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Published:
2022-03-05
Completed:
2022-03-06
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1,969
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2/2
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Claiming a Family

Summary:

Five times Celebrimbor can’t get rid of Elrond fast enough,

Plus one time he can’t get to him fast enough.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“You lost something,” said Celebrimbor. 

He didn’t look at all sorry as he shoved Gil-Galad’s herald at him. For his part, the Herald didn’t look very apologetic either. 

Celebrimbor didn’t wait for the king to say anything, just turned on his heel and stomped back through the camp, no doubt back to the forge. 

Gil-Galad sighed. “Please, Elros-

“Elrond,” the youth corrected.

“Elrond, leave him alone.” It wasn’t the first time Elrond had attempted to befriend the prickly smith, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.

“He likes me,” said the clever half-elf. “He just won’t admit it.” 

“You cannot force him to admit his fondness by forcing your presence upon him.” 

Too-large, too-knowledgeable eyes gleamed back at him. “Kanafinwë says I can do anything.” 

The next time, Celebrimbor didn’t bring Elrond back himself, just sent the half-elf with a letter explaining that the king needed to keep a better eye on him. 

Gil-Galad was just surprised he’d agreed to take the letter, but Elrond answered his unspoken question by saying, “He said if I didn’t bring it to you and leave him alone, he’d take his belt to me.” 

The king nodded, not entirely surprised, tapping the smith’s letter on his desk and debating telling Celebrimbor to just get it over with. 

“Do you think he would?” Elrond asked.

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Whip me,” his herald explained, his hands twitching nervously. 

Gil-Galad snorted. “Yes,” he said with a grin. 

“Damn.” 

“Language, Elrond.” 

Apparently Celebrimbor carried through on his threat, which was more than anyone else had done to Elrond. 

He seemed a bit put out when Gil-Galad stumbled across him, sprawled on his stomach and sulking not far from the forge. 

The king raised an eyebrow as he approached, holding out his hand to help Elrond to his feet. The herald winced as he stood, and Gil-Galad snorted. Elrond scowled and rubbed his sore backside.

“I warned you,” the king remarked. “Celebrimbor warned you as well.” 

“He didn’t have to hit so hard,” the half-elf grumbled. 

Gil-Galad grinned, resisting the urge to point out that Celebrimbor must have gone easy on him if he was walking so easily. “Nothing else would have gotten through your thick skin.” 

“You’re the King,” said Elrond grumpily. “You could order him to be kinder to me.” 

“I could,” agreed Gil-Galad, giving him a soft swat on his sore bottom to get him moving away from the forge. “But I won’t.” 

Elrond scowled. 

“He wouldn’t listen, even if I did.” 

“You could outlaw hitting children.” 

Gil-Galad snorted and tapped Elrond’s nose affectionately. “Just because you act like a petulant child, doesn’t mean you are one.” 

“You could make Heralds a protected class,” Elrond offered. “Everyone has met Eönwë, they would understand why you did it.” 

Gil-Galad laughed, wrapping his arm around Elrond’s shoulder. “Come Peredhel,” he said. “Let us find something useful to occupy that mind of yours.” 

“I’m fine!” 

“You’re bleeding!” 

Gil-Galad pinched his nose and wondered if he actually had to intervene.

“That’s what the damn healers are for.” 

Finally he opted to at least see what was happening, and stepped around the tent, watching as Elrond hurried alongside Celebrimbor. 

“I can stitch it-“ he began, reaching for Celebrimbor’s arm. 

“No!” cried the smith, pulling his arm away. Even at a distance, the king could see a hastily wrapped bandage, and the worry on Elrond’s face. 

Clearly Celebrimbor could see the worry as well, and - despite what he liked to pretend - he wasn’t entirely heartless. “You can escort me to the healer’s tent and then fuck off, you understand?” 

“I-“ 

Celebrimbor’s question was blunt. “Yes or no?” 

“…. Yes?” 

Deciding they weren’t liable to wind up in fisticuffs, Gil-Galad slipped away, heading back to the command tent where his presence would no doubt have been missed. 

It was raining. 

Celebrimbor had Elrond so tightly by the collar of his shirt that the youth didn’t seem to be able to breathe. Gil-Galad rushed to his side, pulling Elrond away from the smith and under his own cloak to keep him dry. 

Elrond coughed, struggling to breathe even as Gil-Galad rubbed his throat. 

Celebrimbor was shaking, seeming oddly scared. “Keep him out of my forge,” he said to Gil-Galad, his eyes wild. 

“What-“ he began, but Celebrimbor didn’t seem to be in the mood for chat, turning on his heel and vanishing into the rain. 

Gil-Galad glanced down at his friend, and patted his back. “Come now,” he said, guiding him toward his tent. “We don’t need to provide a spectacle.” 

They had, already, but Elrond was polite enough not to point that out, leaning on Gil-Galad as the king guided him inside and to a chair. 

“What happened?” He’d never seen Celebrimbor so rattled, nor Elrond so upset. 

“I went to check on his arm,” Elrond admitted. “It- it needed stitches after an accident last week-“ 

“I know.” 

He swallowed, rubbing his sore throat. “He wasn’t there, but I was going to wait-” 

Already Gil-Galad could see where it was going. “What did you touch?”

“I don’t know,” Elrond admitted. “It was glowing, so I bent to inspect it.” 

“And?” 

Elrond shook his head. “I just remember a lot of shouting. Then a few threats. The next I remember we were nearly to you.” 

Whatever Elrond had been messing with had clearly been dangerous then, if Celebrimbor had reacted so violently. It was a small miracle he hadn’t beaten the herald again. 

“He likes me,” Elrond whispered, as though trying to convince himself. 

Gil-Galad sighed, bringing him a glass of wine. “He cares about you,” the king said. “Which is why he wishes for you to stay away from him.” 

Elrond sipped his drink. “But-“ 

“Celebrimbor has… he has not always been welcomed by those who fled Doriath and Sirion.” 

“But he didn’t-“ 

“You know that, and I know that, and deep down, Celebrimbor knows that. But that does not change what has been done to him.” 

He patted Elrond’s shoulder. “He does not want that life for you.” 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Gil-Galad’s escort came back, missing several riders and even more horses. 

The king himself himself was barely conscious in his saddle as Cirdan and Celebrimbor ran to help him down. “Elrond,” he said rasped. “Elrond is gone.” 

Celebrimbor froze. 

Cirdan remained as calm as ever, promising, “We will send someone-“ 

“No time.” Celebrimbor shoved Gil-Galad at the shipwright, then swung himself up onto the king’s horse.

“What are you doing?” Cirdan demanded. 

“Getting Elrond back,” he growled. 

Several members of the king’s guard looked about uneasily, as though wondering they should intervene in such a blatant display of disrespect. 

“You cannot-“ 

“We don’t have time to wait,” he said, yanking with more force than he needed on the horse’s reins to turn it around. 

“Celebrimbor!” 

“Arrest me for desertion then,” the smith snarled. “So long as you wait until I’ve brought him back.” 

With that he was gone, digging his heels into the horse’s side and taking off into the dark. Cirdan swore, leaving Gil-Galad in the care of the healers and running to find soldiers to hunt down both the smith and the herald. 

Hours passed.

Gil-Galad was soon able to sit up on his own, but all he could truly do was watch as Cirdan paced worriedly. 

“They will be alright,” Cirdan said, mostly to himself. He stopped his pacing, staring instead at the brazier in the center of the tent. 

“I do not even know where he is,” Gil-Galad said softly. “They ambushed us, we fled. One moment he was beside me-“ he shook his head. “Then I look back, and he is gone.” 

“Celebrimbor will find him,” the shipwright said quietly. “There are few who can track like him, even if he will not admit it.” 

“What if he does not?” demanded the king. “What if he brings back a body?” 

Cirdan closed his eyes, “I will handle his brother.” 

“And who will handle the Feanorians?” 

Cirdan only sighed and sank to sit on a box. “I will,” he said wearily. “Maglor has always… I can reason with him.” 

“I said that I would defend them with my life.” 

“You cannot be faulted for an accident in war.” 

He felt as though he could. Gil-Galad leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

A disturbance outside had him on his feet in an instant. 

Cirdan didn’t even try to convince him to rest, he helped Gil-Galad to the door, holding most of the king’s weight as they stepped outside into a scene of chaos. 

The horse was soaked with sweat and frothing at the mouth from the hard run. Celebrimbor had blood on his cheek, one hand holding the reins, the other wrapped around the limp form in front of him. 

He didn’t even wait for someone to grab his horse, just vaulted from the saddle, then turned back to pull Elrond down. 

The herald didn’t move as Celebrimbor moved him. His eyes were open, but they stared unseeing into the sky. For a long moment, Gil-Galad feared he was dead. He couldn’t move forward, his feet no longer obeying him as cold dread spread through his body. 

Then Elrond coughed, and Celebrimbor rocked him with surprising gentleness. 

“I passed your rescue party some miles back,” he said, once Elrond had settled. “They will return soon, I imagine. I didn’t bother to ask.” 

Cirdan only nodded. A healer reached for Elrond, but was ignored as Celebrimbor carried him to the healer’s tent himself. 

“Are you going to arrest me?” The smith taunted as he passed Cirdan. 

He sighed, shaking his head and helping Gil-Galad back inside, carefully depositing him in a seat as the healers rushed to check on the Peredhel. 

Celebrimbor seemed unwilling to let go of his precious cargo, his arms locked around Elrond even as the healers tried to pull him away. 

“He’s hurt,” he was saying. “His horse threw him down a ravine.” 

Gil-Galad tried to push himself up, planning to intervene, but Cirdan beat him to it. The shipwright swooped in, easily pulling Elrond from Celebrimbor’s arms, thanking the smith for his bravery as he did so. 

Celebrimbor didn’t seem to notice the compliments, too busy watching as the healers descended on Elrond. 

Then Cirdan tugged Celebrimbor away gently, leading him to where Gil-Galad was sitting with his leg propped up. “What happened?” the king asked.

“Dosed him with vodka,” grunted Celebrimbor, as if to explain Elrond’s disoriented state. 

“What did you put in the vodka?” Cirdan asked. 

“Herbs.” It was all the explanation he seemed willing to give. He took a deep breath, rubbing his face and muttering, “Had to stop the screaming.”

“Where he was he?” asked Gil-Galad. He didn’t care what Celebrimbor had given him, he needed to know what had happened to his friend. 

He grit his teeth. “I found the remains of his horse long before I found him,” he said. “The orcs had finished it off, and were looking for the rider. I was able to follow the blood trail back to where he’d been thrown.” 

“Orcs can follow a blood trail as well,” said Cirdan quietly. 

Silver eyes turned on the shipwright, gleaming with malice. “Not if they’re dead,” the smith said softly. 

“A fair assessment,” remarked Cirdan. 

“He hit his head in the fall,” Celebrimbor continued. “Thought I was my uncle when I found him.” 

Gil-Galad winced. He couldn’t imagine that had gone over well for either involved. 

“Is he going to live?” the smith barked at the healers. 

“He needs rest,” one of them replied. 

“But he won’t die?” 

“No,” she promised. 

Apparently content, Celebrimbor grunted, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back. 

“You’re never going to get rid of him now, you know,” Gil-Galad teased. 

Celebrimbor glared at him.