Amonaly

by Cascade Waters

Two younglings from very different worlds find common ground. WARNING: Contains non-sexual spanking. Don't like, don't read.

Amonaly – for Kaylee

By firechild

Rated PG

Disclaimer: I don't own the Tolkien characters. I don't own the Primeval characters. I don't own OT. I don't even own Rolaids now ~dark look in the direction of McNeil Consumer Healthcare.~And before the LotR fans come at me with ye trusty pitchforks, I wrote this at Kaylee's request, and she specifically asked me to use her sandbox. Emma, just stop reading now, hon, trust me—spare yourself the agony. ;)

Warning: Seriously? Because we don't know that already?

A/N: I've played around with timelines and ages, I've ignored the whole language barrier issue, and yes, I have tried to capture the essence of Cutter's accent. Don't kill me.

A/N: SPOILER ALERT FOR PRIMEVAL: This is set between episodes 1 and 2 of season 3.

The… visitor… would probably be fine, the new ARC medic assured him, though the head injury bore some watching. Cutter was no doctor, but he knew enough about field medicine to remember that head wounds tended to bleed quite a bit even when they were relatively minor. OT, as the team's new field medic had insisted everyone call him, declared that the gash was shallow and easily cleaned, and that the… man's… pulse and respiration seemed strong, if a bit slower than… normal.

Cutter had spent so much time brooding over animal legends and their possible places in the history of the anomalies, but he'd never once considered the idea that other legends, myths of sentient beings, might also be founded in reality. It was possible that the anomaly in Glendalough (the first their team had addressed outside of England proper) could have opened to some point in the future, that this could be another variant of human evolution. It could even be (God forbid Connor ever hear him say this) some sort of extraterrestrial, but judging by the visitor's clothing and effects, the professor's gut leaned toward the past rather than the future. What that meant for history, what that meant for humanity, he wasn't quite ready to contemplate.

That being said, he couldn't seem to keep his academic eyes off of the extraordinarily well-hewn features, the elegantly pointed ears, or the slender but muscular frame that, when the creature stood, would tower above the tallest of the MACOs. Despite the very long black hair, worn loose but for a thin braid on either side, the patient was definitely male, and judging by his dagger and sword scabbard, probably of the fighting class. He must have come through the anomaly just before the team arrived on this side, neither party having any way to know beforehand that the ARC side of the anomaly was half-occluded by a tree, and rapped his head against the tree. The blood leaking from the otherwise flawless forehead hadn't had time to dry or even to congeal before the team had found the young man and the doctor had moved him a couple of meters from the event horizon and started to tend to him, and that had been a scant five or six minutes past. Times like this, Cutter was glad for the doctor's addition to the field team, but he found himself wishing for Connor, as the kid could be counted on for theories, a large percentage of which were credible and even workable. The professor sat back against another nearby tree, sighing. No use wishing that Connor were here—after all, he himself had been the one to ground the boy to the ARC. It might mean a bit more time fighting against everyone's (including his own over-academic) tendency toward over-logic and under-creativity, but until he and Connor had worked through the student's bad choices, the professor couldn't allow him the privilege of field work. It was as simple as that.

Sadly, nothing else was going to be so obligingly simple. Cutter heard a groan and looked over to see the visitor stirring, and everything happened very quickly after that: the young… man… tried to raise his head, something flickered at the center of the anomaly, the MACOs raised their weapons, and someone came rushing through the anomaly, brushing roughly against the tree and briefly yelping before stumbling forward and to the side, keeping his feet and ending in a protective stance at his compatriot's side. It was pretty clear that they were, at the very least, of the same general race, with similar hair and ears and equally pleasing features. This one seemed even younger, very well-built but more slender and perhaps a bit shorter (though he was still certainly taller than any of the ARC personnel.) Cutter got to his feet without even realizing that he was moving, raising both hands in a (he hoped) universal non-threatening gesture. The professor nodded slightly toward the armed guardians, watching them until they lowered their weapons, and then looked up to meet the new visitor's gray gaze.

"We dona mean ye harm. Yer friend…"

Cutter was cut off by the first visitor, who murmured to his companion. The younger one dropped to one knee and started to examine his friend's injury, asking questions and then replacing the bandage, evidently satisfied for the moment (if a bit flummoxed by the tape around the gauze.) Cutter was still trying to formulate some sort of greeting when the first visitor raised his head, touched the bandage, looked around until he found the professor, and said, "These… other children have tended me and done nothing to harm me. I do not believe that they intend anything nefarious." He waited just long enough to see Cutter's agreeing nod before turning his eyes, narrowing, back to his companion. He said, tightly, "And what, pray tell, are you doing here?"

The other, eyes widening in surprise at either the words or the tone, gestured vaguely in the direction of the anomaly as he said, "Coming to your aid. I felt that something was amiss, so I investigated; I found your satchel," and he held up a small pouch with a long, broken strap, "at the brink of yon light, and gathered that you had traversed it against your will, so I followed to render assistance."

The first pushed himself to sitting, and the newcomer was forced to back up, his attempt to keep his compatriot prone as ineffectual as the gesture of a small child. Cutter was just a bit amused (however inappropriately) to notice that not only did the younger one have the bearing of a craftsman or courtisan more than a soldier, but he was obviously not expecting the reaction he was getting. "Alone?" The older one's tone had gone from tight to downright dangerous, and Cutter felt much as he had when he'd witnessed his uncle and cousins interacting. He had to fight not to smile as the elder of the two visitors rose smoothly to his feet, pushing into the other's personal space and forcing him to stand and to give ground again. And Cutter had been right—the first was a bit taller and broader than the second.

The younger of the two tried to answer, but didn't manage anything at first, obviously belatedly (and wisely) realizing that he had no good answer. He'd launched himself after his friend, tripping into an unknown situation with no backup and no plan; come to think of it, he sort of reminded Cutter of Connor and Abby that way.

The younger of the pair seemed to be gathering his wits and reclaiming some sort of dignity, because his back straightened as they argued in low voices, and he shed the childish awkwardness and took on the look of a comrade defending a tactical decision. Cutter took the moment to glance around at his team, once again noticing the Connor-shaped gap. Jenny, the PR rep and resident smooth-talker, seemed to be at a loss here, while Sarah couldn't tear her eyes from the visitors' clothing, and Abby was similarly transfixed on their ears. He thought about sidling up to them to talk, but before he could commit to it, the visitors turned to face him, though he was pretty sure that they still had tabs on the armed men. He couldn't help but notice that the elder of the two had a subtle grip on the younger one's tricep.

"Greetings from Aran Gil-Galad. I apologize for frightening you, and I thank you for tending me when I was…" he seemed particularly disgusted at the concept, "indisposed. I am Saeldur Vehironion, and this is Elrond Earendilion; we are advisers to the aran. I would prefer to return to my home, but perhaps, considering the rather odd circumstances affecting both of our realms, we should request that you escort us to audience with your liege lord."

Cutter opened his mouth and then closed it. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over at Becker, who shifted his position and guppied himself for a moment before saying, "Oy—did he really just say, 'Take me to your leader?'"

Cutter, having had the same thought, saw this coming and so was prepared with a proper eye-roll when Abby muttered, "Connor should so be here." He opened his mouth to respond to the visitors…

And the anomaly flickered again and spit out yet another visitor. This one, though, was blond, tiny, and busily apologizing to the tree for bumping into it. Cutter and his team didn't have time to do more than twitch before the other two newcomers were across the small clearing, shouting, "Thranduil!" and grabbing the child. Becker had them sighted in his gun, ready to protect the youngling (and wasn't that interesting,) before Cutter realized that the child was not struggling against them. He actually seemed to be chattering at them rather rapidly, and while neither of the adults seemed pleased with him, the elder held him close, almost what Cutter might call a cuddle, while the younger gently probed for injuries, concluding that the most grave physical situations involved a bruise on the little left shoulder and leaves tangled in the long blond locks.

After a few minutes, they stood, the child now nestled on the hip of the elder adult. They turned to face the ARC team, who could now see the tear tracks on the startlingly beautiful little face of the blond one. Abby had the good sense to stay where she was (she'd spent enough time around animals to know better than to approach antsy adults protecting young) but did ask if he was all right, which got her a curt nod from… Saeldur. "Aye, thank you, he is well, if frightened, and justly so, for he had snuck away to pester me and realized that I was missing, and then saw Lord Elrond vanish through…" he gestured behind him, "your sorcery, and so he took it upon himself to come rescue both of us on his own." This last was said more loudly, enunciated, obviously for the benefit of the child, who ducked a bit before protesting.

"Nuh unh! Not on my own. Helvui came with me!" He held up some sort of a plushie as proof that he did, indeed, have formidable backup.

Saeldur growled, his hold on the child tightening, and Elrond touched his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said calmly, now firmly in command of himself and apparently in his element, "it would be wise for us to go ba—" He didn't get any further before he saw what the ARC team was seeing—the anomaly itself was fluctuating. It swelled, shrank, swelled again, spit out one last being… and then collapsed, vanishing as if it had never been.

The fourth being, sprawled facedown after its own arboreal encounter, was also a biped, but seemed to have nothing else in common with the first three, and while Saeldur tensed and clearly wanted to react, he simply moved his little charge away from the tar-skinned figure. It twitched, and gentle Elrond transformed into a defender, fierce and uncompromising, producing twin daggers (from somewhere beneath his belted tunic) which did not find their way into their target only because the black figure was dead, the tree having cracked its skull like an egg. The MACOs didn't know where to point their guns, and Cutter empathized with them.

Well, these people were definitely from the past—sorcery, indeed. Sarah Paige, evidently understanding this, stepped forward and explained that her team did not use sorcery, that the ball of light was as much a mystery to them as to Elrond and Saeldur (and to Thranduil and the brave Helvui,) and that she and her friends would do whatever they could to get their guests home as soon as possible. Jenny, finally finding her voice, stepped in seamlessly to ask if, in the meantime, their guests would let her try to make them comfortable. The three visitors (and one plushie) traded looks, Elrond seeming to communicate something significant with his eyes, and then Saeldur nodded once.

The next few hours felt like a blur to Cutter: one of the MACOs went to the nearby village and came back with enough camping equipment to run a summer resort; once Saeldur revealed the thin plate armor he wore under his tunic, Sarah posited that he'd been caught in the stronger-than-normal magnetic field of the anomaly and pulled through; OT learned that Elrond was, indeed, a healer and a diplomat, and the two of them conferred on everything from Saeldur's head wound (much to Saeldur's annoyance) and a full examination of Thranduil (much to Thranduil's discontent) to the situation involving what the Elves (oh, how Abby was enjoying that) called an Orc; Cutter introduced everyone to the Elves and learned that Thranduil was a cousin to both older Elves, the son of yet another advisor, and in a great deal of trouble; and the professor finally gave in and told Jenny to call Connor and tell him to bring the portable detector he'd been rigging.

Cutter and Connor would just have to deal with their problems straightaway and be done with it.

Once the Elves understood that the anomaly would probably reappear but that no one could be sure when, they didn't relax, but they did turn part of their attention to other matters. They explained the Orc as well as they seemed comfortable doing so, letting Abby take Thranduil to play within sight but out of earshot before discussing such scary and distasteful topics as their enemy. Saeldur described finding his anomaly in a stretch of woods not far from his family's homes, but assured them that there had been no rumors of hauntings or other oddities in that area. The two adult Elves agreed that there had been no Orcs in the woods when Saeldur had gone on relief patrol or when Elrond had followed a feeling of someone in need, and they agreed that, with Thranduil in the picture, they could not have risked going back through among Orcs. They seemed to be concerned about keeping someone they called 'The Unnamed One' from learning of the anomaly. Elrond gravely declared that he would consult with the Lady Galadriel on this matter at the earliest possible moment, and Saeldur squeezed his shoulder in support, looking a bit… daunted at the mention of her name.

While the MACOs were bored out of their skulls outside and Thranduil dozed off in Abby's lap, the ARC team sat in deep and fascinated conversation with the Elven advisors, who were a bit preoccupied with matters that they would not discuss in detail but were nevertheless as curious about the anomaly and this other world as the team was about them. The evolutionary anthropologist in Cutter was positively salivating at talking to beings who claimed that their race predated the race of Man, and he'd realized not only that everything said in this tent pretty much debunked most of what he'd been taught since nursery school (including all of the arguments against intelligent design,) but that they were from so far back in the past that what they learned couldn't really change or damage the timeline, unless they happened to develop an instant understanding of transistor technology or somesuch. Abby was quietly discussing fauna with Elrond, and Becker had been drawn into a tactical conversation with Saeldur, when the Elves jerked their heads up, listening; a few moments later, Cutter picked up the chopping in the air and assured them that he'd been expecting it. He excused himself with an inner sigh, and went to educate his wayward pupil.

Connor looked a little dismayed to see Cutter coming to meet him personally, which told Cutter that the boy had, indeed, realized that he was in trouble. The young man, loaded down with equipment (and more than likely a duffle bag full of oatmeal pies and gummy worms,) was three steps off of the chopper when Cutter announced that they were going to have a chat before joining the others, and he froze, eyes wide. Then, with Cutter watching him, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, nodded once, and made himself approach his advisor, much to Cutter's pride, and not a little to his surprise. So, Connor not only knew that he was in trouble but had accepted, at least on some level, that there would be consequences, and was planning to face up to them. Good.

Note to self, Cutter thought: Connor responds to grounding.

In the Irish twilight, it took a few minutes for Cutter to locate an unoccupied tent that wasn't particularly close to the informal summit going on or to the soldiers loping around on a laughable 'perimeter watch.' The professor had a feeling that they were going to need a bit of space and privacy.

Oh, he knew what he was going to do. He couldn't quite believe that he was planning this, but now that the idea had taken root in his mind, he couldn't find a reason not to act on it. He had to do something, something that would get the kid's attention and establish the order of things (two things that had likely never happened in Connor's life,) and maybe, just maybe, give him something to remember the next time he decided to do something so blastedly stupid as risking his neck, disobeying direct orders, just so that he could return a baryonyx egg to its nest, despite the fact that Cutter had had a plan to deal with the situation so that the parents didn't come through the anomaly looking for their missing baby-to-be. Truth was, he cared about the kid; without Connor, he wouldn't be here, doing this, and he wouldn't know the truth about Helen. Despite all of the pain and losses of the past few months, or maybe because of them, knowing had given Cutter not just information that might help him protect innocent people from temporal manipulation, but the power to put his personal turmoil over his marriage behind him and move on as a whole person. He owed Connor, and it was time to pay up, however strange the currency.

He'd been thinking a lot lately about his family. Nicholas Cutter had been the only child of two academicians for whom parenting had been an abstract curiosity, so he'd spent a lot of time watching his aunt and uncle and cousins, seeing something very different and becoming helplessly fascinated with it. His aunt and uncle hadn't been perfect, but they had loved their children and hadn't been afraid to say it or show it, in all sorts of ways. His uncle was known as the king of pancakes and tickle fights, but he could put the fear of God into a child, or, for that matter, an adult whom he felt was acting like a child. Helen hadn't wanted children, and Cutter had figured that he'd be a pretty sorry dad, so he'd never pressed the point, but not having children had become one of his regrets.

So when he'd found out, quite by accident just after Stephen's death, that Connor had started university shortly after his fourteenth birthday and had just turned fifteen when he'd bounded up to Cutter and Stephen with his theory about beasts of legend terrorizing London, the professor had been stunned—and more than a little alarmed. Not only had he been putting a teenager, a child, in danger, but he could have gotten the boy killed before Connor had had a chance to live. Between that, and losing his best friend with so many angry words and so much unspoken affection between them, Cutter had decided in his own mind that he didn't want to waste any more time, or any more lives. Connor kept his job because they needed him, and because he needed the job and he needed the team, and Cutter had kept the boy's age to himself for now, but he would not lose the kid to some foolish stunt.

He was just opening his mouth to lay out the new order of things when Connor spoke up, tripping over himself to apologize—for not having the portable detectors ready earlier. Cutter was a bit dumbfounded to realize that Connor thought his aggravation was about gadgets. It made him just angry enough to turn the kid to the side and swat him twice. When he turned Connor back to face him, the boy looked so shocked that Cutter almost felt sorry for him. Those very well might have been the first swats he'd ever gotten. Cutter held Connor's shoulders and watched his face as the shock wore off, waited for the anger…

…but it never came. In his surprise, Cutter released the boy. Connor stared at his mentor until shame flooded his cheeks and his eyes started to look suspiciously shiny. He dropped his head, nodded, said, "I'll be out of your way in a sec," and turned to leave. Cutter was so shocked that he nearly didn't grab him in time.

"Wha' the blo—wha' d'ya mean, out o' me way? Connor, I brought ye in here ta discipline ye, not ta banish ye! Ye're not goin' ennawhere till I say so, young man! Now get back here!"

For all that Connor seemed not to listen, he actually knew how to follow orders, and he proved it by shuffling back to his original position. He looked everywhere but at his mentor until the professor harrumphed, caught the smooth young chin, and forced Connor to look at him.

Cutter had had this all planned out in his mind, but the vulnerability and confusion in the boy's eyes wiped out his plans like a wave to a sandcastle. "I'm not fussed at ye fer the stupid detectors—I'm furious with ye fer not trustin' me and disobeyin' orders and nearly getting yerself killed over an egg that probably never even hatched! And I'm no' gonna fire ye—I'm gonna spank ye!"

Connor looked so overwhelmed that Cutter really did feel sorry for him—not that that was going to do his nerves, or Connor's bum, any good.

The boy's next words took the breath right out of his teacher. "But… but why? Why would you…? Isn't it just a waste of time?" Oh. Oh, no. Connor thought that he was 'just a waste of time.' Anger surged through Cutter again, this time directed at whoever had failed this boy before. Well, he wouldn't be one of them. Nick Cutter might not know the first thing about taking care of a child—heck, he could barely take care of himself some days—but by Rex, the teacher was going to learn.

He stepped back and sat down on the cot, pulling the boy down at his right. Very succinctly, in a voice of tightly controlled anger, Cutter explained exactly what Connor had done wrong and why each choice had been wrong, emphasizing how something happening to the boy would affect the rest of the team. Connor didn't really react to that, but when the professor told the kid that he was disappointed in the young man's choices and attitude, the young techie slumped. Cutter couldn't stand to look at him like that, especially when the boy was obviously distraught for the wrong reasons, so he took him by the elbow and pulled him over his knees, taking a minute to figure out how to position the kid. His uncle had sometimes used a blue plastic paddle that had once been a part of a paddleball set, but Cutter had decided to stick with his hand and hope that it was enough. Now that he had him here, though, Cutter was having a little trouble making himself go through with it. He had to remind himself that when he committed to something, he saw it through, no matter how hard it might be. With that thought, and a sigh, he raised his hand, thought about it, raised it a little higher… and heard someone yell for him from the other side of the camp. Cutter sighed, ran his hand down his face, and was pretty sure he felt Connor groan.

The professor levered the young man to his feet, but caught him before he could head out toward the growing clamor. "I dona think so. Ye stay here—remember, ye don't set foot in the field till I say so." He glanced around the small space, and then guided the boy two and a half short steps to what would have to pass for a corner. "Plant it." Just to make his point clear, he positioned the kid with his nose nearly touching the intersection of the two nylon 'walls.' He turned and headed toward the noise, but stopped in the opening and turned just long enough to add, "I mean it, Connor Temple. Ye dona move from tha' spot." He waited for the nod before he took off at a jog.

Connor stood in his 'corner,' shifting every minute or so from one foot to the other, listening and trying to determine the cause of the commotion outside. He hadn't actually seen the anomaly site, nor had he been briefed on what, if anything, had come through, but since he wasn't hearing screams, he figured that no one was dying. Still, if Cutter really wasn't going to give him the boot again (which didn't make any sense at all-Connor was still processing that,) then he should be there, doing his job. Maybe, if he was really at the top of his game and never missed anything, just maybe he would be there next time something drastic happened, the way he should have been there to save Stephen.

As he often did when he was alone and didn't have to pretend to be chipper, he let that chew at him for a bit. He'd lost a lot of sleep and had virtually no appetite these days because he couldn't get the reported image of his… well, Connor didn't have any actual friends, but comrade would work… out of his head, Stephen's eyes open as he sacrificed himself for his team. Connor wasn't any kind of hero, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he should have been there to do… something. Fighting the ever-present urge to cry, the young man drew his finger over the nylon of the tent walls, just needing something to do with his hands, or any kind of distraction, really.

"'lo."

Connor looked to the side, startled, to see a small form silhouetted in the doorway of the tent. "Uh… hi?"

The small one seemed to consult with something under its arm, and then it took a tentative step into the tent, and Conner could see that it was, indeed, a little kid. Long blonde hair, very pretty face, weird clothes—and a fluffy something-or-other under its arm. Why was there a little girl in an ARC camp? He must be imagining things. And… wait. Was that…? No way. Pointed ears! Okay, right, he was definitely hallucinating. But she was cute, and it was a distraction.

He turned around and pulled up a half-smile as she ventured farther into the tent. There was something…

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm Connor. What's your name?" The young techie knelt about halfway between the corner and the cot. What? It didn't really matter that he'd left the corner. It wasn't like Cutter was actually going to care. He figured he'd be lucky if he ever saw his boss again.

"Thrani." Then the child seemed to feel that this wasn't enough somehow, like she was expected to say something else. "Thranduil Oropherion, son of Lord Oropher, advisor to Aran Gil-Galad." Quite a mouthful for someone so small.

"Oh. So… not a she, then."

The child's eyes went wide with horror. "Ick," he pronounced with some feeling.

Connor had to chuckle at that. "Sorry, really. Most young men I know have much shorter hair, and aren't nearly as… er, handsome as you are. Didn't mean to offend you."

Gender concerns seemed suddenly less important to the child than other new realizations. "Men? You're… not an Elf? You're a real Man?"

"Sorry, something like that, yeah. Actually, if it makes you feel any better, I've never met an Elf before."

"Wooooooow." This, a reverent whisper, to which Connor nodded agreement.

"So… Thrani… Sorry, can I call you Thrani? Or do I need to call you something like Lord Thrani, or Most Exalted Thrani, or Your Royal Short Thrani-ness?"

The little Elf giggled, as Connor had intended. "Silly! No! My ada's the lord—I'm just Thrani. I'll always be just Thrani!"

Connor grinned and sat down, Indian-style, in the dirt, drawing up his knees about two-thirds of the way and looping his arms loosely around them. "Sorry, okay, Thrani. So what brings you here?"

Thrani's eyes were huge as he realized that a grownup, one who was probably not his cousin, had just sat right down on his bottom in the dirt to talk to the elfling. He consulted again with his stuffed friend, then decided that it was probably safe enough, so he plopped down, as well, hoping that his nana wouldn't be cross with him for getting his clothes dirty once she'd learned that he was being a diplo—dip—that he was showing how friendly Elves could be. "Came through that… that pretty light-thing," he said, his tiny finger pointing vaguely toward the head of the camp.

"Oh, the anomaly."

"Uh huh. The amonaly. It's pretty. Did you make it?"

Connor chuckled. "Erm, no, sorry. Not me."

"You say sorry a lot." Well, Nana did always tell him that honesty was best.

Connor ducked his head, his grin turning wry. "Yeah, sorry." Then he froze for a second. "I did it again—sorry!" He froze again, and then they both laughed. "I guess I'm just sort of used to having to apologize."

"Are you all Men?"

"Well, yeah. Well, not really all—I mean, of course, Abby and Jenny and Sarah aren't men, they're women. But none of us are Elves, if that's what you mean. Though I'm sure it must be very nice to be an Elf."

The little boy looked thoughtful. "Mmm. Some. 'Less you're a Noldor Elf—lots of them are mean."

Sensing that there was something to this, Connor said, "Oh?"

Thrani nodded. "They taked me away from my naneth and made me got losted at night in the rain. I was scared, but Helvui wasn't." He glanced quickly at the Man's face and found interest and sadness there. He held up his plushie as an afterthought so that they could meet properly.

"Well, that was mean of them, wasn't it? And I'm sure that you were very brave, even if you were scared. And this is Helvui? Well, how d'ya do, Sir Helvui? I hear you're a very brave… rabbit."

Thrani nodded, somberly pleased. "Uh huh. He says how d'ya do back. And he was very brave, but I wasn't—I was scared."

Connor gave the boy a soft look. "Well, did you… just stay where you were put and cry the whole time, or did you do something?"

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Thrani looked older, somehow. "I… I tried to find Nana. I was s'posed to look after her, but I couldn't find her.

Then she was okay, but I didn't know, an' I didn't know how to get home." He dropped his head sadly.

"Well, but you see, that's what being brave is. You can be scared, so scared that you just want to shrivel up and cry, and it's okay to be scared, and it's even okay to cry, but when you try to do something about it anyway, well, that's what being brave is all about." Thrani raised his head slowly, sort of hopefully, with tears in his eyes. Connor nodded seriously. "See, courage isn't not being scared. Sometimes not being scared is just really silly. Courage is not letting the scared feeling order you about; it can't make you not do something if you don't let it. So you trying to find your, um, nana, that was courage. That was being brave. Didn't your nana tell you all of this?"

Thrani nodded. "Mmm-hmm, after I got found and tooked home—Nana an' Ada an' Selder an' Ivy an' Lord Cel-thing an' Lord Elrond an' even Aran Gil-Galad said."

"But you didn't believe them, did you? Not really." Connor raised his eyebrows in a knowing but gentle look. The elfling shook his little blond head, blushing guiltily. "That's 'cause sometimes it's just easier to believe what someone says when you know that they don't have to say it." Thrani dropped his chin a little and gazed off to one side, considering this. Evidently, it made sense to him, because then he nodded and moved his gaze back to Connor.

"So why were you in the corner?"

Connor pulled back a bit, startled by the question. "What? What d'you mean? I wasn't in—I wasn't in the corner!" He tried hard to sound light and dismissive, but the little elfling gave him a look that said that Thrani wasn't about to let him get away with that. The young man turned serious, deciding that he really had very little to lose here. "I, um, well, I sort of… kind of… maybe… ignored an order. A bit. But I thought I had to, you see!" He faltered, looking at the elfling and realizing to whom he was saying this. "But that—that doesn't matter, does it. What I did was still wrong."

The elfling's eyes widened. "You dis'beyed? That's naughty!"

Connor nodded, eyes down. "I suppose so. It… it just didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, you know? Really, it still doesn't, mostly, to me. I mean, yeah, sure, I should have been more respectful of my boss… and Becker… but I really thought I was doing a good thing. I just… I guess I got caught up, you know? So that's why I was in the corner. 'Cause I didn't listen."

The little blond headed nodded in commiseration. "Uh huh. Not listening can be lots of trouble. But maybe it'd be easier to listen if we didn't have so many grownups to tell us that we can't do anything. It's lots to keep up with." Thrani scrutinized his companion. "But you look grown-up; how come they still boss you?"

Connor chuckled wryly. "Thank you for that. Nah, I guess I kind of look older than I am. But I'm at university, and I drive, so really, there's no difference! Or there shouldn't be, anyway."

Thrani, still cross-legged, leaned up on his knees to get a closer look at Connor. "How old are you? An' what's universy, an' what's drive?"

Connor grimaced sheepishly. "Not old enough. Everyone thinks I'm, like, twenty or something, and that suits me just fine; I'll be sixteen soon. Ish, anyway. But don't tell anybody that—it's a secret, just between you and me." Thrani looked enthralled at being given charge of such a secret. "And university is, like, a school for adults, where you learn what to do with all the school you've had before. And drive is this kind of thing you do with…" He trailed off, thinking better of opening that can of worms with such an inquisitive and dis-timed kid. "Well, never mind, it's a bit boring, really."

Thrani nodded wisely. "It sounds very boring. I don't have school, but I've heard lots about it, and I'm never going, ever! 'Specially when I'm grown up; then nobody can make me do anything or boss me or tell me no, and 'specially no one can punish me!" He tilted his head. "You're really only fifteen?"

Connor grinned at the little boy's reaction to school and growing up. "Yep. How old are you?" He didn't know much about kids, but from the looks of the elfling, he'd guess maybe four or five.

"I'm eleven!"

Connor gave him a look. "Nooooooo!"

Thrani nodded enthusiastically; he wasn't acting squirrelly, but Connor wasn't sure that he believed it. All the same, a part of his mind was working out the math, just in case—after all, this was an elf. Who knew? "So when do you, you know, get to be an adult?"

Thrani pouted. "Not till I'm fifty. But I bet if I was big like you, or like Selder, no one would boss me then!"

Connor shook his head. "Don't be so sure; size doesn't help as much as you'd think. Neither does needing to shave. And really, Cutter is my boss; I mean, I work for him, so I guess I sort of do have to do what he says. Mostly."

Thrani considered that. "So he tells you what to do, and he punishes you, but he's not your ada."

"Well, yeah, he does rather a lot of telling me what to do, but the punishing thing? That's new."

"And your ada lets him?"

Connor made an educated guess at what the kid meant. "I don't have an ada. Well, I mean, once I did—had to have, right? But he wouldn't have cared. My nana, either. So really, I guess Cutter's the first to bother ordering me about in a long time. And it's alright, I guess; I mean, he's a bit prickly and all, but he's a decent boss. He's only fired me once."

Thrani looked sad at the thought of Connor not having an ada or a nana, even if adas and nanas did say no a lot. Then his thoughts turned to something less sad but almost as ick. "So he put you in the corner. Do you think you'll get smacked, too?"

The young man tried to look shocked at the thought. "What? Nahhhhh. Cutter may be prickly, but trust me—he's all talk. Besides, I'm just his tech grunt. He's got much more important stuff to fuss over. Mostly, he's irritated with me, so he won't let me play with the rest of the team. Otherwise, I'd be out there with the anomaly."

Thrani looked like he wasn't so sure. "Oh. Well, I hope you're right." He leaned up close again and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "But if you do have to get smacked, then maybe you could ask for Lord Elrond to do it—he's nice about it, and he doesn't smack as hard."

Connor gaped for a second, and then put on a suitably appreciative face. "Well, thanks, mate, I'll keep that in mind. But really, don't worry, nothing's gonna happen. Guess I just need to learn to listen if I want to keep my job."

"Well, no, in point of fact, yer a bit wrong aboot that, and then again, yer a bit right." Both younglings looked up, startled, at the entrance to the tent, where Cutter was standing, arms folded, shoulder against the vertical tent support, his posture almost casual… almost. Connor gulped.

The professor gently pushed off with his shoulder, coming upright, speaking to Thrani, but his green eyes narrowed on Connor. "Y'see, Lord Thranduil, if our young friend here had been listening, even fifteen minutes ago, he'd've been able to tell ye that it wasn't just that he defied both m'self and the good Captain Becker, whose job is ta protect him, but that he did so by risking his silly hide doin' something that I'd decided didn't need doin'."

Connor shrank just a little; Cutter wasn't the most chipper bloke, sure, but Connor had only heard that particular deceptively mild tone from his boss maybe three times, and never directed at him. His heart squeezed and his gut plummeted at the same time. He kind of felt like he was riding a roller coaster, and he suddenly wondered if it was possible to fall to one's death while sitting on the ground.

Thrani's eyes were huge now. "You dis'beyed and did something dangerous?! That's lots naughty!"

"Mmmm, aye, ye're verra smart, Lord Thranduil. 'Twas lots naughty, indeed." Cutter stepped inside the tent and leaned down, closing about half of the distance between his face and Connor's; he wanted to be absolutely certain that the young man heard him this time. "Which is why, should he ever do ennathing so blatantly defiant again, should he ever put himself in harm's way when it's no' absolutely necessary…" he narrowed his eyes to aqua slits, and his brogue had a lethal edge, "he'll wish that I'd just treated him like an employee an' fired him."

Connor couldn't help it; he shivered. And, seeing it, Cutter half-smiled. Knowing that he had the boy pretty much where he wanted him, at least mentally, the professor straightened.

"Now, yer company is delightful, little lord, but if ye dona mind, I'll have ta ask ye ta excuse us—I believe young Connor here would prefer a bit o' privacy fer our conversation."

"He will most assuredly excuse you now, Professor Cutter." Thrani's head whipped around, and he looked up to meet the gaze of the elf standing there. Seeing no wiggle room there, the elfling sighed softly and pushed himself to his feet, tucking Helvui back under his arm.

"Thank ye, Lord Elrond." Cutter reached down a hand to Connor, who was looking at it as if he wasn't sure whether it was a bigger risk to accept it or to refuse it when Thrani turned in Elrond's grasp.

"Lord Professor Cutter?" he piped up.

Cutter twisted to look at him. "It's just Professor, or Cutter. What can I do fer ye?"

Thrani blinked a couple of times before speaking. "Do you really hafta sm—sm—that? He said sorry, lots and lots. And he stood in the corner. Maybe could it be okay now?" The small being looked a bit nonplussed at actually having this conversation, but to his credit, he stood his ground and his gaze was steady.

"Thranduil!" Elrond was obviously shocked at the elfling's brazenness in questioning an adult's authority and discipline choices, but Cutter gave a slow smile.

"My Lord Thranduil, we all should be so blessed as ta have friends such as ye. I can assure ye that Connor will be fine wi' me. Even if I'm no' as gentle as Lord Elrond."

At this, Elrond blushed a bit, turning his attention to his wayward cousin. "Come, Thranduil. You have—"

He was interrupted by a full-bodied bellow from the head of the camp. "THRANDUIL OROPHERION! YOU COME TO ME IMMEDIATELY!"

"—much more pressing matters to attend." Thrani's eyes nearly popped out of his head in alarm when he recognized the voice, which didn't sound to Cutter like Saeldur.

Half a second later, there was another bellow, from yet another voice: "ELROND EARENDILION!"

This time, the diplomat actually winced, looking suddenly very young. "As, it seems, do I."

Cutter waited until he was alone with Connor, then leaned out of the tent to switch on a white noise generator. When he pulled back into the small space, he speared Connor with a look and said in a low voice, "I know this is all a bit new, and so I've gone ta some trouble ta give ye some measure of privacy. Dona think that it'll always be this way."

With that, the professor advanced on his student, hauling the boy to his feet, over to the cot, and then over Cutter's knee. Not really having any sort of plan or a solid idea of how this should go, Cutter simply started swatting with varying force until he found a level that seemed to get a reaction without too much drama; he didn't count, he didn't stick to a pattern or a rhythm. He really didn't know when to stop; as angry as he was, he still didn't like contributing to Connor's unhappiness. He wanted to make sure that the young man would remember both the consequences of his actions and the reason that Cutter was bothering to impose them, so eventually he slowed his swats and started to talk, repeating everything he'd said before leaving Connor in the corner. Then, after a moment's thought, he added a few stern swats to one spot on each side, telling Connor that those were for ignoring his order about staying in the corner; after all, the lad had to learn to respect his authority. When that was done, Cutter found himself even farther from his element, as now he had a sobbing teenage boy strung across his lap, and no idea what he was going to do now. He couldn't really go on his uncle's example, because Gregory MacDougal always disciplined in private. In the end, Cutter just sighed heavily and awkwardly patted the quaking back a few times. "Up ye go, imp." He had to help Connor stand, and then steady him as the boy looked kind of woozy for a moment. He also looked dreadful—flushed wet cheeks, red nose, bottom lip nearly bitten through, and when Cutter gently raised Connor's chin, the professor saw that the boy's eyes were not just puffy, but bloodshot. Cutter put his hands on Connor's shoulders, this time with his elbows bent so that he could lean his head close to the teen's. "Hey," he said softly, repeating it a couple of times and letting his thumbs rub tight circles in the front of Connor's collarbone until the boy raised his eyes at least most of the way toward his boss's. Cutter leaned in and tilted his head until he made eye contact, and said gently, "Ye're okay, Connor. It's done, an' ye did just fine. Now take a deep breath… come on, then… deep breath… that's better, that's it, verra good, keep doin' that, nice and slow… that's a lad. Better now?"

Connor didn't really answer, but he did look steadier, so Cutter straightened and patted the young cheek. "Good. I'd hate ta have ta call Captain Becker in here ta cheer ye up." Connor looked so startled and horrified by that idea that Cutter outright laughed. When he'd gotten that out of his system, he sobered, taking hold of Connor's jaw and resting his thumb in the faint dimple in the middle. "Seriously, are we gonna need to revisit this?" Connor shook his head. "Good. Because I'll tell ye now, kid, if ye defy him like that again, I might just let him take it out of yer hide. He's no' Stephen, but he's a good man, a good soldier, and his job is ta protect ye, and I'll no' have ye disrespectin' him when it counts. Do ye hear me?"

This time, Connor managed a rocky, "Yes, sir," which seemed to satisfy Cutter.

"Right, then. Shall we?" He gestured toward the tent opening, and thought for a moment that Connor might actually refuse, but then the boy pulled in a breath and collected himself, and with one last (rougher than necessary) swipe of his glove across his eyes, he nodded, and they started back toward the head of the camp.

The anomaly had reopened and reclosed during their absence, and there was now a small party of tall figures on horseback in the clearing. There were also two horses standing patiently while their dismounted riders conferred with Saeldur and Elrond. One of the mounted elves had Thrani in the saddle before him, the small elfling looking distinctly disenchanted with his current circumstances. The one holding him bore a marked resemblance to him, though the adult elf had ebony hair to match the others present, and his attention was focused on Saeldur and the elf who was currently fussing over his head injury and general condition. Saeldur looked impatient and embarrassed.

Elrond looked a great deal more embarrassed, as the other dismounted elf harangued him, none too quietly, in a different tongue. The corpse of the orc had been strapped to the back of one of the saddles, and judging by Elrond's dusty, disheveled appearance, Cutter guessed that the young elf had helped with that. The angry elf, who wore slightly different clothing and a thin band of some sort of metal across his brow, started to dust off Elrond, much to the young advisor's protests; it was amusing to watch, until the older elf swiped a hand down Elrond's right thigh—Elrond yelped, and the other elf drew up his hand to see blood. He insisted on seeing the wound while throwing questions at his charge, and when Saeldur turned to them with narrowed eyes and repeated some of the questioning phrases, Elrond finally sighed, rolled his eyes, and gestured to the tree. Cutter put together what had happened—when Elrond had first hit the tree on his way through the anomaly, he must've injured his thigh and just not bothered to mention it, possibly deciding that he knew enough of healing to not find it worrisome—about the same time the elves did, and the one fussing over him narrowed his eyes, set his jaw, turned Elrond to the side, bent him a bit, and planted ten resounding swats on the advisor's bum with such speed that it was over before Cutter thought to gauge Connor's reaction (none of the elves seemed surprised, apart from Elrond, who seemed more embarrassed than anything, and Thrani, who had probably never considered that someone who had smacked him would ever get smacked, while most of the humans were clearly stunned.) Connor himself blushed, and he caught Elrond's eye and shot him a sympathetic look, which the elf seemed to appreciate. Cutter noticed that Becker had his weapon at high rest and only proffered raised eyebrows at the scene; Sarah looked a bit nonplussed, Jenny had a hand over her mouth, and Abby looked ready to wade in swinging. Cutter made a mental note to take care around her—he could take whatever she wanted to dish out, but he didn't want Connor to end up inadvertently paying for it and having his tenuous sense of security shaken.

Cutter introduced himself and Connor to the newcomers, learned that Saeldur and Thranduil had been claimed by their fathers and Elrond by his foster brother, and chalked this day up in his mind as the strangest yet. There had only been a small party of orcs on the other side, and a young elf returning from delivering a message had seen the other elves and one orc traverse the anomaly, and had gone for help. A collection of guards was posted on the elves' side now, to ensure their safe return. Along with a Cirdan and a Celeborn, the mere mentions of whom had Elrond looking a bit green from his (unsettled) position at the front of his brother's saddle. He shifted so much that at one point, the brother growled in English that he could just as easily put Elrond over the saddle if that would be better, and the advisor forced himself to sit still after that.

One of the elves gifted Sarah with one of his daggers, seeing her fascination with their weapons, and in return, she gave him her scrunchie, showing him how he could use it in place of the leather thongs favored by some of the hunters. OT, whose reaction to the swats Cutter hadn't been able to see, gave Elrond some gauze and tape to study, and the brother, evidently not approving of the young doctor's short sleeves and torn jeans when the rest of the humans were dressed at least a bit more warmly, gave him a cloak—midnight blue, with a silvery pin that Cutter couldn't really see; OT seemed flattered and somewhat amused, and he muttered something, but all Cutter could catch was 'Jack.' In the spirit of all this, Connor excused himself and ran (hissing all the way) back to his tent, returning just as the anomaly was opening again; he walked to Oropher's horse, meeting the advisor's eyes for a moment before holding up a brown paper bag for Thrani. "I don't have anything really good, sorry, but here—these'll keep for a bit, and I've a feeling that you have a sweet tooth like I do." Eyes wide, Thrani looked into the bag and drew out. . . yep, a box of oatmeal pies and some gummy worms. Cutter smiled and shook his head, feeling inordinately tender toward Connor just then; the worms were sold loose in the brown bag by one of the petrol station chains, and the pies were unwrapped in the box, so there wasn't going to be any fuss over finding plastic wrappers at a dig site. Oropher examined the contents and then nudged Thrani, who thanked his new friend. Then Oropher said something about putting the sweets away and letting him earn them by eating his vegetables, and Thrani's 'ick' left everyone else grinning.

The horses were nervous and everything metallic pulled, so farewells were short between the two groups. The ARC team watched the elves depart, and there were a few quiet moments before they started making arrangements for MACOs to stay at post there in case of any more elven, or orc, incursions.

He woke with a small jerk, the scent of the woods still in his nostrils, the sounds of the strangers' voices slowly fading, but never gone. No, these things would never leave him entirely, no matter how long he lived. He had lost so much, so many. . . he could not lose these friends. They lived forever in his mind.