A Bundle of Joy by Elrond's Library  

The grand fortress rose up on the banks of the great lake, with its water of black glass, still and calm, reflecting not her own emotions in the slightest. Haleth slipped into the crowd going to market, dismounting to make herself smaller, to blend in. She did not want to call attention to herself, to this place’s Lord, and the bundle she carried. Not yet. 

Thargelion spread out in spokes surrounding the fortress. Farmland with fields of swaying grain was surrounded by lush pasturage filled with hardy sheep and goats and the occasional horse. She followed a cart full of vegetables, cabbage and carrots mostly, her horse lipping at her cloak, begging like a dog denied scraps from the table. The land was green, the sun bright, the people well-fed and cheery. Scraps of song lifted on the wind, caught and torn away in jagged refrain as they walked. None commented on her appearance in their group, which said more about the safety of Thargelion’s lands than any standing army could. 

Haleth continued climbing when the market-goers stopped, the fortress walls enveloping the light and turning all into deep shadow. With no small amount of trepidation, she presented her letter, with the Lord’s seal broken but legible, the eight points of his father’s star surrounded by waves. The Elven guard read the letter, smiled kindly, and brought her to another, the keep’s Elven senechal, who also read her letter, smiled a little tiredly, and passed her to an Edain page-boy, who finally, finally led her to a room she could stay in. 

All her dealings with Lord Caranthir had been on the dusty plains, in the miasma of the stinking rot of a slow-moving river and a hundred putrefying bodies in the hot autumn sun. He had invited her back to the fortress by the lake, but she had refused. It was not done, to leave the bodies of her people until the season had passed and the next, to send the spirits of the dead off properly at midwinter. Still he had persisted, and still she refused, in her pride and arrogance, his lands and his support. 

But not his company in her bed, she laughed ruefully, as she surveyed the guest room she had been placed. A large bed covered with a quilt, a cacophony of color, worn but in good condition. A simple writing desk with the tools to write. A chest for her clothes, with sachets of lavender and sandalwood already bundled in the corner. A glass window to let in the light. 

She unpacked, washed her face, felt grateful that her little bundle was still asleep. He was still so small, and that concerned her enough to come back, to find the child’s father. If she had her way, he’d never know about her son. She had learned the way Elves married, she did not wish to be tied to him, or him to her. She knew she was a fleeting thing in his long life, and she had her pride. 

A quiet knock on her door heralded company. Erestor squirmed in his blankets, slowly waking. Haleth cracked the door open.

She had somehow forgotten how much taller Caranthir was than her, as if that wasn’t one of the reasons she had taken him to her bed. She took a step back to meet his eyes properly. He looked good: his hair neat and washed and braided, his fingers adorned with rings, his clothes clean and comfortable. This was not the dusty, blood-splattered arrogant princeling she had met on the plains, this was a proper Lord. He bowed, one hand to his breast in the way of his people. 

“Welcome to Helevorn, Lady Haleth of the Haladin,” he said politely, a trace of a smile on his face as he rose. “To what do I owe–”

Erestor made himself known then, a wail that demanded all attention and an end to polite conversation. Caranthir’s eyebrows jumped into his hairline, which made Haleth laugh. “Come in, Lord Caranthir,” she said as she turned into the room. She settled her son against her chest, bouncing lightly to soothe him. He quieted fairly, wails turning to gurgles of contentment.

Caranthir sat at the desk chair, unable to take his eyes off little Erestor. 

Haleth sat on the edge of the bed, a spate of nerves coursing through her. Somehow she kept her voice steady. “Caranthir, I’d like you to meet Erestor … our son.” 

Caranthir blinked. “Our?”

Haleth wordlessly took off the nalbound hat to reveal his glossy black hair and the pointed tips of Erestor’s ears. Caranthir stared, started to reach out, but let his hand drop before Haleth could respond.

She sighed. “My pregnancy was longer than is typical for my people. He is just over a year old, but he does not grow the same, he has stayed small. I–I wondered, I hoped that …” She shuddered through a large exhale. “I hoped you knew, might know, of others. If this was normal. What his fate might be, that of the First- or Secondborn.”

He shook his head. “I know of no others, no other peredhil. He might have either fate, or … he may live for many centuries, but still age and die as the Secondborn do. I know not.” He seemed to sag in his chair. “How is this even possible?” 

Haleth snorted. “We had sex, Caranthir. It happens.”

“Did–did you want a child?” He flushed, cheeks red with embarrassment. “I … intention matters, to the Eldar. I did not, was not–”

Haleth rolled her eyes. “Not particularly, to be perfectly honest. Edain women, we don’t have as much control over this as it seems the Eldar do. But Erestor … he’s a gem, and I’m glad to have him.” She brought Erestor down to her knees, smiling at her child as he giggled, waving small fists in the air now that his blanket was loose. “I don’t regret that night. I don’t regret him.” 

Caranthir nodded. He sat next to her on the bed, looking down at his son. Haleth shot him a glance; his face was soft, open, happy. Erestor did that to people, made them fall in love easily. Haleth knew Caranthir was already gone. 

“Would you like to hold him?”

He nodded, and she transferred her son, their son, into his arms. He held Erestor with practiced ease. Erestor stared up into Caranthir’s grey eyes that matched his own, laughing. He reached out and grabbed at one of Caranthir’s braids, tugging hard. Caranthir just sighed, extricating his braid from Erestor’s grip, flipping the rest over his shoulders where they would hopefully be safe from wandering hands.

“When my senechal told me you had arrived, this was the last thing I expected,” he said with a soft smile. Softness looked good on him. “He’s perfect. Thank you for letting me meet him.”

Haleth nodded. “Of course.” She sighed. “We will need to return to Brethil eventually.”

“How soon?” Oh, she caught the edge of longing in his voice, despite the air of nonchalance he pulled around himself.

“Spring. We can stay the winter, if you’ll have us.”

Caranthir sighed. “Please.”

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