Realization

Title: Realization
Fandom: LoTR
Author: Lynsey
Websites and Mailing List: See links under user information
Beta: None
Chapter: 11/?
Word Count: 3453
Pairings: OC (Corchvorn)/Erestor
Rating: R this chapter
Warnings: None really
Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR or its characters. I do not make any money from this fiction.
Summary: Sequel to “Tolerance.” Erestor and Corchvorn give each other everything they can.

Glorfindel lifted the saddle off of his mare and slung it over the side of the stall wall. He did the same with the sweat-damp blanket before setting to work rubbing down the tired animal. He nodded at the stable hand who brought small buckets of grain and water and hung them on the door. The horse eagerly set to work on the water, and Glorfindel was grateful he had asked for small amounts only. She’d have drank herself sick otherwise. The stable hand would bring more later, in small amounts. Until then, she seemed to enjoy the thorough rub down by her master. The harsh winter chill was warded away by two small stoves on either end of the stable. It wasn’t warm per se, but it was comfortable compared to the biting cold outside.

Himself exhausted, Glorfindel made sure his mount was set before scooping up his packs and heading to the door of the inn he’d stopped at for the night. It was a small place in a small town and from the sound of it packed full. The humans here were used to the sight of elves coming and going at all hours, and rather appreciated the thought that the great warriors were protecting them in their scouting missions through the land.

Glorfindel was about two day’s hard ride before he reached Rivendell, but he considered making it three to spare his horse. There was no reason to hurry, the news he had to report of his latest mission was not urgent and could wait an extra day.

It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for him at home, anyway.

A cheery fire glowed in the large hearth in the wall across from the door. The flames banished the tang of winter chill that pervaded the air. The blond warrior dragged himself to the counter and hailed the bartender, knowing he was also the proprietor of the establishment. The old human grinned and served two more tankards of ale before moving down to greet Glorfindel.

“Good to see you again, milord,” the human had to yell over the clamor of a full tavern. “What can I do for ye?”

“Dinner, breakfast, and a room for the night,” Glorfindel said, putting his coin on the bar top.

The old man winced a little. “Sorry to say, but the last room was just rented out.” He shrugged in apology. “I can give ya dinner and breakfast, but the best bed I can offer be the hayloft.”

Glorfindel sighed. He’d had much worse beds to be sure, but he’d been looking forward to a real mattress and a fireplace tonight. No hope for it though. He thanked the man and paid for his food and place in the hayloft for the night.

The place had to be packed this evening, didn’t it? Not even a barstool was open. Just his bloody luck, he’d probably have to eat in the barn, too.

He scanned the room one more time, and sighed in relief when he realized that there was one chair open. The table was occupied by a lone man, hunkered over a cup of something hot that steamed into the air.

Glorfindel waved to the bartender and pointed to the open chair. The old man smiled and waved back in a signal that his food would be brought shortly.

The blond weaved his way through drunken dancers and singers before arriving at the one free spot in the tavern. “Mind if I join you?”

The person looked up, and Glorfindel almost fell backward.

Corchvorn.

The young elf struggled to stand up, obviously surprised. “My-my lord Glorfindel,” he bowed, showing the deference his elder deserved.

Glorfindel really didn’t want to stay here, sitting with the little bastard that stole his Erestor away.

“I-I-I…here, my lord,” Corchvorn pulled out a chair and offered it to the other elf. “Please, sit. I’m finished here anyway.”

Glorfindel stared at the youngster with an air of malice.

“Good-good evening, my lord,” Corchvorn bowed, fleeing out the door as fast as he could. Glorfindel couldn’t help but notice that they boy limped heavily as he fled across the tavern.

The blond elf sighed and practically fell into the seat. This was the last thing he needed after a long mission.

His ability to be civil was cut very short, and he didn’t know if he could go without being an asshole to the younger elf.

He just hoped they could avoid each other this evening, and he’d be on his way in the morning.

****************

Glorfindel entered the stables, finding the ladder to the hayloft and hauling his packs as he climbed up. The winter night was quiet, only the shuffle of horses could be heard in the stillness. A full moon hung in the sky and shined brightly into the loft, illuminating the area sufficiently so that Glorfindel could make his way easy enough. It was much colder up here than in the actual stables, the heat of the ovens not reaching the loft. He sat his pack on the floor and pulled his thick, woolen blankets out and shook them out.

The sound made someone else in the hayloft startle and gasp.

Glorfindel turned, blade out and ready. He relaxed and sighed in disbelief as he saw Corchvorn sitting in the straw, cloak wrapped around him.

“Damn it, kid. Make some noise,” the blond growled, looking for a place in the straw to lay his blankets.

“M-m’ sorry, milord,” the boy said, obviously cold and shivering.

The warrior raised an eyebrow. “Where are your blankets? It’s too cold out here to sleep without them.”

“I got c-caught in a-an avalanche. I just barely got me and m-my h-horse out alive. I lost e-everything else.”

“Doesn’t the innkeeper have a spare set?”

“I-I lost all my coin,” Corchvorn shivered. “He was n-nice enough to g-give me a c-cup of tea and a space here for the n-night for free. I c-couldn’t ask for m-more.”

Glorfindel sighed and rubbed his aching head. The avalanche would probably account for the limp as well. “Just…don’t wake me up,” the warrior growled.

The young boy nodded and curled in on himself again, head hanging and breath shivering out in puffed mist.

The warrior turned away and found a spot for his blankets. He situated himself, wrapped his covers around him, and faced away from the shivering boy.

He closed his eyes and tried to phase out the sounds behind him.

Glorfindel actually managed to fall asleep for awhile, but the sound of soft moaning woke him. He sat up, shifting the covers off of himself. The air was terribly cold, biting with iron fangs as soon as he shrugged the blankets off.

Corchvorn was where he’d left him, but the boy was rocking back and forth, moaning softly with what had to be pain.

“What’s your problem?” he snarled at the young elf.

A sob was heard, and the boy tried to talk, but he seemed too cold to make out real words.

The warrior hung his head. The last thing he wanted was to help this…this…bastard.

But…it was obvious to the more experienced elf that there was something terribly wrong with the boy and to leave him like this…it would make him a Kin-Slayer if the boy didn’t last the night.

Glorfindel sighed. “Come here, child.”

Big, brown eyes looked up from his pained curl. “W-w-w-what?” he managed to croak.

“Come here, before I have to explain to Elrond why I let you freeze to death.”

Slowly, stiffly the boy uncurled and tried to make his way over to the blond, only to collapse onto the straw with a cry of pain.

Glorfindel stood and went to the boy’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“M-m-my leg. Hurts,” he croaked, shivering terribly.

The warrior felt down both legs quickly and found a bandage wrapped around the boy’s left shin. The pants were in tatters, and it didn’t take much to get them out of the way to unwrap the bandage.

“Sweet Valar, child,” Glorfindel whispered.

A long gash ran from ankle to knee, basically filleting open the side of a pale calf. The edges were darkened, black and showing a rim of frost.

Frostbite.

“Damn,” Glorfindel swore. He wrapped the boy’s leg back up, then grabbed his blankets and bundled Corchvorn into them.

“S-s-so c-c-cold,” the youngster whispered, but the shivers were tapering down into stillness.

Dammit, the boy was going to die of exposure at this rate.

“Can you hold on to my neck while I get us down the ladder?” Glorfindel asked.

The boy nodded, then whimpered as the blond shifted him as close to the ladder as possible. Glorfindel helped Corchvorn into a sitting position and maneuvered so the boy could grip around his shoulders.

It was a horrible, painful crawl down the ladder with the boy crying out softly in pain and obviously trying to stifle it. Once on the floor, Glorfindel grasped the mostly unconscious boy and lifted him in his arms. It was a short walk to the inn, where he kicked the door until the old innkeeper opened it. It was dark inside the tavern, everyone gone for the evening. The only light came from the fire in the hearth that was mostly banked.

“What cannae’ do ya for?”

“I need to get this boy warm,” Glorfindel said urgently. “He’s not doing well.”

The innkeeper nodded, letting the warrior and his burden through the door. The old man scuttled over to the fire and brought it to life, sending warmth throughout the room. Glorfindel lay the boy as close to the fire as he dared and left him mostly wrapped in the blankets, only removing enough to expose the injured limb.

“I need whiskey, clean cloths and a kettle for hot water,” Glorfindel told the innkeeper. “I’m going to leave him here for a moment and get my packs.”

The old man nodded, and Glorfindel made sure the boy wouldn’t roll into the fire before running out the door and back into the stable. He was in the hayloft in moments, grabbing his packs and rushing back to the inn. Two bottles of cheap whiskey were sitting by the boy, a stack of old sheets next to them. On the hearth, a kettle was hung to start heating the water.

“Is there anything else I can do for ye?” the old man asked.

“No, sir. Thank you for your kindness. I promise I will repay you.”

“Nae, milord,” the innkeeper replied. “You do enough for us as it is, what with keepin’ the orcs out and all. I’m just inna room in the back. Come wake me if you need anythin’.”

Glorfindel nodded and started rifling through his packs. He pulled out a slim, leather package and undid the twine holding it together. He unrolled the long piece of leather, exposing dozens of instruments tucked safely into little pockets.

“M-m-milord,” Corchvorn whispered, coming awake.

“Your wound,” Glorfindel said. “It’s frosting over. If I don’t remove the damaged tissue now, you’ll lose the leg.”

“What?” the terrified boy asked.

The older elf picked up one of the bottles of whiskey and popped the cork out of the top. He propped the boy up and placed the glass to his lips and tilted it. Surprised by the action and the taste, Corchvorn coughed heavily and barely swallowed any at all.

“You need to drink this,” the blond said authoritatively. “I don’t want you awake when I fix your leg.” Despite himself, Glorfindel felt his heart twist when the boy started crying. “Just drink, and you won’t feel it.”

The youngster nodded through his tears, opening his mouth and swallowing as fast as he could. The blond managed to get quite a bit down before he finally stopped and eased the boy to the ground. While he waited for the alcohol to take effect, Glorfindel started removing instruments from the pack.

“M-m-m’ scared,” Corchvorn whimpered.

“Warriors are not scared of the cold or mending wounds,” Glorfindel said harshly, looking into Corchvorn’s eyes. The boy was terrified, but Glorfindel wasn’t feeling very generous. “Be quiet and let the alcohol work.”

The child still wasn’t shivering, and that worried Glorfindel almost more than the frosted wound. As the blond started ripping the old sheets apart to make bandages, he heard Corchvorn muttering something that sounded urgent and utterly terrified.

Glorfindel’s hands stilled and tears sprung to his eyes when he realized the boy was crying for his mother.

The warrior shook himself and steeled his heart. He couldn’t do this if he was emotionally invested in the boy, he’d fall apart.

As he finished tearing apart the sheets, Corchvorn finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Glorfindel picked up one of the tiny, sharp knives and held it over the fire long enough to make the metal glow orange. He let the instrument cool and firmly grasped the boy’s leg.

He took a deep breath and began.

*********************

Glorfindel was sewing up the raw, fresh edges of the wound when someone stumbled down the stairs that lead up to the inn’s rooms.

The man squinted in the dim light, then shook his head. “Damn,” the man muttered. “Come down for a drink of water and find a battlefield.” He came over and peered down at the boy wrapped in blankets, lips blue and breathing shallow and labored. “Got a room here tonight?”

Glorfindel shook his head, tying up the thread and starting to wrap the leg. “We were in the hayloft. They boy…wasn’t doing well with his injury.”

The man grunted and fished something out of his pockets. He threw the object down next to Glorfindel, and the blond easily recognized the jingle of keys.

“Take my room,” the man said. “It has a fire place and almost all the firewood I started out with. I’ll go bother my brother to stay with him for the rest of the night. I’ll go up and grab my things do the room’ll be empty when you get there.”

“I…thank you,” Glorfindel nodded. “You need not be so kind.”

“I’d be a right bastard to let a boy that young and sick lay on a cold, stone floor for an entire night,” the man said. “Good luck to ye.”

“Thank you, friend,” Glorfindel said. He motioned for the man to wait a moment and pulled a coin from his pocket. It was a silver, and much more than the cost of the room. He flipped it at the man, who easily caught it.

“You don’t have to-”

“Call it a thanks,” the elf said, “for your troubles.”

The man shook his head with a smile and went to the bar where a jug and a few glasses sat. He poured himself a glass, downed it, and then trudged back upstairs. Glorfindel finished the bandages and slung his packs over his shoulder. Picking up the boy bridal-style, the warrior made his way up the stairs. One of the doors was open, and a fire burned inside. Glorfindel went into the room sideways and lay his burden on the bed.

The elf went to the fire and stoked it as high as he dared. In the bed, the young messenger woke blearily and tried to move.

Glorfindel’s head snapped up, and he moved to the bed to hold the youngster down. “Don’t move, or you’ll open up the stitches I put in your leg.”

“Numb,” the boy managed to whisper through stiff, cold lips.

The blond hung his head. He needed to get the child warm before he died, and the best way to do that was…body heat.

Damn it all to Mordor.

Efficiently, he stripped himself and the boy of their layers of winter traveling clothes. He lay down next to Corchvorn, both of them only wearing loincloths. The warrior pulled the blankets up, including his own, to cover their bodies. He pulled the smaller elf into him and hissed. It felt like cuddling a block of ice.

Corchvorn didn’t say anything, mind too sluggish to comprehend what was happening. It was only when he finally started warming up that his mind registered anything, and that was pain.

“Hurts. Oh, Valar it hurts,” the boy whimpered, starting to shiver against the bigger body.

“I’m sorry, child, but it’s necessary to warm you up,” Glorfindel murmured, holding the smaller body closer.

He’d held Erestor like this, although they’d had more clothes on at the time. Erestor had been much smaller, more delicate against him. Corchvorn was larger than Erestor, but that was hardly difficult. The messenger was lithe, strong. Body beginning to hone and show the true promise of adulthood. He wouldn’t be a powerhouse like Glorfindel, but he’d be a beautiful young elf, to be sure.

…and he shouldn’t be thinking of these things.

The boy started sobbing again. Glorfindel could hear pain, fear, and despair in those choking sounds. “Take it easy, child,” Glorfindel said in a softer voice than he’d used all evening. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

Why was an elf this young doing a message run this dangerous, anyway? He was only barely over the age of majority. Elves this age rarely left the protection of their parents, and, it should have been many years down the road before he went on missions by himself. Corchvorn should have been apprenticed under someone, someone who could have helped him, treated his wounds, made sure he returned home in one piece. Why would they make a child grow up so quickly like-

Blast.

That was why, wasn’t it? Corchvorn had been forced to grow up without any of the handholding a typical elfling received. And who would take him as an apprentice, with such a bad reputation already under his belt? He had to be a husband, a provider, a protector, and he had no idea how to do such things.

The boy was trying to do the right thing, even if it meant being scared and hurt far from home.

Glorfindel was also certain Corchvorn would never let Erestor see this kind of weakness. Erestor was already so damaged, the last thing he needed was to think Corchvorn, his one constant, was failing.

The bigger elf felt something inside of him twist and writhe, sick at the thought of…of…an elfling being thrown to the wolves, as it were. Even if that elfling was Corchvorn.

“It’s alright, young one,” Glorfindel whispered, stroking the matted, chocolate brown hair. The child cried harder, shivering uncontrollably as his body warmed.

It was hours before Corchvorn finally stopped shivering, and lay limp and exhausted in Glorfindel’s arms. The small, high window was light with the breaking of dawn. Neither elf was asleep; Glorfindel with too much weighting on his mind, and Corchvorn from pain and sickness.

“If you came for him, I’d give him to you,” Corchvorn whispered, quite suddenly, into Glorfindel’s chest.

“I’m sorry?” Glorfindel said, confused.

“If you came for him, I’d give him to you,” the boy repeated, and Glorfindel finally realized what he was saying.

Erestor.

“You would give your husband to another? You would forsake your soul in such a way?”

“If it makes him happy, I would gladly die for him,” Corchvorn whispered.

Glorfindel had nary a doubt the boy was telling the truth.

“There will be no dying, not while I have anything to say about it,” the blond said gruffly.

“He loves you,” Corchvorn whispered sadly. “I wish…I wish I would have died long ago and never met him. Then, I would have never been able to hurt him.”

The blond shook his head and tilted the flushed, fevered face of the sick boy to look into his own. “Never say that. There is no honor in wishing yourself dead.”

“I hurt you. I hurt him, and I-” he sobbed again. “I deserve to die. You should have left me in the cold.”

“Then who would be there for Erestor?” Glorfindel growled, shaking the smaller body. “You would leave him so easily? You would cause him more pain than he has already suffered?”

The young elf fell apart, small cries erupting from his lungs that were no less anguished for their lack of volume. “I just want him to be happy,” Corchvorn managed to strangle out through his tears. “That’s all I ever wanted. I don’t know what to do. I can’t…I don’t know…I’m so lost,” he wept brokenly.

And I am no little part of that, Glorfindel thought angrily. I have ruined not just one life with my petty jealousy, but two.

To Corchvorn, he said, “I know you are lost, little one, but I’m here, and I’ll guide you home.”

TBC…