Author's Note: I know everyone wants to know who the Other Father is, but I might just be mean and never mention his name. Look for clues, however; you should find it out pretty soon.
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The Lord of Imladris woke up the next day in a decidedly bad humour.
His stomach was lurching, his head was spinning, his eyes hurt and he was getting the almost irresistible urge to grab the nearest sword and skewer someone with it. Besides, he was late waking up and from the look of the sun it was halfway through the morning.
He dressed as quickly as he could, taking a few seconds out of his hurry to critically stare at his reflection in the mirror. He was somewhat appeased by the fact that his hair seemed to have added bounce and shine. Though not vain by any stretch of the imagination, it gave him a beacon of hope for the coming months. Until he remembered that he was going to get so round and swollen that no one would be able to lift their eyes above his waistline.
And with that mournful thought, he decided that enough was enough and he refused to flap around anymore like a Mordor bat in the formal robes he usually wore, preferring to take what little consolation in his fitness he could while it was still possible. He was still a warrior- even if he was pregnant- and if anyone had anything to say about his condition then they could say it to his face and very likely to his fist! It ended with him stalking out of his room in tunic and trews, his face set in decidedly grim lines. He left his hair unbound except for the braids on either side, throwing the clips he usually wore out of the window in a fit of pique.
Erestor and Glorfindel were in his office, having a discussion in a low tone of voice. They stopped as he entered and looked guilty.
"Why was I not woken?" Elrond snapped, folding his arms across his chest.
Glorfindel looked to Erestor, who quickly put his diplomacy into overdrive. "I thought you might appreciate the rest, my Lord," the Steward soothed, "I did come to wake you but your eyes were closed. I thought you might have had a restless night."
"It seems to me that you think entirely too much," Elrond mocked, "You are not here to second-guess me, Erestor. The next time might cost you your position in my household."
Glorfindel gasped at such an insult.
Grey eyes fixed intently on the blond. Balrog Slayer or not, Glorfindel was aware of a sliver of ice gliding down his spine.
"You have something to say to me, mellon nin?"
Glorfindel shook his head.
"You disapprove of my words, perhaps?"
"No, my Lord," Glorfindel answered meekly, obedient to the quick shake of the head that Erestor gave him.
"So I would imagine," Elrond commented. Never taking the dangerous look out of his eyes, he sat down at his desk and began to sort through the scrolls and messages laid thereon. Glancing back to his friends, he waved to the door- "You are dismissed. Come back in an hour."
Erestor let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. Glorfindel was still a little wide-eyed in surprise and shock. To his knowledge, Elrond just never spoke to anyone in that supercilious way, no matter how bad his mood or trying the situation.
The Steward patted the shoulder of the Seneschal, empathizing with him. "It can be quite frightening the first time," he admitted, "But when you have been thrown out of the house in three successive weeks and banished about four times, you do learn how to deal with it."
Glorfindel choked, pointing a trembling finger to the closed door. "You- you mean this is normal?"
"It's the pregnancy," Erestor shrugged, "Mood swings are common to both female and male elves during their terms. Elrond has suffered from them rather violently in the past."
Both shook their heads, thinking of how pregnancies took a whole year and what were they to do ten months along? Legolas found them still standing there and contemplating the fate of Imladris as he walked towards the study.
The Mirkwood Prince was fast getting the feeling that something was wrong. For not only were Erestor and Glorfindel standing in corridors and looking gloomy, but Elladan and Elrohir had gone out riding again and Aragorn and Arwen were sitting in corners talking in low voices. While that did not seem outwardly suspicious, Elladan and Elrohir would say nothing about their father beyond that they hadn't had the chance to tell him of Legolas' presence, and Arwen and Aragorn would stop talking and go away the moment he approached them.
Legolas was finding it rather frustrating to be avoided like a deadly illness. "Is something wrong?" he asked politely.
"No, no! Nothing at all," Glorfindel assured him hurriedly, "What could possibly go wrong on such a day as this? Tell me, Legolas, have you seen our woods during spring?"
Blue eyes looked puzzled. "I've lived here for ten years during my educating, Glorfindel. Of course I've seen Imladris during spring."
"What he meant was, would you like to reacquaint yourself with the sights of Imladris," Erestor recovered smoothly, sticking an accidental but very sharp elbow into his friend's ribs, "You have not been here for centuries, Legolas. Glorfindel is free and can take you riding."
Legolas was now definite that something was wrong. But as he was even then being hurried to the stables by an agitated Balrog Slayer, he gave up his desire to question anything and simply let it happen.
Erestor sighed and went back to the office. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and looked in. His Lord currently seemed to be sitting still in his seat and staring out the window, a hand resting lightly on his stomach. The other hand was playing with the stopper of a bottle on his desk, the oily-looking liquid tilting lazily as the bottle scraped over the desktop.
"My Lord?"
"One hour isn't up yet." But the remark sounded completely at odds with the unpredictability of before.
Erestor walked two steps into the room and shut the door. To his trained eyes, the pregnancy was beginning to show a little in the soft glow emanating from the elf sitting in the sunshine. At times like these, the steward was reminded of that first pregnancy, when Elrond had been lost in the wonder of it all. Only this time, the bottle was intruding.
"Is that the potion to abort it?" Erestor asked quietly.
The dark head moved a little, a nod barely discernible in the slow action. Long fingers tightened on the bottle; whether to hold it closer or to throw it away was yet to be decided.
"Will you take it? Is not the time passed?"
Again a small movement of the head, this time a shake instead of a nod. Elrond didn't have to say that it was still close enough to the safe time to risk it. He didn't even intend to say anything; right then, he didn't think he could.
"Elrond, mellon nin? Are you alright?"
"I am about to reject this child," the Elf Lord answered, "It is going to hurt and I do not think I can stand that."
Erestor looked surprised. A warrior of the First Age afraid of a little pain? He said as much, trying not to sound judgemental but failing miserably.
Elrond turned and glared his disapproval of such questioning. "I did not mean physically," he bit out, "You have no thought of how this feels, do you? To be... this way! To feel... these things inside you. You cannot hope to understand what it is I go through."
"My Lord, if you were to tell me..."
"I go through hell," Elrond cried, bounding from his seat and beginning to stalk up and down in his nervousness, "Every moment that passes the child inside me grows. You cannot know what that means."
Silence grew. Erestor went to the table near the door, absently sorting through the list of things he had placed there in order to remember what needed to be done. Most were mundane jobs and could be done by himself or the twins in their father's stead. The rest... oh, but the rest needed the express touch of the Lord of Rivendell. The Lord who was currently cringing at the thought of killing the innocent growing peaceably within his body through no fault of his own.
"Will you abort then?"
The silence continued as Elrond paused in his pacing to stare searchingly at his old friend. "You would not council me otherwise?"
"It is not my child," the other pointed out reasonably.
Elrond was forced to smile at the dry honesty. Only Erestor, he remembered. "That is true. There is no time in this world for birthing and for babies. I will drink the poison." His eyes lit on the innocuous bottle on the table and he shuddered visibly. "But perhaps... tomorrow?"
Grey eyes looked so pathetically hopeful that Erestor was forced to keep back a chuckle, feeling like an indulgent father for some ridiculous reason. The steward nodded gravely and gestured to the door. "That will allow me to sort through some things with you, my Lord, if you are available this morning. Tomorrow I imagine you will feel unable to leave your bed."
"Of course, Erestor," Elrond murmured, wry humour glimmering through as his seething emotions settled amicably enough behind his typical demeanour. "What is on the agenda for today?"
"The new stores, my Lord. The plans need to be looked over; the builders have one or two small questions that I thought it best you answer. And then, the..."
The door closed behind them, effectively muffling their voices as the two went back to business, the personal troubles of the household banished temporarily behind a façade of normalcy in lieu of the work that needed to be completed.