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 6
"Elfling? You sired an Elfling?"
It was not that Glorfindel was taken completely by surprise by this revelation. The mechanics of procreation were known to him, of course, and the thought that Erestor might have left a little peredhel in Osgiliath had crossed his mind. Thinking of something and seeing it dragged out into the open were different things, though, and the warrior was shocked.
"Well yes, I did."
"Why did you never tell me? Certainly this should have been mentioned in all the years we have spent together. Did everybody know but me?"
Erestor shook his head.
"Nobody knew, Fin. And I have never told anybody but you, now. It is possible that Elrond suspected something, but he never mentioned the subject, for which I am most grateful."
"You should have told me." Glorfindel stated. Erestor gently stroked his arm, then took his hand.
"Fin, some things are never talked about. You have never told me about your son, either. I understand how difficult it must be to talk about his death, but maybe you, of all people, can understand me?"
Glorfindel sniffled. Whenever his son was mentioned, he ended up in tears, that was the reason he hardly ever spoke of him. He was blessed, for his son's fëa had been reborn in Estorel and so reunited with his father, but still. He had been unfair, and he knew it, so he hugged Erestor very close and buried his face in the black hair.
"I am sorry," he murmured, "the death of a child is the most terrible thing that can happen to any being, and I can well imagine how surprised you were. And how hurtful it must have been when he eventually died. They say mortality is the gift of the Valar, but for one of our kin, loving a mortal, it must be a curse."
Erestor returned the hug, then pressed a soft kiss on his husband's lips. He wiped away Glorfindel's tears with his thumb and sighed.
"I could not agree more with you, Fin. But as for my son, things were a little different…"
* * *
Erestor had not touched the dinner Rhian had cooked, and all her attempts at conversation with him had failed. His eyes wandered often to the basket by the oven where the baby slept, and she suspected he would have looked less anxious had the basket contained an Orc.
Finally she gave up, and began to clear away the plates and mugs. When this was done, she picked up the child, and Erestor watched her feeding the baby. How odd - he had lived so many centuries, but never had he seen a mother breast-feed her child. Did Elven females do this, too? Well, of course they did. Or at least he guessed so. His experience in this field was more than limited.
Next came the nappy-changing, and Erestor wrinkled his nose in disgust. What a smell! How was it possible for such a tiny Elfling to create such a stench? Rhian did not seem to mind, though, judging from the doting expression on her face. When she was finished, she got up, holding the baby in her arms.
"It has been a long day, I'll go to bed now. Are you coming as well?"
Erestor looked down at the toes of his boots.
"Just tell me what room I shall sleep in," he murmured.
"Well, in our room, of course."
Rhian could see how confused Erestor was, so she gently laid the boy back in his basket, and sat beside the Elf, taking his hand.
"Look, I'm sorry that this came as such a shock to you. It wasn’t my intention to scare you or force you into anything. It just - happened. It's actually a miracle it didn’t happen before. But the little one hasn't changed anything about the way I feel for you."
Erestor rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, and looked up, almost shyly.
"Things have not changed between us then?"
She leant her forehead on his.
"Erestor - for five years now, you have come to see me. It is a month's journey here and a month's journey back. You ride through snow and storms, and more than once you have turned up here injured after a run-in with Orcs, Wargs or wild men. While, for my part, I haven't even looked at one of the men in the city, and trust me, there are some good looking devils among them. My older son speaks of you as his father already, and my uncle asked if you might be willing to help him with the 'taters this year as well. If you and I don't have feelings for each other, who does?"
He sighed.
"I still feel like I am dreaming."
She patted his thigh, and kissed his cheek again.
"Don't worry, Erestor. When your son screams later tonight, you will feel very much awake."
* * *
"What was it like? The birth, I mean."
Rhian snuggled closer to Erestor and snorted.
"Sixteen hours of sheer agony. But it was quicker than with the other two, and the midwife said she had never seen a more beautiful baby in all her life."
"What happened to your first child?"
For a moment, she stiffened in his arms, then she sighed.
"My oldest decided to follow his father. I haven't seen him since he left our house, but I hear he's doing well."
He hugged her, regretting having asked. "I am sorry. That must have been terrible."
"It was. But then - our children are never ours to keep. They grow up so quickly, and before you know it, they get married themselves and you're a grandparent."
Erestor, who was only slowly beginning to accept the fact that he was a father, decided that "grandfather" was a thought he did not wish to follow up right now, and shuddered.
"As soon as the child is old enough to travel, I will arrange for you to come to Imladris," the Elf said, "maybe I could ask the eagles for help."
Rhian sat up.
"Erestor - I’m grateful that you're not trying to weasel your way out of your responsibilities, but I don't want to live in Imladris."
Erestor gasped.
"But you cannot live here, my dear!"
"Why not? I've lived here all my life. You could move here, you know."
The Elf sighed. He tried to imagine being away from Imladris, living the life of a farmer. A great sadness overcame him, he would miss his home terribly, but if this was what he had to do...
"If you ask me to stay, I will. Certainly Lord Elrond will understand if I explain the situation. I could..."
Rhian interrupted him.
"And you pride yourself on being an advisor? With such poor judgement? You couldn't live here, just as I couldn't live where you come from. I'm not happy about it, but it's our nature. Your people would look down on me, whereas here, I'm respected."
"They would not. Remember, Lord Elrond is half-elven."
Rhian sighed, stroking his arm.
"He is a lord, Erestor. A lord can get away with anything, while a farmer can't. Do you really think I would be welcomed with open arms? And what would it be like for my eldest, having to leave his friends and family behind, to live in a place where he doesn't even understand the language? No, Erestor, it wouldn't work."
Erestor couldn't deny that there was some truth in her words. No, he could not imagine her living in Imladris, she would be lonely and miserable.
"What do you suggest then? To keep things the way they have always been?"
She nodded.
"Yes, Erestor. That's what I want. These last years have been very happy for me. I don't want to change this. Come next March, you will be back to see how your son has grown. We will harvest the potatoes, you can share the mead with our neighbours, and at night, we will find pleasure in each others’ arms. I'm not saying that this is a perfect life for you and me, but it's not a bad one, either."
The baby moved in his basket and mewled.
"He is hungry," Rhian stated, and tried to get up. Erestor held her back.
"No. Let me get him," he said, then he slipped out of the bed and padded across the room. The Elfling looked up at him, the brown, gentle eyes wide open, and studying him with curiosity.
"He is very fair," Erestor said after a while, and Rhian laughed.
"I'm very glad that he takes after you, Erestor, for the men in my family all went bald by the time they reached their thirties. He does have my nose, though."
Erestor lifted the boy out of his basket, held him up and studied the tiny face.
"Well, I like your nose, and I like his nose, too. Mine is, as you have so often mentioned, too long, anyway."
"You know what they say about men and their noses, Erestor."
He looked up, puzzled.
"No, I do not. What do they say?"
She arched an eyebrow, and there was a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
"Let me feed the wee one, dear, then I shall tell you."
* * *
TBC