SWORDS AND PACIFIERS
This chapter has now been beta-read by the wonderful Eveiya. Thank you!
A small preface by the author:
I don't like lengthy author's notes, but some are needed here – my apologies.
This new series of "reports" is the result of a challenge between me and the Magic Rat. After she finished the last part of the "Gift" series, in which Erestor finds, much to his, Glorfindel's and our surprise, that he is pregnant, we both decided to continue this story, but each of us in our own way, basing our tales on roughly the same facts. If you should see any similarities, it is not plagiarism from either of us, but the undeniable fact that our minds seem to be wired in the same odd way.
I also have to warn you upfront: this is in no way, form or shape an attempt to write a "serious" mpreg story.
Rating: PG to PG-13, depending on the chapter (don't rise your hopes, though. I'm hopelessly vanilla.)
Category: slash, humour, AU (very!), some angsty bits as well
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other pairings mentioned: Haldir/Rabbit, Aragorn/Arwen, Elrond/somebody (female), Elladan/somebody else (male)
Warnings: mpreg and revolting food cravings
Thanks go to: The Magic Rat, Nic, MajorClanger, Anand (official bad influence), Kharessa, Lyric, and all the gentle souls who have sent feedback for the previous stories.
CHAPTER 1
It was Friday, June 13, 11 pm, 3rd age, and officially the 444th day Glorfindel and I were together as in – together.
444 days of arguments, broken cutlery, sulking Balrog slayer and gravy on my precious 1st age scrolls.
444 days filled with lengthy discussions on the subjects of blanket hoarding, room decoration, vegetables being preferable to meat, dropping on the shared bedstead with muddy boots and the importance of sorting tunics by colour.
444 mornings of waking up in Fin's arms - and the 444 nights were even better.
In other words: the 444 best days of my life.
Had anybody told me two years ago that I would actually live to enjoy Fin's company, I would have laughed out loud. How times are a-changing … oh, we still had arguments, more than before we became lovers - for if you argue, you need to make up afterwards, and that is a skill Fin is a master in. I even started rows just to get Fin all worked up and into bed afterwards.
They do not call me "cunning advisor" without reason.
Nothing special had been planned for this day, though, as Glorfindel was not in Imladris. The forces of evil seemed to gain strength by the minute, Orcs had been sighted much too close to the Last Homely House for comfort, and so he had joined Elrond on a trip to the Northern borders to check on the guards and hear first hand what was going on. I did not complain, this was his duty, after all, but I was worried.
This was something I had to get used to first – caring for somebody so deeply. Nobody had ever been as close to me as Glorfindel, and the mere thought of losing him was unbearable. Fin drove me insane when he was around and he drove me insane when he was not, but at the end of the day, I preferred to go mad in his presence rather than in his absence.
Pushing dark thoughts of Orcs back to a dusty and rarely used part of my mind, I focused on the speech I had just written for Elrond.
I was very proud of it – it is tricky business to write speeches for Elrond without our fellow Elves noticing that he had not written them himself. I had quilled down a first draft, then added pompous sayings and a handful of doomed, doom and doooom for good measure, and now it really had the Elrond touch. I finished the last notes, sanded the parchment, and with that, my deeds were done for this day.
By now, I was hearing the sweet call of my pillow, and I was more than willing to answer it – I was very tired. No – exhausted. I had been feeling like this quite often lately, a condition Elrond blamed on too much work and Glorfindel on his prowess in the bedroom, and I had no intention of challenging either of them on their respective opinions.
I blew out the candle, and got up to undress, when a wave of nausea washed over me, and I fell, hitting my head on the chair in the process. By the Valar! What was going on here?
After lying on the floor without moving for a couple of minutes, I felt a little better, and sat up, rubbing my forehead. I was getting soft - Fin had been right: I have been spending too much time behind the desk. I was out of condition, a sad fact which not only showed itself in the weakness of my limbs, but also in my increased weight.
Slowly, I got up, and made my way to the bed. Once there, I nestled into the comforter, and grabbed Fin's nightshirt - I needed something of him around, otherwise I could not sleep. I hugged the shirt to my chest, and I decided that I would ask Elrohir on the morrow if he might fancy a round of sparring.
It was high time to let my inner warrior come out and play again.
* * *
Elrohir, as expected, was highly delighted with the idea, so we met up the next afternoon on the training ground near the Bruinen, armed with light swords. Elladan and some of the guardians sat in the grass, watching our fight. It went to and fro, and I had to admit that Glorfindel had been an excellent teacher to the twins.
As usual, thinking of Glorfindel, even in the most mundane of ways, let my thoughts wander off to his golden tresses spread over the pillow, the elegant line of his neck, the most exquisite feeling of his tongue on – ouch! I had not been paying attention, and Elrohir had attacked and out-manoeuvred my defence, resulting in a gash on my left side, which was bleeding quite nastily.
Elrohir dropped the weapon, and hugged me.
"Ai Elbereth – I am so sorry, Erestor! I had not planned to hurt you!"
"I know," I tried to calm him, "it is nothing serious. I have survived worse."
Which was true, but all the same, it hurt like Mordor, and that faint, weak feeling from the previous night returned, making my stomach clamp and my head spin.
"We must take you to the House of Healing", Elrohir said, and took one arm, while Elladan clutched onto my other, both of them leading me firmly away.
It was only when we entered the dark, cool room of the House of Healing that I remembered Elrond's absence.
Ai Elbereth - I was in the hands of Elladan the Butcher Boy!
* * *
"Elladan – and even if I should die: you will not put so much as a finger on me! Even the cows flee you, and they have good reason!"
Elrond's first born pouted, looking very much like his father that moment – from whom he had also inherited the eyebrows, the nose and the stubbornness.
Elrohir tried to calm me down.
"Erestor, please, stop being difficult. We only want to help. The wound is bleeding, and needs to be tended."
"Difficult? I am not being difficult! In fact I am far from being difficult! I am neither difficult nor suicidal, for if I were, I would submit myself to our quack here!" I shouted, and now Elladan was not only pouting, but frowning as well.
He cracked his knuckles, and stalked towards me, followed by Elrohir.
"Erestor, I will examine you now. There are two ways we can do this: I knock you out with a hammer and tie you to the bed, or you can be a good advisor, let me do my duty and possibly be unharmed by the end of the examination."
Elrohir nodded, and quipped: "Nobody escapes the Noldorian inquisition, dear Erestor!"
Ha. Ha.
Under normal circumstances, I would have put up a fight and most probably escaped, for despite all banter and joking, the twins respected me deeply, and if I had seriously refused an examination, Elladan would not have pushed it.
But I hurt, and I was tired, and my head was spinning again, so I decided to grin and bear it, and lay down on the bed, where Elrohir and Elladan quickly stripped me of my tunic.
Elladan went to one of the shelves, rummaged through the bottles and jars, and then returned, uncorking a bottle. He poured a nasty smelling fluid over the wound, which stung like Mordor, and then he announced:
"My, but this does look very ugly, Erestor, I am most afraid we will have to stitch you up."
Great. Could not wait.
While Elladan prepared everything he needed to do his grisly work, Elrohir tried to take my mind off his brother's clumsy hands, and asked:
"Erestor, this is a nasty looking scar you have here – did you get this in the battle of the Last Alliance?"
"No," I yelped, because right then, Elladan applied the first stitch, "Helm's Deep."
Elrohir whistled in appreciation, and I decided not to tell him that the scar in question had not come from an Orcish blade, but from a spring which had cut into my skin when Fin and I had celebrated his safe return a little too enthusiastically and the bed had collapsed.
The young ones do not need to know everything.
* * *
"So, we are finished," Elladan announced cheerfully, and clapped his hands. From the shine in his eyes and the rosy hue on his cheeks I could tell that he had enjoyed himself immensely, while I had spent the last twenty minutes in agony.
Looking down at my side, I examined Elladan's work.
Cross-stitches.
He had stitched me up with CROSS STITCHES!
"Have you gone insane, Elladan?" I cried, and he shrugged, looking hurt.
"I thought it would look pretty."
"And that is also the reason you used pink yarn, is it not!" I howled.
Elladan shook his head.
"No, but we are out of green."
I let myself fall back, and closed my eyes. This was decidedly not my day.
"Oh, that is strange."
I opened my eyes immediately. From Elladan's lips, these words could not mean anything good for me.
"What is strange?" I asked.
Elladan poked my tummy, then frowned.
"There is something wrong, I think. Did you hit him anywhere else, Elrohir?"
The younger twin shook his head.
"No, just the gash on the side."
"Hm. This is odd."
'Strange' had made me feel uncomfortable. Hearing now the term 'odd' had me in full panic mode.
"Elladan! For the Valar's sake, will you tell me what is wrong?"
He ran his hand over my belly, poked here and there, and then he cried out, taking a step back.
"Erestor! There is something in there!"
I groaned.
"Yes, of course, you genius master healer: liver, heart, kidneys …"
"No!" he interrupted me, horror on his face.
"It moves!"
Oh dear.
"Elladan. Nothing moves there. There is nothing. You are only nervous."
But Elladan would have none of this, grabbing my hand and pressing it on my abdomen.
"Here – feel for yourself!"
I rolled my eyes, but complied – and then I froze. It could not be denied – something moved.
No, correction.
Someone moved.
I starred at Elladan in complete, utter terror. When he finally regained his ability to talk again, he said:
"I hope Arwen has kept the cradle."
And ever since then, things have gone downhill.
* * *
Just in case you are not one of the Firstborn, I shall explain to you briefly the mechanics of the birds and the bees. To produce an Elfling, or, in some very rare cases, two of them, you need:
1 Elf (male)
1 Elf (female)
Candles, starlight and a romantic dinner for two can help, but are not mandatory.
Elflings are conceived when the parents decide the time is right, to provide the best possible environment to bring the wee one up.
In other words: it is absolutely impossible for a male Elf to conceive. Or not to know about it. Not possible. Not.
The only case where this has ever happened that I know of is Rabbit – but then Rabbit is not an Elf in the common meaning of the word. He is – Rabbit.
I, however, am very much Elven, and very much male, as for that. MALE! This means the Valar love me, I can do what I want and bed whom I want without facing the consequences. What fun is there in being a male if you have to worry about unplanned offspring? I might as well become a mortal then!
What unspeakable crime, oh Elbereth, had I committed in a former life to deserve this fate. Here I was, sitting on my bed, all confused, while some boisterous embryo was most probably entertaining my liver with hackneyed stories about Balrogs and flirting with my kidneys at that very moment.
And how did said embryo get where it was in the first place?
And, even more important – how did said embryo intend to LEAVE my body?
No. Do not answer the last question. It was merely rhetorical.
I sighed. This was too odd for words. And the prospect of breaking this news to Glorfindel was nothing I was looking forward to. How would he react? Would he throw me out of our chambers? Jump out of the window? Drop dead on the spot?
Leave me?
Fear crawled up my spine, as unpleasant and clingy as night sweat. We had never talked about children – naturally assuming there was no need - and certainly, he had been a loyal friend and good teacher to Elladan and Elrohir, and always managed to make Arwen eat her steamed vegetables when she was an Elfling, but that was still a far cry from being a parent himself.
Or had he been a parent already? With five divorces to his name, surely there must have been some sons and daughters along the way? I had never asked.
Maybe he did not like children? Maybe he would be disgusted – after all, I seemed to be a freak of nature. Maybe … maybe he would not love me anymore?
He could leave anytime, as we were not bonded. And even if we were …
I raked my hair with my fingers. It felt awful – like straw. The ends were splitting, and looking in the mirror, I noticed dark circles under my eyes, a slightly greenish tint to my skin, my hair was not shiny anymore, and, it could not be denied, I had put on weight.
I was an undesirable, blobby abnormality, and Fin would not love me anymore, and it was all horrible, terrible, disastrous, abysmal, and now I really started to cry.
Pickled frog feet. Yes. That was what I needed now: pickled frog feet with freshly cut onions.
* * *
I wiped away my tears, called myself a fool and put on a robe, intending to make my way to the kitchen, hoping that the cook had stored somewhere a jar of the much craved delicacy.
Down in the kitchen, I rummaged through cupboards and shelves, but to no avail. Salted lizard tongue, dried Warg ham and steamed Mallorn blossoms I found, but not a single jar of pickled frog feet. Did the entire world hate me?
Now I seriously started to feel desperate.
I slid down the wall to sit on the kitchen floor and buried my face in my hands, sobbing like an Elfling – me, Erestor, chief advisor to Lord Elrond, once a great and much-feared warrior, and by reputation sly and cunning and not to be messed with.
It was a disgrace.
I was a disgrace.
"Here. Take this." a deep, rough voice said, and when I looked up, my bleary eyes took in the sight of Rabbit, offering me a jar of – FROG FEET!
My tears ceased immediately. I grabbed the jar, tore open the lid and fished out one piece of meat, stuffed it in my mouth unceremoniously, and felt much better already.
Rabbit sat down opposite me, his yellow eyes sparkling, and only now I did I realise how odd this was: Rabbit not only being in the house and visible, but talking to me – and he surely did not travel with jars of pickled frog feet all the time?
He watched me licking my fingers, taking in every little detail of my appearance, and at times, he sniffed the air, like an animal that caught track of something.
When I was munching on my third frog foot, he said: "You are with child."
It was not a question. It was a statement. I dropped the foot, and stared at him.
"How can you tell? I only just learned …"
Rabbit shook his head.
"I know. I can smell it."
He sniffed again.
"Your smell – it is different." And again: "You are with child."
His tone made clear that there was no point in arguing.
I sighed.
"Yes. Yes, I am. I have no idea how, I have no idea why, and the Valar know I did not want this, but …" I broke off, and felt the tears flow again.
Rabbit shook his head again.
"No tears. You are with child, and that is good. You are of my kin, so I will watch over you."
Kin? What was he talking about?
I looked into these strange, unelven yellow eyes again, and my great-grandmother's tale about her lost lover came back into my mind.
"He was a wild being," she had told us oh so many times, "with black hair and yellow eyes. Where he came from and where he went I never knew, but I loved him, and that was knowledge enough."
Could it be …? No. No, that was too weird to even consider. I shook my head.
As if he had read my thoughts (and I would not put such ability beyond him) Rabbit gave me the hint of a smile.
"No, we are not that close of kin. But still, we are of the same blood. Elves might think us less – but we are more."
Aha.
"And this 'more' involves males becoming pregnant without knowledge or desire to sire."
I was rhyming – bad sign.
Rabbit cocked his head.
"You do not wish to be with child?"
I gave a laugh which, I'm afraid, sounded rather hysterical.
"Do I not … Rabbit! I AM A 6537 YEAR OLD MALE! And a warrior – fine, more theoretically lately, but still – bearing children is about the most unmale thing one can do, beside needlework, that is, and I find children irritating at best and confusing mostly, and the thought of spending the next 50 years making sure Glorfindel junior will not get into any trouble is NOT my idea of fun!"
Rabbit got up.
"You will understand and accept in time." he said, and disappeared.
I had no idea where he went, but within the fraction of a second he was gone, and I sat there on the floor, clutching the jar of frog feet to my chest like my life depended on it, and I had never felt so alone in all my life.
* * *
How will Glorfindel react when he hears the good news? What will Elrond say? Will Elladan consider using blue yarn? What has Galadriel to say about all this? And what does Rabbit know that Erestor doesn't?
Stay tuned – tbc…
Author's note: Rabbit is all the Magic Rat's (so are the frog feet), thanks so much for letting him appear here. Special thanks to all who commented previously on the plan for this story, and I hope you are still here and haven't left the theatre yet.