SHELTER
Overall rating: yellow
Category: slash (two male Elves in love), some het content in later chapters
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel, OMC/OMC, Erestor/OFC (the audience goes "eeek!")
Warnings: melancholy, sap and tissue-alert for the last chapter
Beta: the wonderful Eveiya
Summary: Glorfindel learns that he does not know as much about Erestor as he thought. And Erestor finally confronts a part of his past he tried to forget.
Chapter 5
Glorfindel rubbed his eyes.
"Is everything fine with you, Fin? You look pale."
Glorfindel eyed his husband tiredly.
"Erestor, it can drain an Elf of his colour when he hears that his husband rode all the way from Imladris to Osgiliath, without guards, through snow and storm, to help with the potato harvest!"
Erestor tried to look guilty, but he failed.
"It was not for the potato harvest alone, Fin. I also got to milk the cows."
The headache which had until then been a dull throbbing in the back of Glorfindel's head now became a sharp pain in his forehead, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Let me sum this up: Lord Elrond's advisor milked cows, picked potatoes and fed the pigs."
"Indeed, and I enjoyed it. Nobody was scared to talk to me or expected me to give wise counsel. After a few years, the novelty of an Elf among mortals wore off, and I was just one of them."
Glorfindel sat bolt upright.
"After a few years? Are you trying to tell me that you undertook this insane journey more than once?"
"Of course. All in all, seven times."
"Why, Erestor? Why did you risk your life? I can understand that you felt lonely and grew attached to that woman, but..."
"Rhian. 'That woman' had a name, and it was 'Rhian', Glorfindel," Erestor interrupted him, and his tone made it clear that Glorfindel had better remembered it.
"Fine then," the warrior grumbled, "Rhian. But certainly you could have found friends here, among your own people, Erestor. There was no need to put yourself in danger so often. Did Elrond not object? It is not like him at all to allow such a mad undertaking."
Erestor smiled, a little smugly, Glorfindel thought, and shrugged.
"Ah, Elrond… you see, I was never one to ask if I needed something..."
* * *
Erestor was not one to ask if he needed something. One had to guess or, if it was an urgent matter, the advisor begged, but never had Elrond known Erestor to demand anything. Needless to say, the Elf lord had been very curious when Erestor had informed him in February that he would need three months of leave. Elrond had granted this immediately, as there was no urgent business and the advisor more than deserved a break.
But still - Elrond would have died to know where Erestor intended to go. He had packed his horse for a long journey and refused to tell anybody where he was going. Elrond knew that Erestor had no family left, they had all died during the fall of Gondolin. He hadn’t heard of any friends the advisor might have. So where was Erestor off to?
Elrond had watched the advisor’s departure from the balcony of his chamber, and when he saw the lean, dark figure on horseback disappear into the forest surrounding Rivendell, he came to the conclusion that maybe Erestor simply wanted to think about his life.
When Erestor announced the following year that he would be away for the months of February, March and April, Rivendell was buzzing with gossip and speculation. Some spoke of secret dealings Erestor had with the Dwarves; others pretended to know that Erestor had taken a lover in Lothlórien. This, however, was not believed by most, for the words 'romance' and 'Erestor' simply sounded wrong together. It was common knowledge that the advisor loved only his books and scrolls. Elrond, feeling that any questions on his part would remain unanswered, held his tongue, but the uncertainty over Erestor's doings was gnawing at him.
In the year of Erestor's fifth ‘holiday’, Elrond's patience and discretion had reached their end, and when Erestor announced that he would be away from February to April, Elrond said: "Erestor - it is none of my business, and you do not have to tell me if you do not want to, but I am worried that you might be in trouble. You are not only my advisor. You are also my dear friend, and it saddens me that you do not trust me with your secret."
Appealing to Erestor's friendship and playing the guilt-card was, of course, a low move on his part, and Elrond knew it. But if he let Erestor leave again without an explanation, curiosity would certainly kill him.
Erestor, hands clasped behind his back, arched an eyebrow, and for a moment, Elrond thought to have spotted mischief in his eyes.
"My lord Elrond, it is about the potato harvest in Osgiliath."
"The – potato harvest?"
"Yes, my lord."
"You leave Imladris for three months every year because of the potato harvest in Osgiliath?"
"Indeed, my lord."
Elrond stood now in front of Erestor, and gave the advisor a stern look.
"Are you mocking me, Master Erestor?"
Erestor bowed his head.
"I would never dream of doing such a thing, my lord."
Elrond sighed.
"Very well then. You are free to go. I will expect you back in three months."
Erestor thanked him and departed, leaving behind a frowning Elrond.
Potatoes? Elrond rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. At least he now knew that Erestor rode to Osgiliath, otherwise he might have feared his advisor had fallen in love with a Hobbit.
* * *
Rhian was hanging up washing when Erestor arrived. He dismounted and ran across the yard to sweep her off her feet and swing her around. The woman laughed.
"There you are! I was beginning to fear you might not come this year," she said, stroking his face lovingly. There was an angry welt on his cheek, and she frowned.
"Did you have trouble on your way here?"
Erestor decided not to mention his run-in with some Orcs only two days’ journey from Osgiliath, as he did not want to ruin these precious first moments.
"It was nothing, my dear. Do I get a proper welcome now?"
She laughed again, then slung her arms around his neck, drew his head down and kissed him. Erestor sighed, returning the longed-for kiss with enthusiasm and hugging her tight.
"I have missed you," he whispered.
"I have missed you, too. There is much to tell. Many things have changed here."
Erestor was about to ask what these things were when an odd noise distracted him, making him look around. It sounded like the mewling of a young cat, and when he saw something move in the laundry basket, he knelt down to remove the animal that must have sneaked in with the washing.
Alas, when he pushed the cover aside, he was greeted by the sight of a shock of dark brown hair, two gentle brown eyes and, unmistakably, a pair of tiny, pointed ears. Erestor leapt up and backed away, staring at Rhian and the basket in utter shock.
"What ... what is this?" he stuttered, and pointed at the basket.
Rhian rubbed her chin.
"I don't know what you call the wee ones where you come from, but here we call them 'babies'."
"I know what a baby is," Erestor howled, raking his hair with his hands, "but where did this baby come from?"
"Erestor - I know there are differences between your folk and mine, but I imagine babies are made in much the same way all over Middle-earth."
She bent down to the basket and lifted the baby up. It was a boy, and she cuddled him close to her chest. She smiled dotingly down at the little one, who probably wasn't older than two or three months, then she turned to Erestor again.
"I'm sorry I had to surprise you like this, but I didn't know how to let you know. Nobody was willing to undertake the journey. But here he is now, and I think he turned out beautifully."
She placed the tiny baby in the arms of the completely flabbergasted advisor, smiling at him proudly.
"This is your son. He's called Erestor. Don't worry, he won't bite. It will be quite a while before he gets his first set of teeth."
Erestor stared down at the tiny bundle of new life in his arms, and shook his head. He would probably wake up any second, sighing in relief that this had all been nothing but a bad dream. Alas, the baby reached out and a tiny hand closed around one of his braids, giving it a sound pull. This hurt, making Erestor's eyes water.
"Erestor? You called him Erestor? But you cannot give him this name - I am Erestor!"
Rhian was rather confused.
"Of course you're Erestor. You're his father, so he carries your name."
"But you cannot do this!" Erestor groaned, realising in the same moment how utterly absurd it was to worry about the Elfling’s name when the Elfling himself was reason for much greater worries.
Rhian rolled her eyes.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was a crime among your people to call children – well, boys, at least - after their fathers. Now, for a girl, I could understand the problem."
She smiled at Erestor, then stroked the baby’s cheek, while the little one gurgled happily.
"But what do you say, isn't he beautiful? And such a sweet baby he is, never cries, always smiles. He's quite advanced for his age, in every way."
Erestor feared that he might faint any moment. Baby? Father? This was an enormous thing to take in. How could this be possible? Becoming a father was a major step, one that no Elf took lightly, but only after long consideration and consultation with family and friends. And yet here he stood, holding his son, in the middle of freshly washed shirts and, he now noticed, nappies, which fluttered merrily in the breeze.
"Rhian, I do not know what to say. Why did this happen? I did not want this."
Hurt showed in the woman's face, and she took a step back.
"I'd expect that line from any man, Erestor, but not from you."
The Elf realised that he had worded his question poorly, and shook his head.
"Please do not misunderstand me - the birth of a child is a joyous event, and there is no question that I will take all responsibility for - him. But we did not agree to have a child. We did not consult your family, or decide on a suitable day for the birth. By the Valar, Rhian - we are not even married!"
Looking at the devastated Elf and hearing his stammered explanations, it dawned on Rhian that she might know even less about Elven customs than she had imagined.
"Erestor, are you trying to tell me that your people plan when to have their children? I mean - what do you do? Hold a council about it? Draw up a schedule? Invite your friends over for the procreation?"
The baby whined, and Erestor was tempted to join in. He had no idea how to hold an Elfling; he never had any dealings with children, and he feared that whatever he might do would be wrong. Maybe he was hurting the child by holding him the way he did? He nestled the baby a little closer to him, and the little one purred in contentment. He was a beautiful baby, even by Elven standards, and seemed friendly enough. Was it possible the little one knew that he was his ada?
Erestor's head spun. 'Ada!' 'Elfling!' By the Valar! What would Lord Elrond say? And everybody else? He had sired a child and not even known it, but it was all too real, as the tiny, warm body squirming in his arms confirmed.
"Parents agree to have an Elfling," he murmured absentmindedly, "then a suitable date for the birth is discussed with the healer. Having a child is important, of course you plan this."
Rhian crossed her arms over her chest. Erestor noticed that she had put on a little weight - of course, she had given birth not so long ago.
"Erestor, maybe that's how things work among your people, but here, we have no influence. It's often the case that women have a baby every other year though they'd rather not, and then there are women who'd love to have a child but never conceive. The little ones come as it pleases them, and we must accept it."
He really was a beautiful child. There was nothing mortal about his features, the ears looked fully Elven, unlike Elrond's, for example. How amazing - he, Erestor, was responsible for this wonder? He could neither pride himself on great deeds as a warrior nor had he ever stood out for any other achievements, but he had fathered a child. He had created life.
Erestor felt the urgent need to scream.
"Maybe we should get inside and discuss this over dinner," Rhian said, understanding that the Elf was absolutely confused and needed time to come to terms with this new situation.
Erestor nodded, still looking shocked, then he followed Rhian, who had picked up the basket. He clutched the child close to his chest, afraid he might drop the boy. Before Rhian entered the house, Erestor stopped.
"Did you want him?"
She turned around, giving Erestor a scrutinizing look. Then she smiled.
"Yes, I wanted him. I wanted him very much."
Again, a tiny fist pulled on Erestor's braid. The advisor looked down at his son, and he could have sworn the Elfling looked amused.
* * *
TBC