ship lurched slightly as the wind caught its sails, and the great pink ship pulled out of the harbor and made for the open sea. Erestor was settling his children in their cabin, while Glorfindel set about the task of helping to sail the ship. He was about to climb a rope ladder leading up the mast when he heard Erestor call his name, and he made his way quickly towards him.

“Everything all right darling?”

Erestor was standing on the deck, holding a large basket covered with a cloth. He kissed him, then passed Fin the basket. “Just fine my love. Hold this, would you?”

Glorfindel looked down at the basket. “And what is in this?” He lifted the cloth covering it, and gasped at the sight of the five tiny green and gold faces peeking back at him.

There was a sound overhead, like great sails in the wind, and a shadow passed over the sun. Glorfindel looked up and watched Syrdanna fly overhead, riding the wind, scouting the way for the ship.

“She’s coming!” he said, the delight obvious in his voice.

“Of course she is. We all go, or none of us. Gimli and Glóin even went out and packed the old flood sign.”

Glorfindel laughed. “It’s perfect. It would not be the same without her.” He turned and looked towards the dock, watching the four small Hobbits get smaller in the distance. He waved, and called to them “NEVER FEAR, HOBBITS, WE WILL BE BACK! SAMMY YOU AND I SHALL HAVE A DRINK AT THE GREEN DRAGON!”

The Hobbits waved, though Glorfindel doubted they had heard him. Then he turned to Erestor and kissed him, stroking his long black hair. “Well, here we go again. Worried?”

Erestor shook his head. “I do not know. I was not exactly greeted with open arms the last time we were in Valinor.”

Glorfindel held him close, his blue eyes gleaming. “If anyone dares to harm you they shall have me to contend with, as well as Ecthelion and the rest of the household. You are not alone. And Rabbit will tolerate no abuse of you either.”

Erestor nodded, and leaned against Glorfindel, putting his arms around him. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my dearest, dullest, fairest Erestor.”

***---***

Fingon awoke as he always did, to the scent of ocean waves, the cry of gulls, and the wash of waves against the shore. A warm ocean wind slid gently through the open windows of his tower bedroom, rustling the blue silk drapes and blowing his hair into his face, tickling his nose. He reached up to scratch, then settled closer to the Elf in bed beside him.

“The House of Elrond arrives today,” he said sleepily.

“Indeed?” Maedhros reached up and stroked Fingon’s hair with a hand gloved in leather. “Is that today?”

“So said the note the white goose bore.”

Maedhros smiled slightly. “A goose? Since when are letters delivered by goose?”

“I hear tell the House of Elrond is… eccentric.”

“Well we all have our… oddities.” Maedhros looked at his leather-gloved hand, a hand made of Mithril, jointed to move like the one he had lost. He could use it, but there was no feeling in it. Still he was glad to have it. He rolled towards the Elf in his bed and kissed him. “I am sure that they will bring no disgrace to Valinor.” He shifted so he could run his real hand down Fingon’s body, feeling the living warmth of his skin. He bent to place a kiss on his stomach, then looked up and sighed. “No time to linger, I fear.”

“Time enough,” said Fingon softly, pulling him down to kiss him.

While Fingon and Maedhros made love quietly in their tower, Narvi the Dwarf was getting a familiar feeling. A feeling that meant he was being crept up on.

He was standing in his open air forge, putting a few finishing touches on a set of delicate, ornamental gates for Lady Galadriel’s garden, when he put his hammer down and looked around, grumbling. There was not a sound, not a scent, not the faintest hint of who was stalking him. But the old Dwarf knew in his heart he was being hunted. Finally he could stand it no more.

“Show yourself, I know it’s you!”

The huge Elf was out of the bushes in a moment and pounced on the Dwarf, scooping him up and kissing him noisily. “Did you miss me?”

“NO! You’ve only been gone three hours! STOP KISSING ME!!! What if someone were to see? Put me down you… pervert!”

“Pervert?” Celebrimbor stuffed the grumbling Dwarf under one muscular arm and walked over to look at the gates. “Is that any way to address your beloved?”

“You ain’t my beloved!”

“Narvi I hate to be the one that breaks this to you, but you live with me, pitch a fit if I so much as speak to another, and sleep in my bed. You may not be my lover but you do seem to have declared yourself my husband. Hmm, lovely work.”

Narvi dangled beneath the Elf’s arm, his own arms crossed, beard bristling with wrath. “I would not make love to you for the contents of a Mithril mine.”

“And I would not make love to you because it would be too much like mounting a cannon ball covered in a sheepskin, hard and far too fuzzy. One of your deer is not placed properly.”

“What the hell are you talking about, it was YOUR design!”

Celebrimbor turned his back to the gate so the Dwarf hanging in his grasp could see it. After a moment there was a stream of Dwarven curses. The large Elf smith grinned. “There there, poopsy, after a night’s sleep your mind will be much clearer.”

“A night’s sleep? I just got up a little while ago, it’s still morning!”

“A nap then, I know how you old people need your rest.”

“That’s it you nancing, prissy, flower-sniffing Elf, put me down so I can find a chair to stand on and kick your…”

“Is that a ship?”

“Well how do I know? Turn around so I can see.”

Celebrimbor did. Narvi raised a hand to shield his eyes against the sun. “Aye, it is a ship, and there’s something following it.”

Celebrimbor set his friend down, and both watched the vessel approach, heralded by a large green dragon. The Elf smiled.

“The House of Elrond approaches. Let us greet them.”

They began walking down the winding stone path from their home on top of a low cliff towards the dock. “I hear tell they are bringing the warrior with them who defeated a servant of Sauron,” said Celebrimbor. “What was his name?”

“Rabbit.”

“Yes that was it. Hardly seems a name suited to such a warrior. I hear tell also he is dangerous. I am surprised he was permitted to come here.”

Narvi shrugged. “Well many who dwell here may be called dangerous should the situation warrant it.”

“True enough, but I hear this one has threatened and even harmed his kin.”

“I hear tell the kin had it coming.”

“From whom?”

“Well Gimli and Glóin have written me of this Rabbit. They say he is more likely to flee than fight, that he favours solitude above violence, that he is akin to the wild things, and prefers to be left alone.”

“I pray your friends are right. For I have heard he is of the race of Elves that Orcs are spawned from.”

“Aye, that I heard too. But I do not think the Valar would permit him to come to this sacred shore should he be of evil intent or nature.”

“You are right,” said Celebrimbor. “Let us meet this Rabbit, and see for ourselves what he is like.”

The Dwarf and Elf made their way to the dock, watching as the Lords assembled, proud and silent, their robes fluttering in the sea wind. They came to stand with them, watching as the ship and dragon approached.

Syrdanna reached the dock first, lowering her feet and settling onto the wooden surface with a few flaps of her long wings. She extended her neck and head to sniff at those gathered. Maedhros permitted himself a slight smile as the dragon’s breath ruffled his hair. Close by, Fingon stood with his assembled kin, and Narvi as ever, stood by Celebrimbor. There also was Kanafinwë, as well as Finrod, Maglor, and Maeglin, long ago forgiven his past misdeeds. Fingon smiled as his lover was explored by the dragon.

“The House of Elrond claims a formidable Herald,” he said.

“Only if she sneezes, I am sure,” said Maedhros, He placed his good hand on the dragon’s snout, feeling the silken scales. He stroked her as he watched the great ship draw closer. It was Narvi who pointed out the obvious.

“It's pink! It's ruddy pink!”

Celebrimbor gave him a light nudge with his foot. “We noticed.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow slightly, then glanced at Fingon, who shrugged. He straightened as his Elven ears picked up the sound of singing.

“If we did, well who would be captain? If we did, well where would we go?
We’ll sail to an island not far from the Highland, but we never reveal
That we don’t have a boat!”

“Mr. Fin, Master Erestor says if you don’t get down from there you’ll be sleeping with the horses.”

“I shall be down forthwith, Lindir.”

The Elves on the dock watched as a figure swung off the yardarm, sliding gracefully down a rope to land on the deck. His hair was silver-white, and his clothes were of yellow and lavender.

“Is that Glorfindel of Gondolin?” asked Kanafinwë. “I thought he was dead, slain by a Balrog.”

“He was indeed,” said Maeglin softly, “but the stories say his antics were such that Námo kicked him out.”

Narvi roared with laughter, and Finrod lowered his head, grinning. Maglor noticed then a distant figure standing on the cliff, watching, eyes burning with a strange light. It was none other than Manwë, come to witness the arrival. Maglor leaned closed to Finrod and whispered; “Has Manwë seemed alright to you of late?”

Finrod grinned, and whispered back; “’Tis, I suspect, the shock of Narvi telling him he had thought he would be taller.”

Maglor clamped his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to silence his laughter, succeeding only in producing some inelegant and un-Elflike snorts and snickers.

The great pink ship drew near, and several Elves leapt over the side, landing on the dock and proceeding to tie up the vessel. The assembly gazed upon the ship, taking in the colour, the shot-glass-and-square trim, and finally the name; ‘The Tablero’.

“I like them already,” said Narvi.

The ship was made fast to the dock, and the gangplank was lowered. As the group watched and waited, Lord Elrond came down from the ship, followed as always by Rúmil in his elaborate and ancient uniform. Elrond came to stand before them, and bowed in greeting.

“Lords of the West, I thank you for receiving my household, in all its… strangeness.”

“You left us little choice,” said Maedhros. “We could hardly leave kin to fade because of their attachment to a handful of Mortals.”

“Yet I thank you for your indulgence none the less,” said Elrond. “For my house is a house no more, but a community, and I had not the heart to tear it asunder.”

“We understand you feelings in this matter,” said Fingon. “And we have come to make you welcome, and to see our Plains kin, whom we have never met, save in the bastardized form in which Sauron sent them forth.”

Fingon had only just finished speaking when something bounded off the ship and onto the dock, pacing nervously, like an animal. It was very tall, long of bone and limb, a creature made to travel, and not to call one land home. His hair was black and coarse, thick, and wild, hanging down his bare back. He wore only breeches and boots, and his body bore strange illuminations on his skin. He was heavily scarred, and when he paused to look at those assembled, his eyes were a frightening yellow-green: the eyes of a hunter.

Celebrimbor gasped, and heard himself speak without meaning to. “Ai, Aulë!”

Narvi put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Calm down, lad.”

Fingon and Maedhros exchanged glances. Then Fingon straightened, gathering his dignity about himself and stepped forward. Elrond looked nervous.

“My Lord it may not be wise to approach him just yet.”

Fingon looked at Elrond. “This being may not have our ways or customs, but he is an Elf, not a wild animal.”

“Don’t be too certain of that,” muttered Rúmil.

Fingon raised an eyebrow, as though not quite certain he had heard Rúmil correctly. In the meantime, Haldir had run down the gangplank to try to catch Rabbit. He knew Rabbit was in no good humour. The ride on the ship had been hard on him, and he had been ill most of the time from the motion. He had taken to riding on the bow of the ship, where the cool sea spray eased his discomfort somewhat. Currently he was wet, salty, and highly displeased with everyone in general. As Haldir approached, Rabbit lowered his head and shook like a dog.

Haldir ignored the spray and gently caught Rabbit, taking him by the arm. He meant to lead him back onto the ship, but froze as he saw Fingon and Maedhros approach. Recalling his manners, Haldir bowed formally. “You honour us with your presence,” he said.

Rabbit shook his wet hair and snorted, unimpressed with everyone and everything. He bumped into Haldir, then wrapped his jaws around the back of his skull, letting Haldir know he wished to be away. Haldir did as well, but was not about to simply run off and risk insult to these Elves. He placed his hand on the small of Rabbit’s back, and smiled as he heard Rabbit purr at him very softly.

Fingon inclined his head towards Haldir. “You are welcome here, Haldir of Lothlórien, as is this warrior. This is the mighty Rabbit, I believe?”

Haldir nodded. “Aye my Lord, this is he. Forgive him, he speaks to very few.”

Rabbit made a snorting noise, implying he did not feel he needed forgiving. Fingon was fascinated by him, and stepped a little closer, drawn to him, enthralled by one so ancient. Rabbit raised his head, looking wary, his eyes rolling back in his head and flickering slightly. He growled very faintly.

“I had not thought it true,” whispered Fingon, “but it is. He hails from the realm of the Faery folk, and is as Ilúvatar left his kind, Elves, yet wild. I feel as though I am standing at the beginning of time, looking upon the creation of Arda…”

Fingon reached out, as though mesmerized, to touch this ancient creature. To Haldir’s horror, Rabbit lunged and snapped, leaving a torn and bloody wound on Fingon’s hand, then fled down the dock, seeking either escape or a way back onto the ship.

“My lord I am so sorry, pray forgive him, he is a feral creature, he does not always react as his kin would...”

Fingon looked at his hand. The cut was deep, but not too bad. He looked up as he felt Maedhros gently put an arm around him. He kissed Fingon’s brow.

“I suppose now we can call you Ilúvatar?”

***---***

Faramir awoke, sensing the ship had stopped moving.

He had been up late playing Tablero with Fin, and had become very drunk, far more drunk than was good for a man. He ran his hand down his face, then sniffed, smelling something odd. Unable to place it, he stumbled to his feet and tried to recall what nonsense he had been up to the night before. Nothing came to mind. Not even when he looked down at himself and realized he was clad in the boots, leggings and tunic of an Elf.

“What in all Middle Earth was I doing?” he asked himself. He glanced out of a porthole, and saw that they had docked. Elrond was speaking with a group of assembled Elves, and for the first time Faramir wondered if this was a good idea. Deciding he did not wish to meet these Elves looking like he had just crawled out of a tavern, Faramir went over to a wash basin. It was resting on a little stand that held a mirror, and as he reached it, he stopped.

Someone had bleached his hair.

Faramir gasped and leaned forward. It was true; his once brown hair was now shining pale gold, braided in the manner of a warrior. To complete the image, someone, most likely Glorfindel, had taken the putty that Círdan used to mend the seams in the ship and had fashioned for him a most elegantly pointed pair of ears. His beard also was bleached, and, in truth, he could have passed for Círdan’s cousin.

Faramir tried to pull the ears off, only to find them stuck on. He could not remove them, he would have to wait until they fell off on their own. He sighed heavily, then shook his head.

“It has come to this,” he said, studying his refection. “I have been reduced to an Elvish impersonator.”