Recipient: thewenchywiccan Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir (very slight) Rating:PG
Title: Winter Fires
Summary: Elrohir holds a vigil on the longest night of the year.
Comments: This is way more gen than it is slash. I am so sorry. Just say the word and I'll try for something more explicit.
Disclaimer: Tolkien = not mine. Yeah.
Elrohir brought his brother’s hand up and pressed it to the side of his face, looking into the flames on the hearth. That fire would be one of only two in the whole village tonight. As soon as the sun finished setting, all the fires in the village would be extinguished except for a single bonfire in the center of the village, and every villager not on guard duty would be gathered around it to hold vigil on the longest night of the year. It was a vigil that every single person seemed to take very seriously - there had even been a special dispensation from the mayor and the village council so that he could keep the fire in Elladan’s room burning.
It was a measure of how injured his brother was that he needed a fire at all. No natural cold could harm most elves, but when they had arrived Elrohir had demanded the fire be built up as high as it would go, ordered hot bricks and heavy blankets, trying to sweat out a fever that any full blooded elf would have shrugged off. For that matter any full blooded elf would not have slept so - closed eyed and heavy, like a human - as Elladan did right now.
The orcs were growing in numbers and boldness. The orc party they had ambushed eight days ago had been larger and better equipped, daring entry into human lands they would have avoided in previous decades. Better equipped, better disciplined, and far better commanded. If they could have slipped the noose that their enemies had made for them they would have, against such unfavorable odds, but there enemies had been unusually clever - or extremely lucky. They had prevailed, but at a cost. The shallow cuts on Elladan’s arms had rapidly become inflamed, in spite all Elrohir could do to prevent it. By the end of the second day Elladan’s fever had risen dangerously high and he passed into delirium, leaving Elrohir to guide them both back to the last village they had passed.
They should have been home long since, not begging shelter in a human village. Even as little as a fortnight before they could have made it back to Rivendell for the winter celebrations, even with the ill weather that constantly plagued the Misty Mountains in winter. Instead they caught the trail of a goblin raiding party and headed north instead of south. Neither he nor Elladan could bear to sit at home drinking hot spiced wine and dancing when there were goblins to hunt. The pleasures of warmth, food and music were as nothing to the thought of more tales of successful raids, more graves, more elves and humans weeping for lost kin and lovers. Not when they could have prevented it.
So instead they spent this solstice as they had so many others, far away from friends and kin. The humans that guested them had been kind enough, in their own fashion, and would have welcomed them to their celebrations had Elladan been fit to attend. As it was they would spend the longest night of the year alone, however many people were in the village. The poison had caused Elladan to wander far in mind and spirit, but now he was returning to Elrohir’s side, where he belonged. Elrohir would hold a vigil of his own this night, as he had every night since that last, disasterous battle, and would every night after this until Elladan was healed.
It was not the first time they had met with unusually daring or clever orcs, but it was happening to often of late for Elrohir’s peace of mind. There were too many raiding parties, and if they were rarely quite so well trained and commanded as the last group, they were steadily increasing in both quality and quantity. There was something being planned, something big, and whatever it was boded ill for the rest of Middle-earth. When Elladan woke, he would suggest to his brother that they return to Rivendell as soon as Elladan was recovered enough to ride. None these days ranged so far and wide as the sons of Elrond, except perhaps the Rangers, and their father would need to be warned how strong his enemies were growing. What he would not tell his brother was that they would be lingering in Rivendell. Not forever, but longer than their usual stops to rest and resupply. He had come to close to losing his brother, whose life he loved more dearly than his own. Perhaps they would even participate in next year’s winter festivities. If Elladan guessed his other reasons for returning, what of it? Their war would still be there when they returned to the wilds.
There were always more orcs.
Summary: Elrohir holds a vigil on the longest night of the year.
Comments: This is way more gen than it is slash. I am so sorry. Just say the word and I'll try for something more explicit.
Disclaimer: Tolkien = not mine. Yeah.
Elrohir brought his brother’s hand up and pressed it to the side of his face, looking into the flames on the hearth. That fire would be one of only two in the whole village tonight. As soon as the sun finished setting, all the fires in the village would be extinguished except for a single bonfire in the center of the village, and every villager not on guard duty would be gathered around it to hold vigil on the longest night of the year. It was a vigil that every single person seemed to take very seriously - there had even been a special dispensation from the mayor and the village council so that he could keep the fire in Elladan’s room burning.
It was a measure of how injured his brother was that he needed a fire at all. No natural cold could harm most elves, but when they had arrived Elrohir had demanded the fire be built up as high as it would go, ordered hot bricks and heavy blankets, trying to sweat out a fever that any full blooded elf would have shrugged off. For that matter any full blooded elf would not have slept so - closed eyed and heavy, like a human - as Elladan did right now.
The orcs were growing in numbers and boldness. The orc party they had ambushed eight days ago had been larger and better equipped, daring entry into human lands they would have avoided in previous decades. Better equipped, better disciplined, and far better commanded. If they could have slipped the noose that their enemies had made for them they would have, against such unfavorable odds, but there enemies had been unusually clever - or extremely lucky. They had prevailed, but at a cost. The shallow cuts on Elladan’s arms had rapidly become inflamed, in spite all Elrohir could do to prevent it. By the end of the second day Elladan’s fever had risen dangerously high and he passed into delirium, leaving Elrohir to guide them both back to the last village they had passed.
They should have been home long since, not begging shelter in a human village. Even as little as a fortnight before they could have made it back to Rivendell for the winter celebrations, even with the ill weather that constantly plagued the Misty Mountains in winter. Instead they caught the trail of a goblin raiding party and headed north instead of south. Neither he nor Elladan could bear to sit at home drinking hot spiced wine and dancing when there were goblins to hunt. The pleasures of warmth, food and music were as nothing to the thought of more tales of successful raids, more graves, more elves and humans weeping for lost kin and lovers. Not when they could have prevented it.
So instead they spent this solstice as they had so many others, far away from friends and kin. The humans that guested them had been kind enough, in their own fashion, and would have welcomed them to their celebrations had Elladan been fit to attend. As it was they would spend the longest night of the year alone, however many people were in the village. The poison had caused Elladan to wander far in mind and spirit, but now he was returning to Elrohir’s side, where he belonged. Elrohir would hold a vigil of his own this night, as he had every night since that last, disasterous battle, and would every night after this until Elladan was healed.
It was not the first time they had met with unusually daring or clever orcs, but it was happening to often of late for Elrohir’s peace of mind. There were too many raiding parties, and if they were rarely quite so well trained and commanded as the last group, they were steadily increasing in both quality and quantity. There was something being planned, something big, and whatever it was boded ill for the rest of Middle-earth. When Elladan woke, he would suggest to his brother that they return to Rivendell as soon as Elladan was recovered enough to ride. None these days ranged so far and wide as the sons of Elrond, except perhaps the Rangers, and their father would need to be warned how strong his enemies were growing. What he would not tell his brother was that they would be lingering in Rivendell. Not forever, but longer than their usual stops to rest and resupply. He had come to close to losing his brother, whose life he loved more dearly than his own. Perhaps they would even participate in next year’s winter festivities. If Elladan guessed his other reasons for returning, what of it? Their war would still be there when they returned to the wilds.
There were always more orcs.