Fic: Gifts from Afar (PG) Elladan/Erestor (1/1)
Title: Gifts from Afar
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Keiliss
Rating: PG
Pairing: Elladan/Erestor
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money, no fame.
Summary: Elladan and Erestor have an unexpected journey on the way home from Lorien.
Written for the wonderful and talented minuial_nuwing, who requested a river, a snowstorm, and three black animals (author's choice of breed); not too fluffy but keep the pointless angst to a minimum, too.
“Winter is coming early,” Elladan said, looking up at the storm clouds gathering in the darkening sky. His horse carefully picked its way through the stony landscape. They had left Celebrían and Arwen with their guards to winter in the Golden Wood with his grandparents and were on their way back to Imladris, in the western foothills of the mountains. Once they were out of the Misty Mountains, they would cross Eregion to the Bruinen River and thence to their valley home.
Home. He couldn’t understand how Arwen could spend so much time away in Lothlórien. Yes, it was a fair country and the golden mallorn trees were beautiful, but nothing could compare in his mind to the beauty and majesty of their home, hidden as it was in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, on a narrow gorge beside the Bruinen River. The Bruinen was nothing like the ambling Celebrant or the tinkling Nimrodel; no, the Bruinen was a mighty river, tumbling down from lofty mountain passes in torrents of waterfalls and crashing through clefts and canyons.
“We must hurry if we want to make it to shelter before the first snowfall,” Erestor said, eying the sky warily. “There are caves we can shelter in for the night not too far ahead.” He just hoped their horses would make it to the caves, as the way had turned both arduous and treacherous in the snow. Another hour of travel passed before they found a cave large enough to accommodate their horses.
Elladan lit their one lantern, the candle’s light casting dancing shadows across the cave walls. He and Erestor, working quietly, relieved the horses of their burdens, and each elf brushed his mount well, fed them a few apples, and covered them with a warm blanket before thinking of taking their own rest or food. Elladan laid their bedrolls and blankets on the stone floor while Erestor searched through the packs, coming up with waybread, more apples, and a flask of wine for their meagre meal. “I’d planned to hunt and cook better fare on our journey once we were out of the mountains,” Erestor said apologetically.
“No matter. We have plenty of lembas to last the journey, and melted snow will do for drink when the wine runs out. When we reach the Bruinen there will be plenty of water and perhaps some fish for our supper. Shall we have a fire?” Elladan asked, changing the subject abruptly. He knew Erestor prided himself on providing good food for Elladan on these trips. Elrond’s chief counselor often seemed to forget that Elladan was an equally hardened warrior, albeit with less years and experience than Erestor possessed.
“Yes, we’d better,” Erestor answered. “It doesn’t look like any animal is using this cave, but you never know. I’ll gather wood and kindling.”
Once the fire was burning warmly and the elves had eaten their surprisingly satisfying meal, they curled around each other for warmth, keeping close under their blankets. Elladan snuggled against Erestor’s chest. “No lovemaking for you tonight. Too cold for love.”
“I will just have to manage without then.” Erestor chuckled into Elladan’s hair before kissing his brow, his lips lingering over the warm flesh. “Too cold for love indeed.”
Elladan tilted his head up and kissed Erestor sweetly. “I just hope the storm lets up by morning and we can find our way.”
“As do I. Sleep now, while we can, and we will take what comes tomorrow when tomorrow comes.” Erestor laid his head close to Elladan’s, their sable hair twining together on the same rolled blanket that served as a pillow, and he slept. Outside the cave, the wind howled and the snow fell thickly, blanketing the mountains, hills and valley in white.
In the morning, the two tall elves stood at the opening to the cave, looking out over the white scene in front of them. “If we travel straight west, into the sunrise, we’ll eventually hit the Bruinen,” Elladan mused.
“Be the safest,” Erestor added. “No sense trying to cut across Eregion at an angle and get lost. Add a few days to our travel, but safer.”
“This isn’t good.”
“Not good at all.”
“We’re going to get lost.”
“Probably.”
The two elves slowly turned and looked at each other, their faces lighting up as grins spread from their lips to their eyes.
Ten hours of slogging through the snow later, they stopped under the sheltering branches of a large grove of trees, just as snow started to fall again. The river was nowhere in sight. “We’re so far south, and with this mess it will take us days to reach the river, never mind that it’s snowing again,” Elladan groused. “I think we should make a shelter and wait out the night here. At least the horses will have some protection, and who knows what we’ll find ahead.”
“Agreed.” Erestor dismounted and began collecting fallen pine branches to construct a shelter that would at least protect them from the snow. Elladan tied the horses close to a tree where they would have the most protection and set about making a fire. After another meagre and somewhat less satisfying supper, the elves held each other close for warmth in their makeshift shelter. “Are we lost yet?” Erestor asked.
“I believe we are.” Elladan smiled, his face buried against Erestor’s chest. “The times we’ve gotten lost together and the things we’ve seen and done make up some of my fondest memories.”
“And mine. “ Erestor held his husband closer. “No lovemaking for you tonight again. Too cold for love.”
“You’ll make it up to me when we get home.” Elladan lifted his head to place a kiss on Erestor’s lips and then snuggled back down to sleep.
“You may depend on it.”
Three more days of doggedly moving through fresh-fallen snow passed. “Surely we must be getting close,” Elladan said as he dismounted from his horse. They were stopping in another grove of trees to allow the horses a rest and time to nose through the snow to find what grasses still remained beneath it.
“I think so - hard to tell for sure.” Erestor pulled more lembas out of his pack and handed half a loaf to Elladan. “I’m getting awfully tired of stale waybread and wrinkled apples, though. Another day of this and I’m going to suggest we take time to hunt.”
“Another day of this and I’ll gladly join you in the hunt and add an extra day to our travels to skin and cook whatever we find. The journey could have been pleasant, if not for this early storm.” Elladan stood still, hearing a sound he didn’t expect to hear out in the wild. He walked out of the sheltering trees and scanned the horizon, listening. The sound came again. “There - do you hear it?”
Erestor’s eyebrows rose. “A dog?”
Elladan looked up at Erestor and nodded, then faced where the sound of barking came from and whistled the tune the shepherds used to call their sheep dogs. The dog barked in response, and Elladan whistled again. “Now we wait.” Erestor stood beside Elladan as they waited for perhaps twenty minutes. Elladan whistled every few minutes, and the dog responded with a bark, as if to say, “I am coming!”
“It is taking longer than I expected,” Erestor finally said, “but perhaps it is not alone. We are far from Imladris, but I suppose it could be one of ours. Maybe a sheep could have wandered and the dog is herding it back to the flock and they were caught by the storm? Or perhaps we have veered north and we are closer to home than we think.”
“There!” Elladan exclaimed, pointing at a black dot. The black dot became two, and then three, and finally four.
Erestor laughed. “Tirith!” he called, watching the dog herd its charges towards them. “How on earth?” The black and white sheep dog was driving three black sheep through the snow towards them. “Leave it to Tirith to find lost sheep in a storm.”
“He will guide us home.” Elladan grinned at Erestor. “I don’t think those sheep are even ours. The weavers don’t like the black wool because it can’t be dyed and there are only one or two solid black ones in our flocks that I know of. Knowing Tirith, he found them in the storm and decided to take them to the herd so they wouldn’t starve in the early winter.”
Tirith was able to hunt and find food on his own and the dog did not appear to be wanting, but Erestor gave him a piece of their lembas, along with some dried meat he had found at the bottom of his pack. The three sheep were fortunately not large; Erestor emptied his saddle bags, replacing the contents of each side with one of the animals, hoping the leather bags wouldn’t be too damaged. He rather liked those bags. The previous contents of the bags were rolled in a blanket and strapped to Erestor’s saddle. Once they’d completed the same procedure for the remaining sheep with Elladan’s saddle bags, the elves resumed their journey home, Tirith bounding happily through the snow in front of them, running ahead and then returning, barking for them to hurry along.
The snow began to silently fall again.
It was several hours later when Tirith stopped and began barking furiously, changing direction from the way they had been heading. “Wherever is he going?” Elladan asked. Once more, the dog ran ahead and then back to the elves, barking for them to hurry. “I suppose we’d better follow him. Something is obviously ahead.”
Erestor agreed and they hurried after the dog, their horses’ long legs covering the distance quickly. Even the horses seemed to feel the dog’s sense of urgency. Over the next rise, the elves could finally see what the dog was after. At the base of a large pine was a shelter made from fallen tree limbs and pine boughs, not unlike the ones the elves had been making to protect themselves from the snow. At the dog’s barking, a dark-haired man came out of the shelter and stood tall before them, a sword in his hand.
“It is the Dúnedan,” Elladan said to his mate, easily recognizing the man that he and his twin had spent so much time with. He called out, “Well met, Arador! It is Elladan and Erestor!” At his words, the man dropped his sword arm and heaved a sigh of relief.
“You are a welcome sight indeed, Elladan!” Arador answered. “Maerien and I were separated from our party in the storm, and I fear our horses took fright and ran after we made shelter here. Thankfully the babe is safe with us, though our provisions are scarce.”
“The babe? You have a child?” Erestor asked.
“My son,” Arador said proudly. “Come and see.”
The elves dismounted, leaving the sheep still in their temporary homes, and bent low to enter the shelter, where they sat upon the ground, their legs crossed. Inside, Tirith already lay against Arador’s wife, sniffing at the wrapped bundle she held in her arms and offering his warmth to the young mother. Maerien watched the elves warily, and then at a silent motion from Arador, held the child up for them to see. Dark hair covered the small head and the child’s eyes were closed so that dark eyelashes brushed against his cheek. The infant was beautiful and no more than a month old.
“What is his name?” Erestor asked quietly.
“Arathorn,” the child’s mother responded, equally as quiet.
“A good name, a strong name,” the counselor said. “His forefather who held that name before him was a good man.” In a moment of foresight as strong as any that Elrond had ever experienced, he continued, “This child will sire one greater than him or any of his forefathers. The child who will come from him will unite the kingdoms and bring an era of peace. Care for your son well, for greatness will spring from him.”
Arador and Maerien looked at Erestor in surprise, but the elf did not add anything further. Instead, he said, “Such a child must have gifts! What have we to gift the young Arathorn with? I think there may be something in our packs on the horses, but it seems we can give him the gift of warmth as well, at least for this night. Between Tirith and the sheep he found, this shelter will be cozy and warm, and tomorrow our horses will bear you all to Imladris, where you may stay the winter, if you like.” With that, he rose from the ground and once again bent low to leave the shelter, followed by Elladan.
By the time the elves returned to the shelter, the horses had been tended and the three black sheep were lying inside the shelter, the warmth from their bodies and breath drawing the chill from the air. Erestor unrolled the bundle of his belongings and found what he was looking for. “Our first gift is one of gold,” he said, handing a coin to Maerien, “for one day Arathorn will lead the Dúnedain.” He opened two small wooden boxes and laid them before the child. “These boxes contain priceless resins, harvested from trees in the faraway lands of the Haradrim. The first, called frankincense, can be burned to perfume the air, but it is also a medicine to ease joint pains in the body. The second box is myrrh, which can be made into oil that has healing qualities.”
“And something perhaps a little more practical for today,” Elladan broke in, “a cloak from Lothlórien that is soft and warm, and will protect him from being seen, should the need arise.”
Accompanied by many thanks, the elves shared what fare they had, and in the morning the small group set out for Imladris. Arador, Maerien and Arathorn rode on Erestor’s horse, while Elladan’s horse bore his master, Erestor, and the sheep. With Tirith leading the way, they arrived in due time at the Last Homely House, and Erestor and Elladan, at long last, found themselves alone in their rooms.
“This is a journey that goes into my special memories,” Elladan said.
“It does indeed. I believe you owe me some loving, husband of mine,” Erestor said, pinning Elladan against the door.
Elladan smirked. If he remembered rightly, it was Erestor who owed him first, but it didn’t matter. He suspected both of them would have their way this night. Wrapping his arms around Erestor’s neck, he sank into the kiss of the elf he adored.
A bright star shone in the midnight sky, and its soft glow was just enough to pick out the garments scattered on the floor. Across the room, the two elves made their way to the room’s soft bed and the world was at peace.
~the end
Author: Aglarien
Beta: Keiliss
Rating: PG
Pairing: Elladan/Erestor
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money, no fame.
Summary: Elladan and Erestor have an unexpected journey on the way home from Lorien.
Written for the wonderful and talented minuial_nuwing, who requested a river, a snowstorm, and three black animals (author's choice of breed); not too fluffy but keep the pointless angst to a minimum, too.
“Winter is coming early,” Elladan said, looking up at the storm clouds gathering in the darkening sky. His horse carefully picked its way through the stony landscape. They had left Celebrían and Arwen with their guards to winter in the Golden Wood with his grandparents and were on their way back to Imladris, in the western foothills of the mountains. Once they were out of the Misty Mountains, they would cross Eregion to the Bruinen River and thence to their valley home.
Home. He couldn’t understand how Arwen could spend so much time away in Lothlórien. Yes, it was a fair country and the golden mallorn trees were beautiful, but nothing could compare in his mind to the beauty and majesty of their home, hidden as it was in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, on a narrow gorge beside the Bruinen River. The Bruinen was nothing like the ambling Celebrant or the tinkling Nimrodel; no, the Bruinen was a mighty river, tumbling down from lofty mountain passes in torrents of waterfalls and crashing through clefts and canyons.
“We must hurry if we want to make it to shelter before the first snowfall,” Erestor said, eying the sky warily. “There are caves we can shelter in for the night not too far ahead.” He just hoped their horses would make it to the caves, as the way had turned both arduous and treacherous in the snow. Another hour of travel passed before they found a cave large enough to accommodate their horses.
Elladan lit their one lantern, the candle’s light casting dancing shadows across the cave walls. He and Erestor, working quietly, relieved the horses of their burdens, and each elf brushed his mount well, fed them a few apples, and covered them with a warm blanket before thinking of taking their own rest or food. Elladan laid their bedrolls and blankets on the stone floor while Erestor searched through the packs, coming up with waybread, more apples, and a flask of wine for their meagre meal. “I’d planned to hunt and cook better fare on our journey once we were out of the mountains,” Erestor said apologetically.
“No matter. We have plenty of lembas to last the journey, and melted snow will do for drink when the wine runs out. When we reach the Bruinen there will be plenty of water and perhaps some fish for our supper. Shall we have a fire?” Elladan asked, changing the subject abruptly. He knew Erestor prided himself on providing good food for Elladan on these trips. Elrond’s chief counselor often seemed to forget that Elladan was an equally hardened warrior, albeit with less years and experience than Erestor possessed.
“Yes, we’d better,” Erestor answered. “It doesn’t look like any animal is using this cave, but you never know. I’ll gather wood and kindling.”
Once the fire was burning warmly and the elves had eaten their surprisingly satisfying meal, they curled around each other for warmth, keeping close under their blankets. Elladan snuggled against Erestor’s chest. “No lovemaking for you tonight. Too cold for love.”
“I will just have to manage without then.” Erestor chuckled into Elladan’s hair before kissing his brow, his lips lingering over the warm flesh. “Too cold for love indeed.”
Elladan tilted his head up and kissed Erestor sweetly. “I just hope the storm lets up by morning and we can find our way.”
“As do I. Sleep now, while we can, and we will take what comes tomorrow when tomorrow comes.” Erestor laid his head close to Elladan’s, their sable hair twining together on the same rolled blanket that served as a pillow, and he slept. Outside the cave, the wind howled and the snow fell thickly, blanketing the mountains, hills and valley in white.
In the morning, the two tall elves stood at the opening to the cave, looking out over the white scene in front of them. “If we travel straight west, into the sunrise, we’ll eventually hit the Bruinen,” Elladan mused.
“Be the safest,” Erestor added. “No sense trying to cut across Eregion at an angle and get lost. Add a few days to our travel, but safer.”
“This isn’t good.”
“Not good at all.”
“We’re going to get lost.”
“Probably.”
The two elves slowly turned and looked at each other, their faces lighting up as grins spread from their lips to their eyes.
Ten hours of slogging through the snow later, they stopped under the sheltering branches of a large grove of trees, just as snow started to fall again. The river was nowhere in sight. “We’re so far south, and with this mess it will take us days to reach the river, never mind that it’s snowing again,” Elladan groused. “I think we should make a shelter and wait out the night here. At least the horses will have some protection, and who knows what we’ll find ahead.”
“Agreed.” Erestor dismounted and began collecting fallen pine branches to construct a shelter that would at least protect them from the snow. Elladan tied the horses close to a tree where they would have the most protection and set about making a fire. After another meagre and somewhat less satisfying supper, the elves held each other close for warmth in their makeshift shelter. “Are we lost yet?” Erestor asked.
“I believe we are.” Elladan smiled, his face buried against Erestor’s chest. “The times we’ve gotten lost together and the things we’ve seen and done make up some of my fondest memories.”
“And mine. “ Erestor held his husband closer. “No lovemaking for you tonight again. Too cold for love.”
“You’ll make it up to me when we get home.” Elladan lifted his head to place a kiss on Erestor’s lips and then snuggled back down to sleep.
“You may depend on it.”
Three more days of doggedly moving through fresh-fallen snow passed. “Surely we must be getting close,” Elladan said as he dismounted from his horse. They were stopping in another grove of trees to allow the horses a rest and time to nose through the snow to find what grasses still remained beneath it.
“I think so - hard to tell for sure.” Erestor pulled more lembas out of his pack and handed half a loaf to Elladan. “I’m getting awfully tired of stale waybread and wrinkled apples, though. Another day of this and I’m going to suggest we take time to hunt.”
“Another day of this and I’ll gladly join you in the hunt and add an extra day to our travels to skin and cook whatever we find. The journey could have been pleasant, if not for this early storm.” Elladan stood still, hearing a sound he didn’t expect to hear out in the wild. He walked out of the sheltering trees and scanned the horizon, listening. The sound came again. “There - do you hear it?”
Erestor’s eyebrows rose. “A dog?”
Elladan looked up at Erestor and nodded, then faced where the sound of barking came from and whistled the tune the shepherds used to call their sheep dogs. The dog barked in response, and Elladan whistled again. “Now we wait.” Erestor stood beside Elladan as they waited for perhaps twenty minutes. Elladan whistled every few minutes, and the dog responded with a bark, as if to say, “I am coming!”
“It is taking longer than I expected,” Erestor finally said, “but perhaps it is not alone. We are far from Imladris, but I suppose it could be one of ours. Maybe a sheep could have wandered and the dog is herding it back to the flock and they were caught by the storm? Or perhaps we have veered north and we are closer to home than we think.”
“There!” Elladan exclaimed, pointing at a black dot. The black dot became two, and then three, and finally four.
Erestor laughed. “Tirith!” he called, watching the dog herd its charges towards them. “How on earth?” The black and white sheep dog was driving three black sheep through the snow towards them. “Leave it to Tirith to find lost sheep in a storm.”
“He will guide us home.” Elladan grinned at Erestor. “I don’t think those sheep are even ours. The weavers don’t like the black wool because it can’t be dyed and there are only one or two solid black ones in our flocks that I know of. Knowing Tirith, he found them in the storm and decided to take them to the herd so they wouldn’t starve in the early winter.”
Tirith was able to hunt and find food on his own and the dog did not appear to be wanting, but Erestor gave him a piece of their lembas, along with some dried meat he had found at the bottom of his pack. The three sheep were fortunately not large; Erestor emptied his saddle bags, replacing the contents of each side with one of the animals, hoping the leather bags wouldn’t be too damaged. He rather liked those bags. The previous contents of the bags were rolled in a blanket and strapped to Erestor’s saddle. Once they’d completed the same procedure for the remaining sheep with Elladan’s saddle bags, the elves resumed their journey home, Tirith bounding happily through the snow in front of them, running ahead and then returning, barking for them to hurry along.
The snow began to silently fall again.
It was several hours later when Tirith stopped and began barking furiously, changing direction from the way they had been heading. “Wherever is he going?” Elladan asked. Once more, the dog ran ahead and then back to the elves, barking for them to hurry. “I suppose we’d better follow him. Something is obviously ahead.”
Erestor agreed and they hurried after the dog, their horses’ long legs covering the distance quickly. Even the horses seemed to feel the dog’s sense of urgency. Over the next rise, the elves could finally see what the dog was after. At the base of a large pine was a shelter made from fallen tree limbs and pine boughs, not unlike the ones the elves had been making to protect themselves from the snow. At the dog’s barking, a dark-haired man came out of the shelter and stood tall before them, a sword in his hand.
“It is the Dúnedan,” Elladan said to his mate, easily recognizing the man that he and his twin had spent so much time with. He called out, “Well met, Arador! It is Elladan and Erestor!” At his words, the man dropped his sword arm and heaved a sigh of relief.
“You are a welcome sight indeed, Elladan!” Arador answered. “Maerien and I were separated from our party in the storm, and I fear our horses took fright and ran after we made shelter here. Thankfully the babe is safe with us, though our provisions are scarce.”
“The babe? You have a child?” Erestor asked.
“My son,” Arador said proudly. “Come and see.”
The elves dismounted, leaving the sheep still in their temporary homes, and bent low to enter the shelter, where they sat upon the ground, their legs crossed. Inside, Tirith already lay against Arador’s wife, sniffing at the wrapped bundle she held in her arms and offering his warmth to the young mother. Maerien watched the elves warily, and then at a silent motion from Arador, held the child up for them to see. Dark hair covered the small head and the child’s eyes were closed so that dark eyelashes brushed against his cheek. The infant was beautiful and no more than a month old.
“What is his name?” Erestor asked quietly.
“Arathorn,” the child’s mother responded, equally as quiet.
“A good name, a strong name,” the counselor said. “His forefather who held that name before him was a good man.” In a moment of foresight as strong as any that Elrond had ever experienced, he continued, “This child will sire one greater than him or any of his forefathers. The child who will come from him will unite the kingdoms and bring an era of peace. Care for your son well, for greatness will spring from him.”
Arador and Maerien looked at Erestor in surprise, but the elf did not add anything further. Instead, he said, “Such a child must have gifts! What have we to gift the young Arathorn with? I think there may be something in our packs on the horses, but it seems we can give him the gift of warmth as well, at least for this night. Between Tirith and the sheep he found, this shelter will be cozy and warm, and tomorrow our horses will bear you all to Imladris, where you may stay the winter, if you like.” With that, he rose from the ground and once again bent low to leave the shelter, followed by Elladan.
By the time the elves returned to the shelter, the horses had been tended and the three black sheep were lying inside the shelter, the warmth from their bodies and breath drawing the chill from the air. Erestor unrolled the bundle of his belongings and found what he was looking for. “Our first gift is one of gold,” he said, handing a coin to Maerien, “for one day Arathorn will lead the Dúnedain.” He opened two small wooden boxes and laid them before the child. “These boxes contain priceless resins, harvested from trees in the faraway lands of the Haradrim. The first, called frankincense, can be burned to perfume the air, but it is also a medicine to ease joint pains in the body. The second box is myrrh, which can be made into oil that has healing qualities.”
“And something perhaps a little more practical for today,” Elladan broke in, “a cloak from Lothlórien that is soft and warm, and will protect him from being seen, should the need arise.”
Accompanied by many thanks, the elves shared what fare they had, and in the morning the small group set out for Imladris. Arador, Maerien and Arathorn rode on Erestor’s horse, while Elladan’s horse bore his master, Erestor, and the sheep. With Tirith leading the way, they arrived in due time at the Last Homely House, and Erestor and Elladan, at long last, found themselves alone in their rooms.
“This is a journey that goes into my special memories,” Elladan said.
“It does indeed. I believe you owe me some loving, husband of mine,” Erestor said, pinning Elladan against the door.
Elladan smirked. If he remembered rightly, it was Erestor who owed him first, but it didn’t matter. He suspected both of them would have their way this night. Wrapping his arms around Erestor’s neck, he sank into the kiss of the elf he adored.
A bright star shone in the midnight sky, and its soft glow was just enough to pick out the garments scattered on the floor. Across the room, the two elves made their way to the room’s soft bed and the world was at peace.
~the end