For nyx thranduillon, who knew I had intended writing this scene and commiserated when I realised I didn't really have room for it.

Consider this as Chapter 137a of 'Where it Doesn't Show'.

Elk, With Extras

There was no time for themselves that morning.

Arveldir had known there would not be when he had pleaded work and left the camp fire early the night before.

Erestor had known it also when he had gone off to see to the elk and had not returned to the fire, but had instead hastened through his task and made his way surreptitiously to the tent he shared with the advisor.

So at least they had the memory of the night, even if it was a memory disturbed by passing warriors admonishing each other to be quiet, lest they wake the advisors, and others answering back that they doubted said advisors were wasting time sleeping.

As Arveldir made his swift preparations to meet the day, he wondered whether there was some way he and Erestor could pitch their tent away from the warriors at the next camp site.

He reached for his boots and stopped as he saw Erestor had come out of reverie and was looking at him, wearing the smile he seemed to keep just for him.

Arveldir swallowed. There was something about Erestor's private smile that reached right down into his fëa and warmed his heart, heated his blood. The raven-haired advisor was so starkly beautiful, the contrast of his creamy skin and shining jet hair, a waterfall of polished midnight, the mingling of strength and intelligence in the straight nose, the determined brow, the amused, amusing mouth that he never failed to take Arveldir's breath away and think a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever of the Valar had seen fit to bless him with such a friend. Such a love.

His heart swelled with joy and pain, knowing this sweet delight could not, would not last, knowing that in spite of all their brave words about spending time in Mirkwood and in Imladris, the reality was that it was not going to be easy. Love could wear out on a long road.

But they were elves. They had forever to sort it out and it was foolish to worry over a time of future doubt when the present held so much to cherish.

'You're worrying again, are you not?' Erestor said, sitting up. The covers slid aside, revealing his sparse, firm torso. 'And you are already dressed, which is a shame… except perhaps it means I may get to undress you, which would be a delight…'

'It may be a delight for which we must wait, melleth-nin. The camp is already moving and noisy and if we do not appear soon…'

'No, I will admit I do not particularly enjoy being the topic of so much ribald humour. It will be better when you get me home.'

'Everything will be better at home.'

'Tell me, what is life like for you there? I do not mean, oh you live in dark caves and fight spiders with your teeth every day, but… are the ways different? The songs and the rituals? The Midsummer observances, for example, the… the avowing ceremonies…'

'At home, we celebrate Midsummer's Eve and Midsummer as do all elves. There was no heart for it this year, too much of what should have happened did not… At home, there will have been singing and dancing on the greenswards within the palace walls and today there will be a feast. The Silvans have their own traditions, of course, much wilder and somehow more joyous… I was at the avowing ceremony of Legolas and Govon, it is simple, the same sort of vows we make everywhere, said in front of a witness. The main difference is the two exchanged arm bands, not finger-rings, since they consider themselves warriors, and the bands are made each by the other – that is a Silvan thing, that the tokens be made by the avowers. After, lamps are uncovered to show that the couple are blessed with the light of the Valar and will never walk in darkness.'

'So if, for example, we were to consider taking vows… we would not exchange arm bands?'

'No, it would be rings,' Arveldir replied, suddenly aware that the atmosphere in the tent had become charged, tingling, and Erestor's eyes were huge and hungry in his lovely face. 'Such as… such as this I wear…'

Realising that what he was doing was either the most foolish, unconsidered thing in all his long life and also realising he did not care, Arveldir removed a silver ring from his little finger and offered it to Erestor who looked up with wonder and tugged a ring from his own hand.

'Shall we swap?' Erestor said lightly, but there was forever waiting behind his words.

'Why not?' Arveldir replied, equally light in tone, but his hand trembled as he took the circle of silver from Erestor's hand and slid it onto his finger. 'This would be considered a betrothal amongst us, and we would have a year to return the rings with no disgrace or wrongdoing.'

'As with us, also. The ring from your smallest finger sits well on my fourth; I think my hands are smaller than yours.'

'Your fingers are longer, but more finely-boned. But it looks well on your hand.'

'And to see my own band on your finger… it is very pleasing, aesthetically. So, Arveldir. I do not think, at the end of the year, I will be asking for this ring back.'

'That is just as well, for I do not think I will be giving it.'

'Well, I know we do not have time…' Erestor leaned forward and kissed Arveldir softly, chastely on the lips. 'But later.'

'Yes. Later.'

'Indeed. Is it later yet?'

Arveldir found himself smiling. Erestor's hands were already busy amongst his clothes, and Arveldir found himself agreeing.

'Yes, I suppose it is later.'

It was not a long and lingering consummation, but no less sweet for taking place in the cramped surroundings of a small tent in the midst of a warrior encampment. No less loving, no less rewarding.

As they disentangled themselves and reached for clothes, Arveldir smiled.

'Well, we came to the eyot for a betrothal… it seems we achieved one, after all.'

'Do you wish to share the news, my dear love?'

'I do… and yet, I do not. I wish to have it proclaimed throughout the land that you find worth enough in me… but it is not my way to seek to draw attention to myself. But to say, look, how wondrous and glorious is this? That is what I would share… perhaps there is enough taking place without my adding to the confusion. Do you mind? Because if you wished it…'

Erestor smiled.

'Indeed, I would rather keep the news to myself for a little while. As I would you, but we have an elk to prepare this morning?'

'Oh, we can tell Nelleron. He knows how to keep a confidence.'

They left the tent together, as to have left separately might have made it look as if they were trying to pretend they hadn't just been intimately engaged, but parted near the cook fires, Arveldir to seek Arwen, and Erestor to collect something from one of the warriors.

They met back up outside the former Imladris pavilion.

'You have them?' Arveldir asked.

'I do indeed. I take it Arwen was true to her word?'

'Truer. Come. We do not have quite as long as I had expected.'

'Oh, I wonder why that has happened?'

Nelleron bumped their shoulders with his nose and blew warm elk breath all over them, hoping for dried blackberries. Erestor laughed, and obliged, while Arveldir scratched the beast behind the ear.

'Now, my fine friend, you must stand patiently for us… we bring you gifts… but first we must assemble them. The Lady Arwen has crocheted the strings, as you might guess…'

'And the idea for this was Arveldir's, so you know who to thank,' Erestor went on. 'But when we made the idea known, all the warriors wanted to help…'

'Lord Glorfindel called it, rehabilitation, and thought it an excellent idea for them all to take part. So those that could collected scales from the carcass of the grey wyrm you so magnificently caged with your antlers…'

'Whilst those who were less able to walk far or bend received them back and cleaned and prepared them.' Erestor smiled at Arveldir. 'Of course, because so many warriors collected scales there are far more than we needed, so a second plan was invented by my beloved, and given over entirely to the injured to complete.'

'But these are the finest, shiniest, glossiest scales from the dragon you defeated, great heart! And strung on Arwen's crocheted chains they will make an excellent addition to your antlers. So. I am done.'

'I also, Arveldir. Will you add the first strand?'

'Together, I think.'

They reached up to loop the first scaled strand over one of Nelleron's points where it dangled and spun, glinting and elegant. More followed, the shining scales making a delicate, melodic tinkle that counterpointed well with the jangle of bells. One scale for each point, dozens of dangling scales, and the two advisors stepped back to admire their handiwork.

'Nelleron, mellon-nin, you look magnificent! Not even the Yule Tree at Imladris looks better!' Erestor said, causing Arveldir to laugh.

'Well, and now for the bridle. You see, Nelleron, how every warrior has had a hand in this.'

The bridle went on and the two buckled it in place. Across the browband, a series of the nearly triangular scales had been fixed in place, carefully chosen for size. The noseband had a similar row of scales and sections of the reins, too, decorated with the glinting, shining scales, this time fitted together to look like diamonds.

'I am sure our king will be most impressed,' Erestor said.

They had almost finished saddling Nelleron when Commander Govon appeared at the opening to the pavilion.

'Is he ready? Legolas has the king prepared.'

'Almost… just the girth to adjust… there.'

'He looks wonderful,' Govon said. 'And I should warn you – all the guard are assembled to see the results of their handiwork.'

'Then we will give Nelleron over to you; in our need to make the elk tidy, we have yet to pack.'

'Yes. I should warn you, Esgaron has been muttering about the one tent that hasn't been disassembled yet would have to be the one he is forbidden to touch…'

By missing lunch and by hurrying, they were able to get everything packed away into their saddlebags before Esgaron had to come seeking them. In fact, Arveldir toyed with the idea of asking the commander why there had been such delay about taking their tent down, but decided it was probably too daring a chance to take – Esgaron was known for his worth as a warrior, not his sense of humour.

Erestor went to seek Legolas while Arveldir went to join Nestoril at the infirmary and keep her occupied while Legolas and Erestor implemented their plan.

'My prince?' he said, passing through the canvas to where Legolas was helping Thranduil finish dressing. 'And my king, we are ready for you. Nelleron is just outside.'

'One of you will have to help me into the saddle, and then pass Iauron to me.'

The king sounded exhausted before he even got out of bed, Erestor realised.

'My king, I will be glad to assist…'

'And for how long have I been your king, Erestor?' Thranduil asked with a slight curve of the lips which the advisor was beginning to recognise as a smile. 'Since Arveldir became your lover?'

'Not quite that long, my king. Shall we?'

Soon the king was in the saddle, the elk was shaking his head melodiously, and Legolas and Erestor passed Iauron up to the king.

'There are bindings to hold him to the saddle so that you need not worry about his safety, Adar,' Legolas said. 'But still, don't drop him.'

'Drop him, indeed! As if Nelleron would let either of us fall.'

'Very well. Let's go and startle Nestoril, shall we?'