A/N 1: I would like to extend a great big hug and many thanks from the bottom of my heart to everyone reading and reviewing this ever growing story. My most faithful reviewers (you know who you are and how much you make me smile), half of this baby is yours as you've given me that extra push when the muses were acting out and being uncooperative.
Aria and Elennen, I am humbled and overjoyed by your kind words and so very happy to share the Fëanorian love with you. The Fëanorians are my favorite characters in ALL work of fiction I have ever read. They are both hard and easy to write, so complex and volatile that it never gets boring and in my opinion, the only out of character thing about them would be to portray them as cold and evil. Never, not in any works of mine. I am very happy I have not disappointed in transplanting them from doom and gloom into the (relatively) merry tale of The Hobbit.
A/N 2: Some time and some chapters ago, I said that this story will (hopefully) have no romantic entanglements. Well, that was before a certain blond of Fëanorian descent crept up to me, made puppy eyes and ruthlessly blackmailed me into changing my mind. Therefore, as you might have guessed from the previous chapters, we have a romance on our hands. It will not be pivotal to this story, nor will I dwell on it exceedingly until this tale is done, but this particular chapter IS all about Celegorm and Bard. As such, be warned that you will find matters pertaining to an M/M relationship below. Nothing overly graphic, but still. So, if any of that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter, as it does not have any tremendous bearing upon the larger tale concerning Dwarves and their struggle to take back Erebor.
24.
Celegorm surfaced to awareness slowly, stretching languidly and issuing a low, drawn-out moan. His joints creaked and his muscles protested against the disturbance, as the Elf turned on his back. The blanket slid over his tender skin like the legs of a million ants dancing on his nerve-endings. He felt raw and over-sensitized and used in the most glorious of ways. But that brought back memories of cold, glittering eyes and vise-like fingers and for a moment, Celegorm believed himself still in the darkness of Thranduil's dungeons.
But he heard a bird calling out to its mate and he parted his eyelids slowly, to uncover a room that was neither dark, nor surveyed with speculative interest by some savage Woodland Elf. Celegorm lay in a patch of sunlight beaming through a high but narrow window and the room revealed no other occupant but himself. It was neat but sparse and unadorned, the habitation of a man with few needs but order and discipline and upon thinking of that, Celegorm smiled. He beamed and raised himself against the headboard, heart so full of joy he thought he might scream. Every little ache his body chided him with only magnified the happiness and Celegorm laughed, exhilaration too great to be contained.
Why was he alone, though? Where had Bard slipped off to? And how had he not heard him leave? Granted, there were menial things such as food and drink and the man's duties to attend to, but those were trivial in light of being together. Bard had forgiven him and what on Earth could be more important than reasserting it?
With a small frown, Celegorm swung his legs over the side of the bed and laughed at himself when the room spun briefly. Perhaps he had been horizontal for too many days. Had actual days passed by? He didn't really need to know, though. If happiness meant losing track of time, so be it. And what was time to an Elf, anyway? No loss there.
But where was Bard? Not a sound drifted from the other room that served the man as kitchen and dining room and vestibule and all in all, Bard hadn't needed much space to dwell in. He was very rarely indoors and required neither comfort nor luxury, just a safe place to rest in from time to time.
Well, Celegorm thought with a wry grin, whatever Bard had deigned to furnish his unpretentious abode with had mostly been smashed days before, when he had set foot in the man's house. Bard had not been mindful in his anger or gentle in what came after and various parts of Celegorm still felt it. Ah, but what mattered the most had not faded, not one bit, in either of them and that... but where was the man and why hadn't he woken Celegorm before leaving? Was it because Bard knew he would not have been permitted to leave if so? The Elf smiled to himself, wrapping the blanket around his hips and padding over to the door that separated the two rooms.
His reflexes alone saved him from a smashed nose when Bard burst through the door in question, eyes wide and flushed with exertion, calling out his name.
"Oh, you're awake! Good. Get dressed!" the man said breathlessly. He had run from some place or other and his disheveled appearance gave whatever Celegorm might have said pause. His own heart sped and every muscle in his body readied itself to propel him toward Bard. He would pin him against the door and give into the hunger again, there was nothing for it.
Bard saw and his eyes widened, pupils blown black from the indescribable swirl of blues and greens and grays that formed the man's usually inscrutable gaze. But there was nothing inscrutable about him. Nothing that Celegorm could not read. Nothing that he did not want beyond the point of madness and loved in a way that had bested him and filled him with fear.
Bard flattened himself against the door and braced himself, momentarily rendered mute. But, in further proof of his remarkable strength, he tore his eyes away from temptation and managed to wring a few coherent words out of himself.
"Your father... He's here. They've come," Bard said, slumping against the coarse wood as the arc of desire between them snapped.
"What? When?" Celegorm shook himself, doused with a different kind of joy.
"This morning. Just now. The guards told me and I saw them crossing the bridge," Bard said, pushing himself away from the door and tottering slightly, his breath still coming out in puffs of exertion and something else entirely. "They will be shown to the house where Thorin Oakenshield is lodged. I knew you'd want to hear this news so I came back as fast as I could."
Celegorm pounced and crushed the man against him, hugging him so tight that all the air squeaked out of Bard. Issuing a cry of relief and delight himself, Celegorm brought their mouths together and through the rush, he wondered how he had endured a decade of drought. Or why, for that matter. Bard's whiskers tickled and he tasted of storm, not merely the sunshine of youth that Celegorm remembered, but he was still so very sweet.
'Atar!' Celegorm remembered, when fire bloomed in the pit of his stomach and the man's hands on his skin threatened to banish all coherent thought from his mind.
"Were they well?" he whispered raggedly, pulling away just enough to form words.
"Huh?" Bard breathed, eyelids at half-mast and clinging to Celegorm's shoulders as a man lost at sea would. All the lines that time and sorrow had etched into his face seemed to have vanished and he reminded the Elf of the boy he had loved a decade before so keenly that something inside Celegorm twisted itself into knots.
But he could not dwell on that. No.
"Father and my brothers. How did they appear? Uninjured, I hope," Celegorm said, wrenching himself away, but not enough to leave the embrace completely.
"Uh... I think so. I only caught a glimpse of them as they crossed the bridge. They seemed alright to me. But, ah... get dressed. You're not going to see them like this," Bard gestured to the knotted blanket.
To the man's breathtaking amusement, Celegorm stepped back and looked about himself in wonder. Clothes? He vaguely recalled having some, although it was uncertain that they had survived. If furniture had broken in the madness between them, he doubted that any of his clothes had remained intact. Bard seemed in possession of a whole chest of nondescript clothes, but those would not fit Celegorm and his skin itched at the mere thought of donning some rough fabric.
Bard was still laughing as he slipped out of the bedroom and returned a moment later with a stack of neatly folded clothes and Celegorm's doeskin boots.
"My neighbor was kind enough to stitch your shirt together, although her needle-work is nothing compared to the skill of the Elves," Bard said, making Celegorm wonder exactly when the man had gone to have his clothing mended. Hadn't they been together all the time? What kind of witchcraft did Bard practice to make him forget about everything but himself?
"You slept, Turko. You were far more exhausted than you knew. And small wonder, you've been on the road and in danger for months," the man said, carding his fingers through the mass of tangled hair that tumbled down Celegorm's back.
"And you only added to the exhaustion, didn't you?" the Elf grinned, leaning into Bard's hands and momentarily forgetting about pulling his clothes on. But Bard was none-too gentle as he combed out the knots and tangles, likely on purpose and knowing that otherwise, he'd never be done with the task. "Ow, ow... that's... ow! I know you like my hair, but that doesn't mean you can keep it," he grumbled.
Bard shoved at him playfully and backed away, letting Celegorm finally get dressed. As he laced his shirt, the Elf recalled where it had come from and the Elf that had helped him put it on as though Celegorm were helpless. Helpless to keep from drawing the poor prince further in was more like it. With a twinge of guilt, he pushed Legolas from his mind, finding it much harder to do so than it had been in the joy of reunion. But what the hells did that matter in light of his father and his brothers having arrived, alive and well and Celegorm spun on his bare heels, ready to burst through the door and run to them.
"Um... you might want to put your boots on?" Bard suggested.
Celegorm rolled his eyes and slipped into the supple boots, then pulled his hair back into a hasty braid, knowing that his kinsmen wouldn't give a whit about his appearance so long as he was well and happy. Which he was... and plenty.
"You're coming with me, aren't you?" he asked Bard.
"Er... no."
"No? Why not? I want them to meet you," Celegorm frowned.
"They will. They have met me, remember?"
"But... not like this. I want to tell them who you are and what you mean to me. They'll know anyway, and they'll want to see you."
"Not... right now. I mean, not looking like this," Bard said, with a self-deprecating smile.
"What's wrong with the way you look? You're beautiful. I love you," Celegorm said, wondering at the sudden shyness and guessing that it was more than just skin deep. Anyone would be daunted by the idea of meeting a whole clan of Elves just ready to judge if they did not appreciate what they saw. And Celegorm had not painted an ideal picture of his kinsmen either. Still, they should see right away how unbelievably happy Bard had made him and they would welcome him among them. Fëanor, at least, most certainly would.
But all coherent thought fled from his mind as Bard pulled him in another crushing embrace and kissed him within an inch of Celegorm's sanity.
"You do not know how many times I prayed you would come back to me and say this. Or how many times I wanted to punch a hole in your head for NOT coming back to tell me. I still want to... aaargh!" the man growled into another possessive kiss and it was terribly difficult for Celegorm to remember he even had brothers and a father who waited for him. "Go! Go now, before I lose myself again and keep you locked up in here forever."
"You're coming with me," Celegorm pressed the matter, mostly because he did not want that delicious heat to be dislodged from him.
"I will come later. You need a little bit of time with your kinsmen. They must be worried about you. I've been told that the twins scoured the town for you that morning. I will come, I am not afraid. Just... unprepared," Bard said. "This is not vanity, Turko. But... I already know your father, remember? And when he saw me at the edge of Mirkwood, it didn't matter that he was desperate for news of you and frightened for your safety... I felt his eyes on me as though he were trying to pry apart the sides of a shell to see the pearl inside. He looked beneath this rough exterior and I know he saw something else."
Celegorm growled impatiently, knowing that looks mattered not at all to his father and Fëanor had seen something else entirely in Bard. Perhaps he has sensed Celegorm himself in the man, the love he had planted there years before and nothing had been able to rout it out.
"Ah, that sounds like my father," the Elf smiled instead. "Fine. Fine, then. Make yourself pretty, if that's what you wish. But it will not matter to my kinsmen. They will see that you love me and that is all they need to know."
A few moments later, Celegorm was flying through the narrow streets of Lake Town, sidestepping people and jumping over obstacles and bursting into the Market Pool like a golden arrow. He slammed into the railing and all but toppled over it for an impromptu bath in the lake below... or perhaps to break his neck against the boats floating down there. He felt countless pair of eyes on him and heard the whispers prompted by his meteoric appearance, recalling that most of Lake Town's inhabitants knew him. Well then, maybe one of the gawkers could direct him toward Thorin Oakenshield's lodgings, as he had no idea where they were. Bard might have mentioned it, but that wasn't the only thing Celegorm had glossed over in light of more important matters.
'Surface... surface, you idiot!' he muttered to himself, all but tapping the side of his head to clear it. 'Show up like this before that fiend Curufinwë and you'll never hear the end of it.'
Grinning broadly and itching to crush his little brother in a tremendous hug, Celegorm stopped before a potter's booth and asked for directions. He flashed the man a brilliant smile and made another run for it, skidding to a halt before the house in question when he saw that the front door had been left ajar. Giving the construction a perfunctory look and recalling the heroes' welcome that Thorin's company had received upon their arrival, Celegorm took a steadying breath and made to push the door open. But he halted in mid-motion when he heard voices drifting from inside and recognized who they belonged to. Thorin was saying something to Celegorm's father, or rather, barking an order at him and Fëanor said something in a tone that held both surprise and amusement.
'Atar!' Celegorm all but shouted with delight, filled-as always-with wonder and joy and relief upon hearing that beloved voice. Thousands of years would have to pass before the utter relief of knowing that their father was indeed with them would lessen. But Celegorm somehow mastered the impulse to crash into the house and collect all his kinsmen in his arms. He slipped inside the house instead, and hid himself behind one of the thick pillars that upheld the ceiling of a wide hall.
Before him, in the middle of that spacious room, all the Dwarves had gathered to welcome their Elven companions. Or rather, to face the newly arrived Elves, while between their two groups, Thorin and Fëanor enacted a scene that elicited much chuckling and many amused looks.
"But... I thought you didn't want me to do that, you said it makes you feel treated as a child," Fëanor was telling the Dwarf, his lips twitching under the assault of a mighty grin.
"On your damned knees, Elf!" Thorin growled, but his eyes betrayed him, as they burned bright and delighted in the Dwarf's otherwise gruff appearance.
With a minute shrug, Fëanor knelt and laughed breathlessly when Thorin pulled him into a fierce hug.
"What took you so bloody long?" the Dwarf muttered, pushing Fëanor away before he had the chance to properly return the affections.
In spite of his broad smile, Thorin still looked as though he might deck Celergorm's father in the same beat as welcoming him. Celegorm's own shoulders shook with silent laughter and delight at how pleased his father seemed, beaming even as he knelt before the bristling Dwarf.
"I'm sorry, I've been busy," Fëanor replied, laughter in his voice. "But I missed you too," he smiled warmly and made to embrace Thorin. But the Dwarf would have none of that anymore, pushing Fëanor back and nudging him to get up.
As he rose, Fëanor's eyes fell on his missing son and Celegorm ran to him. Strong arms came around him, almost lifting him from the ground and Celegorm wasn't entirely sure he was crying out in delight only within the confines of his own head. A distant part of him knew that they didn't present a very dignified Elvish sight, but to Mandos with it, if Thorin's motley crew hadn't seen everything from the Fëanorians, nobody in Middle-earth had.
His father drew back a moment later, holding Celegorm at arm's length and sweeping those all-knowing, all-seeing eyes over him.
"Oh, Turko… You're glowing!" Fëanor said, surprise lending even more brightness to his already brilliant smile.
Celegorm nodded slowly and grinned in a way that undoubtedly glowed. He didn't know what to say, where to start, but in his father's eyes he saw that perhaps, explanations were unnecessary for the time being.
That, however, was not the case of one disgruntled little brother of his, who yanked Celegorm aside and shook him, a thunderous look on his face.
"And where in bloody blazes have you been, you lumbering idiot?" Curufin muttered. "I can't believe those two knuckleheads lost you!"
"Ah, baby brother, I missed you too," Celegorm chuckled as he saw Curufin's would-be indignation crumbling before a relieved smile. He pulled his mouthy brother into the enormous hug Curufin was actually clamoring for and presumed that if Curufin ever deigned to release him, he would be passed from one brother to the other, while the Dwarves watched and snickered and cracked jokes about pansy Elves.
…
Sometime later, they all sat around a long, low table, helping themselves to copious amounts of ale and mead and the ever-present Dorwinion. Sprawled in their seats or on the cushions spread on the floor for the long-limbed Elves, they ate and drank and talked about a dozen things at once, in a cacophony of voices that would have grated Celegorm's nerves… if the nerves in question were not all singing. He'd expected to sober up somewhat and come to his senses, but being among his kinsmen only magnified the giddiness and the way happiness bubbled inside him like a kettle about to blow. If Bard did not show himself, he would have to drag Curufin aside and tell him… something.
Celegorm caught snatches of conversation here and there and noticed how his father carefully steered said conversations from the matter of Dol Guldur. It concerned him greatly as he saw behind the mirth in his kinsmen's eyes the darkness and fear they had left behind. But not even that was enough to drag him out of the stupidly happy place Celegorm had fallen into. They could attempt to pull him out by the hair and he'd be none the wiser. Judging from their inquisitive (and in some cases, impatient) looks, his brothers might just try it. Stuck to his side, Curufin poked and prodded him and kept Celegorm's goblet full, annoyed by his brother's tight-lipped giddiness. But they had to see Bard before Celegorm could offer some kind of explanation and that would certainly not come in front of the Dwarves. They had no business knowing anything of his private affairs although Thorin Oakenshield's expression as he eyed him bore uncanny similarities to that of Celegorm's father.
Those two… Fëanor had been right to say that he and Thorin Oakenshield were very much alike. If his father were four feet tall, hairy, gruff and perpetually angry, not to mention obsessed with treasure… yes, there were similarities there, although Celegorm would not present his conclusions to his father in that exact way. As such thoughts chased each other lazily through his distracted mind, Celegorm did focus on one thing. He strained his ears for a knock on the front door and hoped that he could hear it through the din of so many clashing voices.
In the sorry event that Bard did not mean to show himself, Celegorm would have to hunt him down and with that, his thoughts turned to unspeakable things, prompting Curufin to jab him viciously and - for the umpteenth time- to demand an explanation for his utterly stupid grin. It might have been Celegorm's imagination or wishful thinking, but he thought he heard the long expected knock.
He sprang to his feet and strode to the door with Curufin on his heels, but the way his impatient little brother practically breathed down his neck became inconsequential when Celegorm pulled back the door and saw that it his Elven hearing had not failed him.
On the threshold stood a tall, dark-haired man with curly locks combed back and cropped just below his ears. Clean shaven and dressed in crisp clothes fresh off the press, he squared broad shoulders under a black velvet tunic and failed miserably at keeping a straight face. His eyes widened desperately and somewhat comically as he saw Celegorm standing on the threshold, bug-eyed and slack-jawed.
"Who… oh, I know you," Curufin pushed his stupefied brother out of the way and motioned the newcomer to enter. "You're that archer who took our horses. Well, come in, have a drink, let us know how our horses fare and what we owe you for the hospitality."
Gulping audibly and silently begging Celegorm to do something else but stare thunderstruck, Bard stepped inside the hall.
"What are you gawking at?" Curufin nudged his brother. "Come on, I know you're a drooling idiot, but you don't have to show it to everyone else."
Clutching the door and shaking his head to dispel whatever afflicted his vision, Celegorm stood there entirely unable to do much else but follow Bard's hesitant trek through the room. Conversation gradually faltered at the table as the others noticed the newcomer and still, Celegorm gawked in disbelief. That was Bard?!
"Dumb and shiny as a doorknob," Curufin muttered under his breath, casting Celegorm a disparaging look. The sheer amount of name-calling showed just how annoyed Curufin had become with his brother's peculiar behavior, but Celegorm could care less. The tense and terrified man who's eyes pleaded for help as they met his were all Celegorm could focus on.
"Ah, Bard," Celegorm heard his father and saw him rise smoothly in greeting. "I had planned to seek you out later, but I am pleased that you have come. I wish to thank you not merely for your help, but on behalf of us all, for the warm welcome we have received from your townsfolk. I understand that you have left word with the Master to expect our arrival?"
"Yes, sir. My Lord F… Curufinwë," Bard answered, his throaty voice barely rising above a whisper.
By the door, Celegorm bit the inside of his lip bloody and wrenched himself out of the spot where he'd uselessly grown roots. In three long strides, he came to Bard's side and laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense man jump and eye him desperately.
"Father, I understand you know Bard," Celegorm found his voice at last, although it sounded distant and forced in his ears. "He is captain of Esgaroth's guard, but also the son of Girion, the late lord of Dale," the Elf said, nodding to Thorin who greeted Bard with a courteous nod. He and Balin and Dwalin probably recalled the ruling house of Dale before their neighbors and allies were stamped out by the dragon's devastating attack.
It was a sobering thought and it dispelled some of the enchantment that Bard's transformation had brought upon the bewildered Elf. Some of it, but by no means all of it.
His father acknowledged the man's noble origin with a slight tilt of his head, raising his eyebrows a fraction at the change in Bard's appearance. What had Bard called it? Prying apart the shell to find the pearl beneath? How very accurate, the Elf thought, warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach and igniting a proud smile on his face.
"Well met once more, Bard of Lake Town and Dale," Fëanor stepped closer and clasped Bard's free shoulder. His brilliant eyes moved from the breathless man to Celegorm and understanding dawned in them immediately. "Well met, indeed. I see now that I must thank you for the good keeping of more than just our horses and belongings," he said, his voice no louder than a murmur. But it was warm and Fëanor's smile held nothing unfriendly, causing a great weight to fall from Celegorm's shoulders.
Bard's even more so, as he lowered his eyes (for who could brave the intense scrutiny of Celegorm's father for too long, even when no danger radiated from him?) and Celegorm felt some of the tension seeping out of him.
"I met Bard when I journeyed to this part of the world ten years ago. He was a curious and eager young man back then. I taught him how to shoot with a longbow and we became friends while the men of this town extended their hospitality to me for two seasons," Celegorm offered by way of explanation, cursing himself for how lame and empty and false his words sounded, even though he uttered no lie. But the well-practiced game of filtering the truth to suit his purposes did not apply to Bard and guilt immediately twisted in his stomach. Celegorm cast Bard an apologetic look and saw the corners of that lovely, beard free mouth drop slightly.
"Well, then… any friend of yours is a friend of mine," Curufin offered jovially, clapping Bard's back as his father retreated, smiling thoughtfully. "Come, let us drink to this. And to the way you've cleaned up. I've got to say, I almost didn't recognize you for a moment there, all washed and shaved and dressed properly. Not that it matters much, there are no mirrors out there in the wild, but it's nice to see you're quite a looker under all that grimness and grime," Curufin carried on, undisturbed by Bard's discomfited look.
"That's Kurvo," Celegorm whispered in the man's ear, leaning closer to him and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"I gathered as much," Bard exhaled, eying Celegorm uncertainly.
Predictably, Curufin spun on his heels and brought his face very close to Bard's, his eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. He tilted his head and weighed the very still man for a moment, before swooping closer still and taking a deep whiff of Bard's scent. Even as he tried to steady Bard, Celegorm felt laughter bubbling inside him and barely bit it back when Curufin stepped aside and planted himself into Celegorm's personal space. Without so much as 'by your leave' (which, if Celegorm wanted to be fair, his brother had never asked for), Curufin stuck his nose into the open collar of Celegorm's shirt and inhaled deeply.
"Good puppy," Celegorm patted the dark head, wondering if he should push Curufin away or squeeze the life out of him in warning or just let loose the hysterical laughter rumbling in his stomach.
"Oh, you… you shameless son of a…," Curufin growled.
"Atar!" Celegorm threw his father a pleading look.
"Curufinwë! Not now! Not here, for Eru's sake! Shut your mouth and back off," Fëanor pulled his errant son back, muttering his warning in the High Tongue. "Find another seat and pour Bard a drink," he switched to Westron and propelled Curufin in a direction that was, thankfully, away from a stunned Bard and a desperately amused Celegorm.
"I might have known, you shameless fiend!" Curufin cast Celegorm a furious look over his shoulder. "You don't waste any time, do you? I'm scouring the whole damned wilderness after your sorry ass for weeks, desperate that you might be injured or eaten or worse! And what do you do?!" he shouted for his kinsmen's understanding alone, even as he fetched an empty goblet and filled it with shaking hands.
"Curufinwë, that is quite enough," Fëanor said, very quietly, but also deadly serious, giving Curufin absolute pause.
Biting back more charming things for fear of their father's wrath, Curufin offered Bard the goblet and the man took it, whispering a shaken 'thank you'.
"He hates me, doesn't he?" Bard turned to Celegorm, holding the goblet awkwardly and, for a moment, the Elf's vision was filled with memories of a younger upturned face, just as fair and anxious and by force he did not even know he possessed, Celegorm somehow refrained from showering it with reassuring kisses.
"Ah, no. It's me he's angry at," he whispered and put an arm around Bard's shoulders, drawing the man against him in what might have passed as a simple friendly gesture… to the blind and the deaf, perhaps. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. Eventually. I am sorry, but I did warn you that my family is absolutely insane," he nudged Bard playfully, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness. "If you want to reason with someone around here, I suggest talking to a Dwarf."