AN:
Slight AU set during the early years of the Third Age during the formation of the Éothéod, when the kingdoms of men were much wilder than they are now. After the Éothéod revolt against the Wainriders, the northern tribes lack resources and need to rebuild their strength, and seek to form strong alliances with their neighbors. Lord Frumgar sends delegations to Greenwood, Lothlorien, and Imladris bearing gifts and letters. Unfortunately, not all of the gifts translate well culturally.
Fram, son of Frumgar, lord of the Éothéod, is tasked with leading the delegation over the Misty Mountains to Imladris, to the House of Elrond. With him he brings gold, fine horses, and two young thralls chosen by his father to be given to Lord Elrond himself. Elrond is...conflicted, to say the least.
Elrond's happily married to Celebrian, so no outside shipping will happen. I'm just a sucker for hurt/comfort fic, a sucker for politics, and a sucker for protectivedad!Elrond. Does involve viking-esque slavery, so there will be mentions and implications of torture and sexual abuse (but I don't like to put these in graphic detail). If you're not comfortable with this kind of content (or underage), please avoid this story.
01
Beetle
Beetle couldn't feel her hands.
She wished her heart would stop pounding. It only fed her headache and it was so loud she felt sure Thane Skarde could hear it. The leather tying her to the cantle of his saddle dug into her wrists. Her neck itched. She wished her hands were free so she could at least try and adjust her collar. They had been riding down through the High Pass before the sun had risen. They were due in Rivendell that evening, and they must not, under any circumstances, be late.
Rivendell.
The name made her cold.
After an hour's ride, the company stopped for a rest along a stream. Beetle was left in the saddle. She tried not to watch as Skarde led the stallion to the river's edge and the horse sucked up water. Every time Beetle tried to swallow she got stuck on her own swollen tongue, but she didn't dare ask to be let off the saddle to drink. It could be perceived as impertinence, or a feeble grasp at freedom. The prospect of a blow when she felt like her head might split open was unbearable. Beetle craned her neck.
Little Worm was nodding off. He snapped his head up, brown eyes dulled with exhaustion. He, too, had been tied into the saddle in front of one of the thanes. Every time his eyes slipped closed, Beetle feared he'd fall.
What can you tell me of the elves, Mouse?
-There is nothing to tell. They hold great power. They're ruled by Lord Elrond. You will be his.
I know. But what is he like? Do you know anything about him?
-He is a lord. All lords are the same.
Mouse had done nothing to assuage her fears. She only told Beetle what she herself knew: Lord Elrond was ancient, unending. He was a powerful warrior who owned many horses and had many loyal thanes. He ruled over a beautiful city called Rivendell. The elves spoke their own language. The climate was much more temperate than Between the Rivers, so at least Beetle wouldn't be cold sleeping out on the ground. The winters Between the Rivers were harsh, and in the past year her Horselord had only allowed the thralls to come inside and sleep in the back of the longhouse with the horses after his son had informed him his shield boy had frozen in the night.
The closer they drew to Rivendell, the thicker the trees became. It made Beetle anxious. How could the elves stand it? They couldn't see if an attacker or wild beast might be over the next ridge. Wasn't it dangerous to live in a woodland so thick?
She had to stop thinking so much. There were only three things worth thinking about: Lord Elrond, how to please him, and how to keep Little Worm safe.
The company rode for half the day more. When the sun was high and warm and the woods grew thick along the road, a clamor of hoofbeats came toward them. Their company gripped their spears, but as the riders came close, bronze armor flashing like fire in the sunlight, it became clear that they wore rich Elvish cloaks and had no weapons drawn.
One of them urged his horse forward. Beetle turned her eyes to the ground.
"What business do you have in the valley?"
From the front of the company, Prince Fram answered him. They were the expected envoys of the Lord of the Éothéod, here to broach the possibility of an alliance and open passage for his people through the Misty Mountains.
The Elven thane announced that his company would escort them to Rivendell, and soon they were moving again along the red-colored road. A glance at Little Worm told her he was still fighting to stay awake. The collar around his throat pinched, digging into his neck, and the leather binding his hands to the saddle was turning them blue.
Not long, I promise, Beetle wanted to tell him. Soon we will be in Rivendell and you can rest. Be brave, krútt mitt.
It was an empty promise, of course, so it was for the best that she couldn't lie to him like that. Beetle didn't know if Lord Elrond would let them rest once they were given to his service. For Little Worm's sake, she hoped so.
But a great and powerful Horselord like this Elven King...Beetle felt sure that he couldn't be both kind and powerful. Great lords were made great because they bent others to their will, like Lord Frumgar and his thanes. Judging by the fine armor the Elven thanes wore and the beautiful horses they rode (Beetle had ventured a nervous glance at their backs), Lord Elrond was more powerful than Lord Frumgar by far.
After twenty more minutes under the sun, a distant roar met Beetle's ears, sounding somewhere between a gale and a great beast. No one in the company, neither Mannish thanes nor Elven ones, seemed to pay any attention to it. Not a beast, then. No, it couldn't be, for the roar never ended. It was as steady as a storm and only grew louder and louder the longer they rode.
When the trees broke and the ground fell away into a gorge, the source of the thunder became clear: a waterfall the color of molten silver cascaded over the mouth of the valley, forming a wide river below. Their path wove to the left along the edge of that hillside, and on the far end near the waterfall was a great house nestled within the green woods. The sight took her breath away.
Beetle had expected a settlement made of timber longhouses, but from a distance these buildings seemed to be made of more air than wood or stone, rising in endless bridges, stairs, and terraces, and the closer they got the more intricate they looked- and she didn't know what to compare it to. Oak leaves, perhaps. But no, that wasn't fine enough. She recalled the ivy in the woodlands they had passed through to get here: tendrils winding around the trunks of trees and creeping up rocks and cliffs. Yes. Like a city made of ivy. How had they made it?
Their guides led them over a stone bridge and up to a tall gate. A horn keened and then the gates opened, and they passed into the city.
Beetle wanted to look. She wanted to look so badly at everything around her, at the Elves, at the green trees and growing things and the birds singing overhead. She didn't dare. As soon as they were inside the city she turned her eyes back down to the ground. The risk of offense was too great, and she couldn't afford to risk offending anyone so early.
As the men began to dismount, stable-hands came to take their bridles. Footsteps approached, then a voice called out to greet them. Prince Fram answered him the same greeting he had given the Elven thane, and added:
"Please, have your thralls bring these horses to your Lord's stables. All of them are gifts from my father."
"Our thanks. You are most welcome in Rivendell. I am called Lindir, head of Lord Elrond's household. He is in his council. I will take you to him."
Prince Fram ordered the horses and their two accompanying carts to be unloaded, and the shield boys hurried to obey. Skarde untied her hands and Beetle sucked in a breath as the blood rushed back to them, stinging so badly her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back and got down from the horse. Little Worm couldn't get out of the saddle alone.
Beetle ran over the minute he was cut loose and helped him to the ground. He was taller than she was, but his legs buckled as soon as she set him on his feet.
"No, elsku dúllan mín," she whispered in his ear. She could feel the Prince glancing their way. "You must stand. Please. You must be strong. Just a little while longer."
The ride had been so long and he'd broken his ankle on the journey here, but he must not seem weak. It would only insinuate that Lord Frumgar had sent a poor gift. The last thing Beetle wanted was rejection. Rejection meant failure. Failure meant death, or something worse.
She wished for a god to pray to, but the only one she knew was Wadfrea, and she doubted the Lord of the Hunt would want to help.
But, blessedly, Little Worm swallowed back his pain and began to walk, and the two of them followed the rest of their company up the winding steps to Lord Elrond's council. She tried to quell the frenetic pace of her own heart, to still her breathing, but she became more and more lightheaded the closer they got. She hoped Little Worm couldn't sense how frightened she was. I must be strong for him.
But try as she might, she couldn't stop the cold from leeching back into her heart. It threatened to overtake her completely as they reached the round terrace and stopped.
Was this it? The hall? It was outside!
But there was music: a sweet harp, a plaintive flute, and sounds of merry laughter and conversation which hushed as they drew near. Lord Elrond's steward (Master Lindir? Was she remembering his name correctly?) announced them.
When the Thanes' backs were turned, she glanced up through her lashes. It was, indeed, the court- and it was so far removed from anything she knew. The Elven lords sat around a huge carved table, and to their right were two of the finest-dressed thralls Beetle had ever seen playing music for the court. Looking at them, she felt a sudden rush of shame. Their garments were so finely-woven, so brightly-colored: deep rich reds like autumn trees. Their hair was so long, so impeccably neat. What would Lord Elrond want with her and Little Worm? They looked so sorry in comparison in their roughspun tunics and tangled hair. She'd taken to rolling hers up in an attempt to look neat.
But as her eyes darted around to the elves and what she could see of their embroidered soft robes, leggings, and tunics; their braided hair and silver jewelry; Beetle felt so ashamed of herself she wanted to cry.
She didn't, of course. She swallowed back the tears and took deep breaths. A glance at Little Worm. He was staring at the floor, eyes vacant.
The voice that greeted them was unlike any voice that Beetle had ever heard, it was as warm as summer, rich with time, and it held an underlying edge that gave her the impression of a knife, cleverly sheathed.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lord Fram. Did you meet any trouble on your journey over the mountains?"
"We were fortunate enough not to, my Lord Elrond. My father sends his goodwill from Rhovanion, and has tasked me with delivering you his messages and many gifts."
Beetle wasn't really listening as the pleasantries went on and the prince presented the chests of furs and gold from Lord Framgur's treasury, as well as many prized medicinal plants that grew in the place Between the Rivers. He must have mentioned the horses. The more he went on, the less Beetle could breathe. Her collar wasn't helping.
Next to her, Little Worm swayed. She pressed closer to him, hoping that she could steady him without anyone noticing. He laced his hand in hers and held it tight.
The conversation went on. Beetle tried to focus. Elven thralls (or, what she presumed to be thralls- they must be-) came to take the chests and baskets away. With dawning horror, Beetle realized that Prince Fram's black, steel-tipped leather boots were clanking straight toward her and Little Worm.
A heavy, gloved hand fell to her shoulder. He pushed her forward. She dragged Little Worm with her and felt him wince.
"And lastly a personal gesture of goodwill from my father to you. Two favorites of his for whatever use you see fit."
Silence descended like a cloak. The crowd of eyes turned on them and pressed. She felt them like a weight, threatening to overtake and suffocate her entirely.
"Send your father my thanks for the other gifts," Lord Elrond said, "but this one I cannot accept."
That warm summer voice had turned to ice. Beetle's stomach dropped. They weren't good enough. He didn't like her. He didn't like Little Worm. How could he? His own thralls were so fair, so finely dressed. What use could he get out of the two of them?
Those traitorous tears were back. She wished she could rub them away but she didn't dare move an inch.
She felt, instinctively, the prince open his mouth to say something, just as instinctively as she felt Lord Elrond stop him from saying it.
"Come. You are my guests and this is a merry day. I've prepared a feast in your honor and it would be a shame to let it go to waste."
When Master Lindir led them down the steps, the shield boys came up to meet them, brought in by another group of Elves. For reasons Beetle couldn't understand, Master Lindir insisted that the shield boys and even Beetle and Little Worm joined the thanes in Lord Elrond's hall.
Just leave us outside with the horses, she wanted to beg. The shame of the rejection was almost too much to bear.
The hall was filled with music, warmth, and so many different enchanting smells that Beetle felt lightheaded all over again. Long tables were laid around a roaring central fire, burdened with more rich food than Beetle had ever seen in her life: soft cheeses, braided breads with golden crusts, fruit, platters of meat- she felt weak even looking at it. Elves crowded in from every direction, all chattering together, taking their seats, and filling their golden goblets with mead.
The prince was led to the dais to sit with Lord Elrond. Beetle felt vulnerable without him nearby. He might be stern, like his father, but it was Prince Fram who had scolded Skarde for beating her on their second day's ride and ordered that the thanes should at least make an attempt to set Little Worm's ankle.
She tried to help Little Worm kneel by the men's feet, but Master Lindir rushed over and shooed both of them, to their embarrassment, into the seats at the end of the table with Prince Fram's thanes. Their plates were filled. Neither she nor Little Worm made any pretense of touching the food, but Skalde elbowed her in the arm.
"Eat. It looks bad to refuse Lord Elrond's hospitality. You're troublesome as it is."
The evening passed in a miserable and confusing blur. Beetle drank more of the sweet mead than she ate, both for the opportunity to muddle her head and from real thirst. At some point, Skarde replaced it with tea, which she obediently drank. The Elves sang songs in their language, both slow and lively (the latter only making Beetle's headache worse. She wished they'd stop). She poked at her plate, trying to eat, but her stomach was knotted so tightly she could only manage a bite or two. Little Worm fared better, managing half his plate before he started to fall asleep in it.
Eventually, the meal began to die down. The Elves filtered out, and Prince Fram followed Lord Elrond into a private chamber beyond the hall. Some thralls came to clear the tables.
Just as Lord Elrond and Prince Fram left, Master Lindir came over from the dais to collect them.
"Come. Lord Elrond has ordered some rooms prepared for you, and there are hot baths and fresh clothes- if you desire them."
Outside, the sky was dim, and stars began to wink to life above their heads. Master Lindir led them down a winding set of stairs to another terrace, to a high-gabled building where many beds had been made up- enough for the whole company, shield boys and all.
As the thanes filed out to wash off the travel grime and talk amongst themselves, Beetle tugged Little Worm over to a dark corner of the room where he'd be easily forgotten. She helped him slide down to the ground and took one of the nearby blankets and wrapped it around him.
He looked up at her, at last, with those dull brown eyes, red from lack of sleep, misty from tears threatening to fall.
"We're going to die," he whispered.
How easy it was to forget that he was only a few winters younger than her. Beetle brushed some of his hair out of his face and tried to smile for him.
"Maybe our luck will turn. Don't think like that. Get some sleep, elsku dúllan mín."
"Will you stay?"
"I need to help the shield boys clean up. Then I'll be back. Don't move an inch."
He gave her a weak smile. "As if I could."
The company would stay in Rivendell for three days. There was still time. She repeated that to herself over and over as she laid out the blankets and helped the shield boys wipe the mud off the thanes' armor. It was a feeble hope, but it was the only one she and Little Worm had.
When the thanes came back and dismissed them, Beetle crept to the far corner where Little Worm lay. He was curled under the blanket, an arm covering his head in case of a blow, sleeping fitfully. Beetle sat next to him and tucked her knees up to her chest.
The elf-maid playing the harp- her hair had been so pretty. So long, so dark, smooth like glass. Beetle unrolled her hair and ran her fingers through it, trying to comb out the knots. Then she began to weave little braids like she'd seen the elf-maids wear.
A soft breeze filtered in through the windows, misty from the falls. The thanes snored. At least the stars above Rivendell were the same here as out on the plains. She didn't know their names, but she traced familiar shapes and that helped calm her racing thoughts.
Little Worm shivered in his sleep. Beetle finished her hair and then rolled up the rest in an attempt to keep it from tangling. She wished she had some way of loosening Little Worm's collar. She couldn't even work a finger under it, and the skin around it was red and angry. It could make him sick.
She wrapped her arms around him, both for his warmth and her own, and closed her eyes, but try as she might she couldn't sleep.
Little Worm still shivered terribly as Beetle finally sat up. It was still dark, but light brimmed orange on the far horizon. Her whole body ached from riding and sleeping on the ground, and her back stung, too. She winced. Stupid. She'd forgotten all about it in the stress from yesterday and her worry for Little Worm. I shouldn't have lain on it.
Her wrists, too, stung. The leather from Skarde's saddle had bitten them raw, and she'd bled into her sleeves. Beetle scowled at the marks and then got up.
Her tongue felt thick again. Little Worm looked worse than she felt, face pale, black circles gathering around his eyes, lips dry and chapped. He needed water. Beetle had no idea where to find it.
She got up as quietly as she could and tip-toed past the rows of sleeping men to the room she'd seen them go to bathe. Maybe the water there was drinkable.
No such luck. The bath was huge and set into the ground on a base of white stone, and the water steamed and smelled of sulfur. Beetle didn't know what to do.
She crept back past the men and stopped at the doorway, checking over her shoulder to see if any of them stirred. No, they were all sleeping soundly, no doubt from all the wine and food the night before.
Beetle wasn't sure where she could find water. They were so close to the river that there had to be running streams, and she felt sure the elves would have plenty to drink. She wished the thralls weren't so well dressed. Beetle had no idea how to tell the free elves from the thralls and so didn't dare to speak to any of those she passed. Perhaps if she could find Master Lindir- not to ask him for water, of course, but simply to ask where to find some. She could say that the thanes or Prince Fram had sent her.
One of the paths turned down into a garden. Trees grew up all around it, their trunks carpeted with moss. She could hear the faint rushing of water- a stream or a fountain. Perhaps there would be a way to draw some water from it and take it back to the room.
No one shared the path with her. The morning light was still pale and dim. The garden was empty, and so she allowed herself to look at the flowers, to watch an orange and black butterfly flit from petal to petal, to catch a green leaf as it pinwheeled down through the air. Still, she didn't see the source of the water. Beetle grew anxious. If the men woke to find her gone, they'd beat her for running off without permission, but Little Worm needed water.
"Are you lost, little one?"
Beetle's stomach dropped and she turned around to see an elf- a lord!- sitting on a bench between the trees. He held a book in his hands.
That voice: rich with time and kind and warm like summer.
Beetle gasped and dropped to the ground. How could she be so stupid! So careless! Why hadn't she noticed him? What if this was his private garden? She hadn't even thought of that. Had she stumbled into his house? She wished she could melt into the ground and disappear.
What would the prince do when he found out?
What would Lord Elrond do?
She didn't hear him get up, but suddenly his leather boots were right in front of her. The hem of his crimson robe was embroidered with gold.
Beetle swallowed. Her tongue got stuck in her dry mouth. She felt him bend and, rather desperately, she whispered:
"I'm sorry- I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't see you."
"I'm not angry, penneth." He reached for her. She flinched. But he only took her arm and gently pulled. "Please, rise. You needn't be on the ground."
She didn't believe him. He was only trying to keep her from running away. He would tell Prince Fram- and then she really would be dead.
Beetle stood and tried to step back, but Lord Elrond- he- he took her hands in both of his and held them. Beetle froze.
"How did this happen?" he asked, voice soft.
She wasn't sure what he was asking about. When he pushed up her sleeve, she realized he meant her wrists.
"I-" she wished she wouldn't stammer. She must sound like an idiot to him. "-the horse. They tie the thralls to the saddles so they don't try to escape." As soon as it was out, she flushed red. Was that uncommon in Rivendell? Would he think that she was rebellious? That she had to be tied?
His hands were so soft and warm and slender. She had never seen such slender hands on a man, let alone one said to be a great warrior. Lord Elrond reached for her face and she shrunk back.
But he just brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. It stung.
"And this?"
Beetle felt her face heat again. "I'm clumsy," she lied. "I fell."
Clumsy was marginally better than disobedient. She'd gotten so distracted gathering wood for the cookfires that the boys were late in getting the evening meal started.
"I see." He sounded as if he didn't believe her. Beetle tried not to squirm. At last, Lord Elrond let go and stepped away. He repeated his original question: "Are you lost?"
Miserably, Beetle shook her head, tucking her hands behind her back. She wasn't. She still remembered the way back to their rooms. "I was looking for water, my lord. I'm sure I can find it. I thought maybe- the fountain-"
"To drink?"
She nodded, still staring at her feet. "For my friend."
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned back toward the main path. "Come, then. We'll find Lindir. It's still a little while before they'll serve the next meal. We expected your company to sleep a long time."
She wanted to insist that she didn't mean to be troublesome. He shouldn't waste his time with her. She could find Master Lindir on her own. The words wouldn't come out and he was already walking her down the path anyway. Stupidly, Beetle wanted to cry again. If there had been any hope of Lord Elrond reconsidering his decision, there wasn't now. She had proven that she would wander off on her own, that she would be careless, that she might even be disobedient. She'd ruined everything.
Little Worm will die and it'll be my fault.
She had to sniffle. She hoped Lord Elrond wouldn't notice.
Beetle could feel eyes turning toward them as they passed a few other Elves. Lord Elrond said hello to most of them as they walked by, gliding at a maddeningly relaxed pace until, at last, he called out:
"Ah! Lindir."
Footsteps. Beetle turned to study a nearby tree to avoid making any sort of eye contact.
"Hîr vuin?"
"This one- what do they call you?" Lord Elrond turned back to her.
The question was a shock and it took her an embarrassingly long time to answer: "Beetle, my lord."
"Beetle?" he sounded surprised, then said her name once more, as if mulling it over. Then he addressed Lindir again: "Beetle is looking for something to drink. For her friend. Could you show her the way?"
"Of course." Lindir paid him a bow and then bid Beetle to follow him. When they had gone a few paces, Beetle glanced back over her shoulder.
Lord Elrond was still standing on the path, tall as a tree, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.
After Master Lindir had shown her where she could draw water, Beetle carried a pitcher back with her. The men were beginning to stir, groaning about the audacity of the rising sun to lance into their heads. She passed them and took one of the leather cups out of the saddlebags the shield boys had left on the floor and poured water into it.
The water was good for Little Worm, but he seemed to have trouble swallowing it, and he looked much worse than the night before. When she pressed a hand to his forehead, he felt hot, but still shook all over. She gave him as much water as he could take, then drank some herself. By then the Elves had come to inform them that a meal was ready and that everyone was welcome to come to the Hall of Fire to eat. She tried to rouse Little Worm but he begged to be allowed to sleep, and Prince Fram, annoyed, decided not to try and drag him there. The disturbance outweighed any insult Little Worm might cause by being absent.
Beetle still struggled to eat. Once, during the meal, she looked up and saw Lord Elrond studying her. She turned her eyes straight back down to her plate and didn't dare look up again.
After the meal Beetle was left to her own devices. Prince Fram disappeared again, probably to continue to try and win Lord Elrond's favor. The men muttered that the Elven Lord's refusal of the thralls boded ill for any alliance. Some even said that the look on his face had bordered on anger. Beetle tried not to think about it.
She sat with Little Worm and tried to keep him hydrated and tried, in vain, to stay calm. He's getting sick. It was the collar. She didn't know how to help him. I'll lose him. He won't make the journey back through the High Pass.
It would be too cold and too difficult a ride if he could even make it through the woodland surrounding Rivendell. As soon as they left the city, the Prince would have no more use for either of them- and a slave this sick wasn't worth food. More likely than not, he would leave Little Worm in the mountains to die.
Beetle's vision clouded. She scrubbed at her face and tried to make Little Worm drink some more. She couldn't see the trees anymore, nor hear the sound of the waterfall or the happy songs of the Elves as they passed by. Only Little Worm's labored, hoarse breathing next to her in this hateful corner of the room.
Hours passed. The thanes filtered in and out, probably heading to the stables to check on their horses or go for rides around the valley. No one paid the two of them much mind.
When the sun reached its peak in the sky, she heard the clank of Prince Fram's steel-tipped boots rush toward her. She scrambled to her knees, but he took her arm before she could even hope to get there.
He was here to beat her. Lord Elrond had told him about what had happened in the garden. She shut her eyes and covered her head, but no blow came.
Instead, the prince spoke.
"Come. Get him up," he hissed. "Lord Elrond has changed his mind."