Welcome to Arc 3. This arc contains all the remaining old chapters as well as entirely new content near the beginning and at the end. Arc 4 will be entirely new content, and as such will take me a while to write.

Arasion's body feels distant and floaty as warm hands gently stroke over his head. At each place they pause, pain flares in vague pinpricks before fading into a dull ache. Arasion groans and tries to squirm away as the fingertips probe at an especially sensitive spot just below his hairline.

A deep voice chuckles. "Be still, my dear one. I am repairing the damage to your head."

He's dreaming again, but that's not Irmo's voice. He forces his eyes open, squinting against the pale blue light above his head. He's lying in someone's lap. The lean over him, blocking the glare, and their face comes into focus after a few more seconds of blinking.

"Námo?" the child croaks. He's not quite sure how he recognizes the Vala. Despite the fact that he and Irmo are brothers, they look nothing alike. Where Irmo has deep brown skin and hair and bright purple eyes, Námo has pale golden skin, pale hair, and eyes that look like two discs of liquid silver. The one thing they do have in common is the bright, colorful paint that adorns their faces, though in different patterns.

Námo smiles. "Correct, Calasain," says he, and turns his attention back to the boy's head. "You managed to get yourself halfway to my Halls with that stunt."

"Stunt…?" Arasion blinks as he remembers the last thing that happened before he woke up here. Immediately, his face flushes crimson with embarrassment. "Oh Merlin, I tripped?" he squawks, hiding his face in his hands. Another flare of pain makes him flinch.

"That you did," says Námo in a tone that poorly conceals his amusement. "Please don't do it quite so spectacularly next time."

"Wait, did I die?" Arasion asks in horror, peering through his fingers to see Námo's reaction.

Námo smooths his hand over Arasion's head one more time, inspecting his handiwork. "No, not quite, but you came close enough to give us quite the scare."

With the Vala's help, Arasion sits upright so they can properly converse. "Oh. Um… sorry?" he tries.

"Perhaps now you might learn to stop running away?" Námo suggests, arching a pale eyebrow.

Arasion scrunches his nose. "Oh, ugh, the elves have me now, don't they?"

"It was inevitable, little one. Though, I confess, I did not foresee it ending in such a way." Then he grins the grin of an older brother who has won a bet against his younger brother. "Of course, neither did Irmo."

The elfling squints up at him. "Aren't you supposed to be the grim one?"

Námo laughs outright at this, and in that moment bears a striking resemblance to his brother. "According to whom, Calasain? The Noldor, to whom I spoke little but Doom and suffering? Mortals, who fear death and me by proxy?"

"Oh." Arasion considers this for a second as Námo readjusts him so that he's lying comfortably in the curve of his arm. "Fair point, I suppose."

He sighs and sags into Námo's side, turning and pressing his face against his soft robes. Several long, peaceful moments pass in silence as Arasion considers his predicament. Námo seems equally content as he combs his fingers through the elfling's wild black locks.

When Arasion speaks again, his voice is small and half-muffled."I don't want to stop exploring yet."

"I know, little one," Námo says, gently cupping the side of Arasion's head. "But it may, perhaps, be time to face your fears."

Arasion curls farther into the Vala's side and refuses to answer.

He moves seamlessly from dreams to the waking world, though his head aches considerably in the latter. Warm arms, much smaller than Irmo's or Námo's, cradle him securely against a soft and distinctly female chest. She's singing, her sweet voice low and lulling.

"Lullay, lullay, my darling dreamer. Where do you go, on feet so small? What do you see with eyes so big? My dearest one, my darling child, you walk the Path of Dreams. Let my voice guide you home when the dawn draws near."

Arasion makes a displeased noise as she shifts him and makes his headache spike briefly. Didn't Námo fix this? he wonders briefly. Maybe he meant mental damage. Can't you lose memories if you get a concussion?

"Little one?" his holder asks, breaking off from her lullaby. "Are you awake?"

"No," Arasion grumbles, breathing through the pain.

She laughs, startled and amused by his answer. "Of course, of course," she says. "Are you in pain?" Arasion makes another displeased sound as she leans down and lays him on a bed. The change in elevation makes his temples pound unpleasantly. "Shh, shh," she soothes, brushing her fingers over his forehead.

She moves away and he finally risks opening his eyes. Luckily, the light is soft and doesn't cause him any pain, though the room spins a bit before him. His holder returns a second later, a small cup in hand, and Arasion realizes that she's the same elf that he saw in the temple-room. Barades, he recalls.

She beams when she sees his eyes open. "Here, drink this," she says, sliding a hand behind his back to help him sit up and gently pressing the rim of the cup to his lips. The liquid within smells strongly herbal, and after a second's hesitation, he drinks. To his surprise, it tastes sweet and minty.

"Good boy," Barades coos when he finishes, and Arasion shoots her an annoyed look.

"I'm not a dog," he says reproachfully, moving away when she tries to pick him up again. The pounding in his head slowly begins to fade.

Barades is surprised, then concerned. She sits down on the edge of the bed and stops trying to manhandle him, which is a relief. "Oh, little one, no, I did not mean that! Forgive me."

He squints at her for a second, mulling over all the potential questions he could ask. "Who are you?"

"My name is Barades," she says. Then, teasingly, "who are you?"

"Arasion. That ellon, he was looking for me. Why?" Might as well find out how they got word.

Barades's expression becomes assessing, then pensive. "My family is independent, and we wander often. By grace, we had just passed through the Eryn Galen on our way back here. The scouts gave urgent news that you were wandering alone, with only a white owl as company, Arasion." She smiles, though her eyes are concerned. "You gave my husband quite the scare."

"I gave myself quite the scare," he mumbles, rubbing gingerly at the tender spot on his temple.

"Don't aggravate your wound, little one," she clucks, reaching out and catching his hand. "You are fortunate Lord Durin was visiting, or the healers on hand would not have been nearly as skilled." She smooths his hair away from his face. He allows it, since it is getting quite unruly. "Tell me, where are your ada and nana, Arasion? They must be quite worried."

He hesitates, looking down at his fingers. One one hand, his original parents are very much dead. On the other, he's been more-or-less adopted by the Valar, at least until he chooses a family...and maybe even after. On the other-other hand, he's like the firstborn Firstborn and he doesn't actually have parents, except Eru Ilúvatar. "They're far away," he says eventually. "Far away in the West."

"Oh." Barades's coo is soft and full of sorrow. "Oh, I am so sorry, little one."

He sighs and changes topics. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Well—" she stops, suddenly confused. "Well, I suppose we shall take you somewhere safe," she says slowly, playing with the empty cup in her hands. "Lord Elrond is the closest we have to a true Lord… but he is so far away." She frowns thoughtfully, as if she had yet to consider the problem.

Seems like a bit of an oversight, he thinks wryly. Then again, I suppose they were rather focused on me almost killing myself.

Barades continues speaking, though it's clear to Arasion that she is speaking to herself and not him. "I suppose we could go to Eryn Galen and request an escort… but Thranduil would persuade us to stay, if only long enough for word to spread, and that would likely initiate another conflict between the realms…and going to Lothlórien first would create a similar problem, intentional or not." She glances at Arasion, her eyes full of worry. "Oh, but Imladris is so far away, and the journey so perilous for such a little one!"

Arasion can't help but grin. "I got this far on my own," he points out. She pales a bit at this, realizing for the first time exactly what kind of peril he had been in.

"And by Grace you survived," she says fretfully, reaching out and lifting him onto her lap. He sighs deeply but doesn't put up a fight—he'll save that for later. The elleth wraps her arms tightly around him and settles her chin on top of his head. "Praise the Valar."

Lady, you have no idea, he thinks.

Unexpectedly, the curtains over the doorway are drawn aside by the ellon that chased him earlier. Arasion finally gets a good look at him. His hair, unlike his wife's, is a deep silver and his eyes are a dark greenish-blue that light up upon seeing Arasion awake.

"Little one, you are alright!" he exclaims in relief.

"I told you Arasion was a strong one, Cabedon," Barades scolds lightly.

Cabedon's eyes soften with amusement. "Of course, wife, how could I doubt you," he drawls. Barades laughs, and Arasion gets the distinct feeling that he's missing some kind of joke.

"His parents are gone to the West," she informs Cabedon. "I was just considering where we could take him."

"Not Eryn Galen," Cabedon says immediately, alarm flashing briefly across his angular features. He comes over to the bed and sits down next to Barades, reaching out and absently stroking Arasion's cheek. "Nor Lóthlorien, I think."

"No," she agrees. "But the logistics…"

The conversation descends into a long back-and-forth over their supplies, then their travelling party, then politics. The elleth's chest is warm against his back, and the weight of her arms around him is soothing. Arasion begins to drift off, his eyelids sliding closed. In his half-dozing state, the absent-minded pats he gets from the elves even feel kinda...nice. Comforting, almost. The last thing he hears is Cabedon suggesting they ask for a dwarven escort before he falls asleep completely.

He wakes warm and comfortable and alone. With a sigh, he rolls back over and pulls the blanket up to his chin, intent on going back to sleep.

Alone.

He bolts upright, completely alert in a sudden jolt. Now's my chance! He scrambles up, quiet as he can, toward where his pack sits on a nearby chair. He finds it intact, but his cloak is nowhere to be seen. Even after thoroughly searching the room, it doesn't turn up. Merlin-damned elves, he thinks, grimacing and glancing at the curtains. They must have taken it.

A frisson of guilt shivers down his spine as he shoulders the pack. He hesitates, thinking about Námo's admonishment again, but...he really doesn't want to face the inevitable quite yet. Surely it won't be so bad if he goes on alone a little longer? It's not like Barades and Cabedon have even known him longer than a day. It will be fine.

The little elfling pushes through the curtains, peeking out to see a sparsely-furnished sitting room. When no elves jump out to bundle him back into bed, he sneaks into the room. There's one other curtained-off doorway and when he pushes cautiously through it he finds a bedroom nearly identical to his. He searches through it as quickly as he dares, but the cloak isn't there either. Scowling, he returns to the sitting room and searches it as well. When this still doesn't turn up his cloak, he reluctantly heads for the only physical door in the room.

The door handle is set strangely low, though he supposes that makes sense in a Dwarven colony. He's just grateful that he doesn't have to strain to reach it. With aching slowness, he pushes open the door and peers out of the crack. In one direction, a hallway lined with dwarven lanterns goes on for a few yards before turning right abruptly. The other direction is hidden from his sight by the door. He can't hear anyone, so he squeezes out and quietly closes the door behind himself.

The other direction turns out to be a dead-end, so he pads quietly off towards the right-hand turn. He's barely made it around the corner when he hears a dwarf approach. Merlin dammit, he curses, scrambling for cover. The only thing within range is a stack of boxes and a barrel. Frustratingly, the barrel is sealed tight. He doesn't dare try to push it to make a hiding space, lest it grate loudly across the floor and give him away, and he doesn't have time to pull out his wand. Gritting his teeth, he folds himself into as small a space as possible and presses against the side of the barrel. If he's lucky, the shadows and his dark clothing will serve well enough as camouflage that the dwarf will simply walk right past.

The footsteps grow louder and louder. He doesn't dare to even breathe as they get close enough for him to feel the stone vibrate. Don't notice me, he thinks hard, scrunching his eyes closed. Don't notice me. The steps pass right in front of him, and then….

They stop.

FUCK, he curses, thinking furiously of Námo. Sabotage!

"Well hello there," says a familiar voice. It's the dwarf lady who was with Barades earlier. He refuses to look up.

Go away, he thinks, holding absolutely still. It's a ridiculous impulse, but he's feeling spiteful.

The dwarf laughs. "I can see you, little one."

"No you can't," he grumbles. "I'm invisible." I should be invisible but someone stole my cloak.

"Alright, invisible little man," she says, smile clear in her voice. Her voice is closer when she speaks again, as if she has knelt to be closer to his height. "What are you doing out here? Even invisible little ones should be resting after taking such a nasty knock to the noggin." Very, very gently, she taps her knuckles against his temple.

He opens his eyes to glare at her. They stare at each other wordlessly until her expression melts into something uncomfortably tender. "I see," she says. "Running away again, were we?"

Clearly the elves filled her in on his shenanigans. His lips purse at the question. "You have to have something to run away from to be running away," he says stubbornly. Because really, these elves have no claim on him. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

The dwarf—Liz, he thinks, or perhaps Lis—simply holds his gaze for another long moment. The set of her lips becomes sad. "What happened to you, little Arasion," she murmurs, reaching out to brush a lock of his wild hair away from his face.

He deflates like a balloon and finds that he can no longer meet her eyes. "Dunno," he mumbles, feeling defeated. "Lots of things."

"I can see that." She takes his hand and tugs him to his feet. He goes, a reluctant sagging weight. Mercifully, she neither says anything nor picks him up into her arms. She merely leads him back to the room and watches as he drops his pack and slumps back into bed. After a while of him lying like a sad, dead fish, he hears the curtain across the doorway swish closed. What he does not hear is the door to the front room open or close.

With a sigh, he burrows under the covers and makes himself comfortable again.

Valar 1, Arasion 0.

"Arasion…"

The elfling in question groans as the voice draws him from sleep, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over his head. "Go away," he grumbles.

The voice laughs, coaxing him a little more toward consciousness. "Come now, little one. The sun is rising while you're still abed!" He finally recognizes the voice as Barades and rolls back over, blinking hazily at her from beneath his warm, sheltering blanket. She sits on the edge of the cot, smiling and amused. "We have much to do today, Arasion," she continues. "But first we must get you bathed and dressed. Breakfast is waiting."

Bathed? Arasion doesn't like the sound of that. He shoots up, alarmed, and blurts out "I can wash myself! Alone!"

Barades looks taken aback. "Ah… alright, if you so wish," she says in a tone that clearly implies his reaction is not normal for an elf his age. Or maybe just anyone in general. He winces a bit at his misstep, but doesn't take it back.

"Good," he says, preemptively rolling off the bed and standing. He holds a single hand out for her to take so that she won't be tempted to pick him up. Her confusion melts into sad concern, but nonetheless she stands and takes his proffered hand, leading him over to a small side room with a tub set in the stone floor.

Barades flips a lever and Arasion is both awed and delighted as hot water pours from a spigot into the bowl. Indoor plumbing! he thinks, then feels a twinge of guilt. Well, I suppose it was rather condescending of me to assume that no one here had indoor plumbing. Barades bustles about the small room, gathering little jars and setting them near the tub as it slowly fills with steaming water. Finally, she sets down a folded towel and kneels in front of Arasion.

"I am going to wait right outside, little one," she says, watching his face closely, "just in case you need help."

"I won't," he insists. This is one point that he is not going to compromise on. "I'll be quick."

Barades's lips quirk slightly and she pats his cheek once before standing and leaving. As soon as the curtains close he strips off his clothes as fast as possible. Less time for her to change her mind, he reasons, barely restraining himself from literally diving into the large tub. He has to stand on the shallow inner rim to wash himself—the tub runs so deep that he'd be treading water in the middle.

Arasion is squeaky clean in less than five minutes. It's only when he hauls himself out, dripping, that he realizes he has no clean clothing. "Knew I shoulda' learned that laundry charm sooner," he grumbles as he briskly towels himself dry. He bites his lip, debating with himself, then sighs in defeat and trudges over to the curtained doorway, trailing the towel like an oversized cloak.

"Hey, um, Barades?" he asks. The elleth startles, eyes widening as she sees his damp, tousled hair and squeaky-clean face. Arasion continues before she can comment: "can you get my pack? My clean clothes are in there."

"Oh, yes!" she says, looking embarrassed that she didn't anticipate the problem. She stands from where she had been kneeling and disappears out the door, returning a moment later with his pack in one hand.

"Thanks," he says, taking it and disappearing before she can offer to 'help.' He rummages around for a while, looking for some of his less conspicuous outfits, and settles on a deep red tunic—a real tunic, not a shirt—and dark dragonhide pants. He puts his dueller's gloves and boots back on as well, then fastens the Cloak and slings his pack onto his shoulder.

Barades makes an amused sound when he walks out. "Arasion, you needn't be quite so formal for breakfast."

He glances down at himself. "Why not? Aren't I going to meet more people?" Because that is what he assumed, that Barades and Cabedon would use the lure of food to introduce him to more strangers. It seems like exactly the thing an adult would do to get a skittish child to stay in one place.

He has taken Barades by surprise a little too often, it seems. Her expression twitches toward shock for only a moment before turning flat. "You are very smart, Arasion," is what she says, though he hears you are entirely too smart for your own good.

He hides a grin beneath his shaggy black hair and wonders if this is what it's like to be Hermione.

"You will not need your pack, at least," she says, taking it from his shoulder and setting it on the cot. Then, with a sigh, she sweeps him up onto her hip.

This time, he protests. "I can walk!" he says, kicking slightly. "See? I even have boots on!"

"I will carry you for now," she says implacably as they leave the room. "You are still recovering, and—" she glances down, eyes sparkling with humor "—the floors here can sometimes be... hazardous."

Arasion gapes. A tiny, shit-eating grin tugs at the corner of Barades's mouth, and he can't help it: he laughs. His startled chuckles quickly turn to full-on howls when she laughs with him. "Oh, that's—that's not fair!" he gasps out.

"What's unfair, little one?" asks Cabedon, appearing from nowhere to playfully steal him from Barades's arms. He lifts the elfling high above his head, grinning when Arasion makes a surprised noise (that is absolutely not a squeak, thank you very much).

"She's being mean!" he answers with a mock pout, caught up in the moment. "Make her stop!"

Cabedon tucks Arasion into his side, turning and offering Barades a stern look that's utterly ruined by the tight press of his lips and the twitching corner of his mouth. "Dear wife, are you bullying the little one?"

She sighs dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. "Oh, woe! My sins are revealed!" She sweeps forward and drops dramatically to a knee, taking one of Arasion's little hands in her own, and looks soulfully upwards. "My dearest, forgive my trespasses against you!" she begs with deadly seriousness, as if the elfling isn't currently giggling madly into his other hand.

"Nay," he manages to get out between laughs. "I cannot forgive such grievous sins!" Barades collapsed backward dramatically, wailing, and Cabedon also dissolves into helpless laughter.

At that moment, Lis, rounds the corner, catching his attention. Her eyebrows rise as she looks at Barades, still sprawled dramatically on the floor, and Cabedon, clutching his side and Arasion as he laughs. "I seem to have missed the excitement," she says dryly.

"Oh, Lis!" Barades says, quickly scrambling upright. Her face flushes bright pink. "We were just...ah…"

"Playing?" Lis suggests with an indulgent twist to her lips. "You're missing breakfast."

"Naturally. Ahem, my apologies." Barades's blush deepens as she smooths her hair back into order. "Lead the way."

But Lis's smile widens and she turns her gaze to Arasion. "Are you not going to introduce us, my friend?" she asks, meeting his eyes. He blinks back at her. Did she not tell them of his attempt to abscond earlier?

Cabedon cuts in, saving his wife as her cheeks darken further, nearly tomato-red at this point. "Arasion," he says, looking down, "this is Lis, governor of Erebor. Lis, this is Arasion, the mischievous little adventurer we have been searching for."

Lis bows deeply, the metal and gems threaded in her hair glimmering distractingly. "Well met, little one," she says, and means it.

He forces himself to look away from the shiny things, bowing as best he can from Cabedon's arms. "Well met," he parrots. If she's going to ignore their earlier meeting, then so will he. "I like your beard."

Lis's expression turns serious, but he can see a familiar glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "I am honored by your words, little one," she says with another, slightly different bow. "To compliment a Dwarf's beard is to bestow the highest honor...or to propose marriage." She looks up, her expression still dead serious, but now he can see a truly uncanny resemblance to the Weasley twins as she presses a regretful hand to her chest. "I'm afraid you are much too young for me, Arasion, and I must decline."

"No! I didn't—" he laughs again, delighted by her playacting, and a moment later she joins him. It feels like a moment that should hurt, but he feels only joy.

"Oh, come now, that's enough. Food awaits, and you must be hungry, eh?" Lis says, wiping at her eyes. The laughing has put Arasion in such a good mood that he forgets to protest when Cabedon carries him all the way to the dining room. They pass several dwarven guards, all of whom bow or offer salutes. He can feel their curious stares burn into his back as they walk on, but even this bit of familiar discomfort is not enough to dispel his good mood.

The dining room is small (relatively speaking) and cozy, with plenty of light and a roaring fireplace on either side of the long table. There are already several people seated, and Arasion takes them in quickly: three elves-two with Cabedon's silver hair and one with a brown so deep it's nearly black-,two dwarves with Lis's reddish hair, two younger dwarves with a kind of golden-brown hair, and one with true black hair streaked through with silver sitting at the head of the table. Their eyes turn unerringly to him the moment the small group enters and he shrinks into Cabedon's side, taken aback by their intensity.

Cabedon, despite their relatively short acquaintanceship, feels his reaction and turns subtly to shield him. "It is impolite to stare," he says calmly, looking pointedly to the elves who must be related to him. They flush and look down.

They sit next to the elves, Arasion in Cabedon's lap rather than his own chair. When he glares at Barades for this she subtly shakes her head. Puzzled, he lets it go and settles down peaceably (if unhappily). When Lis sits at the head dwarf's right hand, the only dwarf which did not look away at Cabedon's recrimination, he speaks. "So, this is the little renegade," he says. "What is your name, elfling?"

Arasion blinks. "Arasion," he says, then cocks his head to the side. "Who are you?"

"Who are you, my Lord," Barades corrects, an edge of nervousness to her tone. "This is our host, my dear."

But the dwarf laughs, waving off the unintended slight. "I have found that children seldom care for such frivolous things at titles, my eldarin friend." He smiles at the mystified elfling. "To answer your question, little adventurer, I am Durin IV, Lord of Khazad-dûm, or Hadhodrond as you would call it."

It takes a few seconds for him to place the name. He nearly blurts out "Moria?" but the little Hermione-sounding voice in the back of his head quickly points out that Moria means 'black pit' and it would be rather rude to say that to its current Lord's face when it has yet to become a black pit. He nods silently.

Lord Durin turns his attention to the grown elves as dwarven servants come forward and begin to serve breakfast. "Have you come to an agreement on where you are taking him? Lis informed me of your hesitance." Arasion feels Cabedon's subtly tensed chest muscles relax as Barades takes the lead, outlining her proposal for a dwarven escort to Rivendell.

The elfling himself is immediately distracted by the food, which smells absolutely heavenly. Wizarding food is great, but there's something about fresh-cooked dishes that just can't be replicated, not even by magical means. The dwarven food is also an enticing mix of familiar dishes—eggs and bacon and something that looks like French toast—and unfamiliar ones—stuffed mushrooms, a strange orangish soup, and some other things he can't even guess at. He watches, wide-eyed, as Cabedon prepares a plate for him.

"Go on then, but remember your manners," the ellon whispers in his ear, handing him a finely-crafted silver fork—a small child's fork, with rounded tines—when he finishes. Arasion completely forgets about listening to the adults' conversation as he eagerly but quietly digs in, shoveling food into his mouth like a starving man.

"I take it you enjoyed the food?" Lord Durin asks, amused, when Arasion has completely cleared his sizeable plate. The elfling looks up, remembering his audience, and flushes.

"Er, yes, Lord Durin," he says sheepishly.

"Now, don't be embarrassed, little lad!" Lis says with a laugh. "Children should enjoy their meals, and Mahal knows we dwarrow have the best food around." She winks, prompting a laugh from Arasion. A moment later he realizes what he missed and looks over to Barades.

"What'd you decide to do with me?" he asks, squirming away with a scowl when she attempts to wipe his (completely clean, he's not a messy eater!) face with a napkin.

"Do with you?" Durin says with a roar of laughter. "You make it sound so ominous! But I'll tell you, lad. I'm sending a contingent—a group, rather—of my guard with you to Rivendell. What happens there is up to your people."

"We leave tomorrow, at dawn," Cabedon adds, fussing with the elfling's hair for no reason he can discern.

"Oh." Arasion nods. "Alright then."

The second and final (if lengthy) order of business for the day is becoming acquainted with all of Barades's and Cabedon's family. They move to some kind of sitting room as soon as breakfast ends, the dwarrow going off to do drwarrow-y things and leaving the elves alone. This time, Barades is the one holding Arasion as Cabedon does the introductions.

"My mother, Erenil," he says, gesturing to the tall silver-haired woman with a kind, soft face and a regal bearing. "My little sister"—the smaller silver-haired elleth, all fierce angles and suppressed energy, shoots him a fond glare—"Cariel. And finally, my father, Caron." The dark-haired ellon smiles serenely at Arasion, inclining his head as he's introduced.

"Well met, little adventurer," Erenil coos, clasping her hands together. "May I hold you?

"May I hold myself for once?" he mutters under his breath. After a moment's hesitation, he heaves a sigh and nods. The elleth takes him from her daughter-in-law with reverence, holding him as if he's the most valuable thing in the world. "I'm not going to vanish, you know," he comments, feeling weirdly mollified by her behavior.

She laughs, swaying gently on her feet and running a hand through his unruly hair. "Are you not? The stories we've heard thus far seem to say otherwise."

"Fine, I'm not going to disappear now," he says, rolling his eyes. "You caught me, you won, blah blah blah."

Caron, sitting on a low couch and holding his daughter's hand as they watch the scene, laughs suddenly. "What a strange manner of speaking you have, Arasion," he marvels. "Did your ada and nana teach you?"

"You could say that," he says dryly. The Valar are the ones who gave him the ability to speak Sindarin—or was that Eru? Well, either way.

Cabedon speaks up suddenly, saying something in an elven language Arasion can't understand. Whatever it was, it prompts a long, indecipherable conversation between the adults. He scowls a bit, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but lets it go. Instead, he closes his eyes and attempts to summon Hedwig with his mind. He hasn't seen his familiar since he knocked himself out, though he can sense she's fine.

He grins when her sudden appearance prompts startled exclamations from the elves, wicked glee bubbling in his chest. Oh, this trip is going to be fun.

Cabedon wakes him before dawn the next day, and for once Arasion appreciates the elves' relentless babying. All the unpleasant morning tasks are done for him as he sits sleepily on his cot, including wrangling him back into clothing. The elfling even feels pleased when Cabedon bundles him up in a blanket and carries him out like an oversized burrito—it gives him a while longer to snooze against a warm shoulder.

He doesn't wake fully until someone sticks him in a saddle and swings up behind. The sun has just begun to rise, painting the cloudy sky before Erebor in a gorgeous array of warm hues. The air is nippy, but luckily the blanket around him is thick and warm. He peeks out, blinking and rubbing grit from his eyes, and yawns widely.

"Finally awake, are we?" asks Barades in amusement from her perch nearby on a gray mare. Hedwig circles impatiently over her head. He makes a vague sound of agreement and tilts his head back to confirm that yes, he is riding in front of Cabedon. The rest of the elves are also on horseback, and when he looks around for their dwarven guard, he finds them on sturdy ponies and—

Arasion stops and blinks, rubbing his eyes again in disbelief. "Is that a—a ram?" he asks out loud.

One of the dwarrows laughs at his mystified tone. "Aye lad, the best steed a dwarf could ask for!" He reaches down and fondly pats the neck of his ram, an overlarge beast with a dark coat and curled horns that have been polished to a mirror shine. "Magnificent creatures of stone they are, eh?"

Arasion nods, thinking of a ram's uncanny ability to scale sheer cliff faces, and supposes that animals with such skills really should be considered creatures of stone. "Oh. Cool. So, how long is it going to take for us to get back?"

"A few weeks, dear one," says Barades with a smile. At the head of the procession, Caron and the dwarf captain spur their mounts forward into the misty morning. "But fret not; we will keep you entertained in the meantime."

'Keep entertained' turns out to be code for 'interrogate' and 'torture.'

Alright, so maybe torture is a bit hyperbolic, but elven history is so boring. It's not quite as bad as History of Magic, because they're more engaging storytellers than Binns, but it's close . They try to teach him 'fundamental knowledge' once they realize (with no small amount of horror) exactly how little he remembers about their people (his people, now).

They're definitely interrogating him, though, but with his adult understanding he sees right through their attempts at subtlety. They don't get much out of him other than "my parents are in the West," "I've been on an adventure all this time," and "Hedwig is my best friend." He's quite proud of himself when they finally give up around the sixth day of travel.

"Are you certain you do not remember your ada's name?" Caron wheedles one last time as they follow the river Celduin south toward the road that bisects the Greenwood.

Arasion wonders what child his age would remember either of their parents' names. "Ada was ada ," he says, exasperated, and the ancient elf finally lets it go.

They reach the Forest Road near lunchtime on the sixth day, pausing in the sunny, grassy meadows around the well-kept entrance to eat before continuing on. Arasion plays tag with Hedwig and Cariel for a bit while the others discuss something, but soon enough Cabedon is swinging him back onto the horse.

"Forgive me for this," Cabedon says, "but I am going to conceal you with my cloak, alright?"

"Why?" Arasion asks. At the same time he realizes that their horse is now in the middle of the group, surrounded on all sides by guards.

"A precaution only," says the ellon vaguely, sweeping his cloak forward so that Arasion is concealed but can still see the path ahead.

Arasion settles back with a vaguely puzzled frown. 'A precaution' he said, but against what? To reassure himself, the elfling brushes his fingers against the butt of his wand, which is still safely sheathed on his belt. Whatever it is, he'll be ready to help his new friends—even if he gives himself away (and potentially makes something explode) in the process.

The answer comes nearly three days later, when they're deep in the Greenwood.

It's mid-afternoon, the forest lit a soft green by the sunlight filtered through the canopy. Arasion dozes against Cabedon's chest, full and sleepy from the lunch they just finished. A melody suddenly springs up around them, sung by a chorus of playful elven voices, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time for the elfling to realize it's not his elves that are singing. He jolts into awareness at the realization.

"Hail and well met, Caron!" calls a laughing male voice when the silly song (something about a squirrel that buried his food and forgot how to find it) finishes. "I confess, we did not expect to see you again so soon. And accompanied by a dwarven guard no less! My, what strange friends you make."

Arasion can hear Caron's smile in his reply. "Legolas," he says, and oh shit Arasion recognizes that name. He shifts subtly to try and see through the gap in Cabedon's cloak. "It is good to see you again," Caron continues. "I admit, we did not expect to return so soon either, but we are journeying back to Eriador. But tell me, what are you doing out so far, dressed neither as hunters nor as guardsmen, and with only three in your company?"

Even Arasion can hear the sliver of paternal disapproval in his tone.

"Ah, well," Legolas laughs sheepishly. "The palace is in something of a furor at this time, and we—"

"—caused it?" Caron finishes dryly. Arasion can practically feel Legolas searching for a distraction.

Unfortunately, that distraction turns out to be him.

"Ah, Cabedon!" he calls. "What is that you have before you, my friend?" The elfling flinches and shifts deeper into the shadows.

"Oh... this? " says Cabedon, in possibly the worst nonchalant voice Arasion has ever heard. The ellon wraps his free arm around Arasion beneath the cloak. "It's...nothing….important." An awkward, disbelieving silence hangs between the group, broken only by a laugh disguised as a cough from one of the dwarven guards.

Arasion sighs loudly when it becomes apparent that none of the adults are going to speak. He shimmies out of Cabedon's grasp and scoots forward on the horse, drawing the cloak back and popping out into the muted light. "Hi," he says with a little wave at the gaping elven prince.

Legolas's eyes dart from Arasion to Caron and back. Slowly, the stunned look fades into something calculating. "You found the little one," he says, "and you don't want my father to know. Perhaps we can come to a… mutually beneficial arrangement?"

Erenil rolls her eyes and answers before Caron can. "Little prince, we will let you go on your way uncontested if you allow us the same. It is in everyone's best interest that Arasion is reintroduced at Imladris."

Legolas nods slowly. "Agreed." He whistles sharply and his companions fade into the surrounding forest. He flashes Arasion a quicksilver grin, bowing teasingly. "Well met, little one. I look forward to meeting you for 'the first time.'" With that, he disappears after his friends.

Cabedon exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose."Alright, back under, little one," he fusses, pulling Arasion once more into the shelter of his cloak. "On we go, quickly."

Three days later, they emerge from the Greenwood (with Thranduil none the wiser) and continue uncontested toward Rivendell. Emerald hills roll alongside them as they follow the curving road, coming closer and closer to the Misty Mountains with each passing day. The adults are a little bit less paranoid now, which is good because Arasion was going absolutely stir-crazy doing nothing but sitting on a horse getting lectured all day. Now whenever he starts to get antsy Cariel takes him from Cabedon and they walk alongside the horses for a bit. Sometimes she sticks him on her shoulders and just runs while he holds onto her silver hair and shrieks with laughter.

Cariel quickly becomes one of his favorites.

He learns a lot about the elves in the four days they take to reach the mountain pass. For one thing, the games they play with their children are very different from the games humans play. With all the carrying, he assumed they were worried he would hurt himself (again); when they start tossing him around like a football, he finally realizes they were just worried he might run off.

The first incident takes him completely by surprise. His eyes have glazed over completely from Barades's lecture on Ost-in-Edhil. She picks him up suddenly, one hand under his back and the other under his thighs. "Cabedon!" she calls as Arasion flails and yelps in surprise. "Catch!" His yelp changes to a scream of surprise when she lobs him toward her husband.

Strong hands catch him easily, and Cabedon laughs at the elfling's deer-in-the-headlights expression. "I hope you aren't bored now, little one!" he says, then tosses him without warning to Caron, who grins down at him for a moment before tossing him to Erenil. By the time he reaches the elleth, he's laughing and whooping with excitement. Is this the elven equivalent of throwing a baby up into the air? He wonders as the game continues. Erenil throws him like a javelin as he yells enthusiastically, stretching his arms out and pretending he can fly unaided. The dwarrow look on in amusement, guffawing and cheering the elfing on.

They only stop when Arasion is breathless and red-faced, cradled securely in the arms of a grinning Barades. "Naptime, darling," she croons, reclining him against her chest as he begins to settle down. His eyes drift shut just as they start up the first switchback into the mountains and over the High Pass.

He dreams of flying, Hedwig at his side as he crests a mountain peak, grabbing a handful of pristine white snow and stuffing it into his mouth. It tastes sweet, like cold, minty sugar. He reaches for another. Suddenly, the stone beneath rumbles ominously. Hedwig hoots in alarm and Arasion recoils as the snow turns to molten lava. The air becomes hot and stifling, filled with screams and Hedwig's panicked barking.

Wake up!

Arasion jolts, gasping, but finds the waking world not much different from his dream. Sparks flurry through the smoky air, bright points against a dull red glow that paints the darkened sky. Angry bellows and high screams fill his ears. In a flash of insight, he realizes that he's in the midst of a fraught battle, set in the center of a protective circle. He glances up, adrenaline surging through his veins, to find a terrified-looking Cariel holding him in one arm, the other clutching a long silver-blue dagger. He turns toward the battle, fumbling for his wand, and nearly recoils into Cariel as he finally sees their attackers. Hideous, dark faces snarl, yellowed teeth glinting orange in the firelight.

Orcs!

Arasion's finely-honed battle instincts—the instincts of a child soldier—kick in. Arasion, Calasain, the little elfling that's mischievous and loved, falls away like a mask. In that empty space Harry James Potter rises like an inferus, bringing with him a raging hatred for the enemies that would dare to threaten those he loves. Orcs or Death Eaters, it makes no difference. They will fall by his hand before he lets them take another friend.

Cariel is whispering in his ear, though her words are lost to his anger. "Shh. Still and quiet, still and quiet, Arasion, we mustn't draw attention to you. Shh, shh, I will protect you, but you must be quiet!"

He draws his wand. Things are going to explode, no doubt. Hopefully his fury will give him better control. Still, he'll have to be very, very careful not to hit the elves. "Protego totalum," he spits, remembering with deep bitterness the spell Hermione had taught him on the run during their seventh year. The orcs yowl in shock as they begin to bounce off his unstable shield. The elves and dwarrows stumble back uncertainly, tightening the circle.

"Arasion!" Cariel gasps, but the elfling has more important things to worry about. He wiggles from her arms and runs, ducking between the legs of an elf he can't take the time to identify. The crowd of orcs outnumbers them by quite a bit; they might be in trouble if he can't do something. One of the orcs, a bulky thing with an underbite like a mastiff, spies him immediately. A wicked grin crosses its face, baring rows of yellowed, broken teeth. "'Ey've got a runt!" it bellows in delight.

"Incendio," Arasion intones coldly, his anger and magic surging together through his wand like a tsunami. The orc's jeering turns to agonized screams as it bursts into white flames. It panics and runs, disappearing through the crowd of frozen, gobsmacked orcs, and explodes a second later. Blackish gore rains down in a fine mist.

In the frozen silence, Arasion begins firing off spells as fast as he can: incendio, stupefy, sectumsempra, even a few wingardium leviosas . The elves and dwarrows recover quickly, rushing the terrified orcs and cutting them down as easily as grass. They wisely leave a wide berth between themselves and where Arasion's semi-explosive spells are falling. The tide turns within a few minutes as the orcs retreat, unwilling to face the elfling's furious arcane barrage.

Arasion stops, chest heaving with exertion. A bizarre numbness spreads through him as he watches the orcs flee. His wand trembles in his hand, still half-extended. The wood is hot beneath his fingers. He blinks and suddenly Cariel is crouching in front of him, her eyes as wide as saucers and gleaming with intense concern. He blinks again and she blurs dramatically.

"Arasion?" she asks. Cool fingers close over his wand hand; she twists it slightly, angling the tip away from both of them before gently wresting it from his grasp. She touches his cheek tentatively. Not as if she is afraid of him, he realizes, but as if she is afraid for him.

Something old, something deep inside of him, just… breaks. Hot, fat tears begin to spill over, slow at first but quickly escalating. Later he'll regret his weakness, but in the moment his control slips, childish impulses rising to the surface. Someone tried to take his friends from him again. Are peace and safety really too much to ask for? He suddenly realizes that he really doesn't want to keep adventuring, not now at least.

"Oh, darling," Cariel croons, gathering him up. "Shh, shh, all is well. You are unharmed." Arasion doesn't bother with manly posturing, not when he's shaking with the force of his sobs. An intense longing for Irmo's comforting presence suddenly overtakes him.

His heart aches as Cariel continues with her ineffective soothing. The fear and pain and loss he feels all come crashing down at once, until he's drowning in them. This is what the Valar were holding back for me? He wonders a bit wildly as his wailing turns to choked coughing. Is there more? What more could there be! He cries until every last drop of fear and grief have wrung themselves out of him. Finally, he slips into a fitful sleep.

Irmo is there immediately, a seamless transition between reality and dreams. "You're safe, Calasain," the Vala murmurs, holding him tightly as the dreamscape begins to cohere. The grief becomes less pressing, buoyed somehow. With a low, pained whine, Arasion wraps his arms around Irmo's neck and burrows into the junction of his shoulder.

"I take it back," he says after a while, his words muffled. "I wanna come live in Valinor."

Irmo laughs softly, cupping the back of Arasion's head with one hand. "You would find that no less painful, I'm afraid," he says. "This hurt is inside of you, my little one, but you have never been taught to let it out."

Arasion makes a sound of protest, rubbing his forehead fretfully against Irmo's silky robe. "I was just fine when—back then!"

"You were not," Irmo says, his grip tightening. "You denied your hurt constantly. That is not the same as being fine."

"What do I have to do?" the elfling asks desperately, raising his tear-streaked face and imploring the Vala with his eyes. "I don't—I can't—I liked ignoring it better!"

Irmo's expression is deeply sympathetic. "You must face it, Calasain. These things are a part of you. You must face them willingly to overcome them."

"I can't," he says, slumping back down. "I can't. It's… I feel like I'm drowning, not like I'm facing anything."

"I didn't say all at once, dearest," the Vala replies. "Piece-by-piece, little-by-little, but they must all be dealt with eventually."

Calasain whines, muffling the pathetic sound by pressing his face deeper into Irmo's shoulder. "Why can't I just be happy?"

"Life isn't fair, I'm afraid," Irmo says. "But even we ainur must work to overcome the effects of evil on our souls." He leans down, kissing the top of the elfling's head. "I have every confidence you can do this, little one."

The last of Calasain's grief and fear fade away. He sighs shudderingly, raising one hand to wipe at his face. "I know," he says numbly. "I just don't want to."

The smell of slow-cooking porridge is the first thing Arasion registers as he crawls reluctantly back into consciousness. The second is a slow, throbbing pain behind his eyes. He whines shamelessly, curling up into a ball and bracing his head in his hands. The low hum of conversation stops abruptly.

"Arasion." A hand gently moves him onto his back. "Drink." He downs an herbal, honey-sweetened concoction, keeping his eyes tightly shut until it kicks in. Then, reluctantly, move his hands away and opens his eyes, blinking a few times to clear the blurry film over them away. He pauses to yawn.

Barades hovers over him, her expression strange and unreadable. "Do you… feel alright, little one?" she asks, reaching out and almost immediately pulling back.

"Yeah, thanks," he says, rubbing his eyes. Then, remembering, he shoots up straight and gasps out "the others! The dwarrows! A-are they all…?" Okay? Did I fail again?

Whatever strangeness was in Barades melts away at his question, replaced by something deep and tender. "Oh, Arasion…" she says, sounding almost grieved as she lifts him into the circle of her arms. His heart drops into his stomach, but then she says "yes, everyone is safe and unharmed."

He exhales gustily, slumping forward as relief floods him. "I'm glad." A moment later he frowns and shifts backwards to look at Barades' face. "Why did you sound so sad then?"

She offers a smile, but he can see the barely-there tremors at the edge of her lips. "You should not have to be so worried about us," is what she says. He hears you should not have to protect us.

And he understands, in an abstract sort of way, but he was also raised to protect the Wizarding World, to throw himself into harm's way starting at the tender age of eleven. So he smiles back and pats her cheek gently. "It's alright," he says earnestly. "I'm used to it."

The moment the words leave him he realizes it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Barades looks a little weepy and when he glances around for support the other elves are sporting similar expressions. Even the dwarrow are giving him horrified or pitying looks. Rather than make it worse he shuts up, cringing into Barades' chest and staring down at his hands.

This is immediately misinterpreted. "Ai, no, no, it's alright, Arasion, you have done nothing wrong," she croons, holding him a little tighter. "We are simply… you will understand when you are grown."

He mumbles something like 'okay' but stays where he is as breakfast is distributed—porridge and berries, sprinkled with a little dark-colored sugar. It's only when he finishes the entire bowl that they spring the inevitable interrogation.

"Arasion," Cabedon says tentatively as Cariel collects his bowl. "Your parents… were either of them… different?"

The little wizard stares wordlessly, brows furrowed. What did that mean? Did he mean a spirit? Like Luthien's mom? Technically, his parents were kinda spirit-like. Except that his technical, biological parent is Eru Iluvatar, which possibly means that he is like the first elves—except not because he has his magic? Is he a half-elf? No, probably not, but should he just say yes? Or no?

The tiny Slytherin voice in the back of his head chimes in, for once helpfully. They'd probably stop asking if you cried. And, well, it's not like he hasn't spent a lot fo time recently crying, so what's a little more? He summons up his latent feelings of grief, clumsy with inexperience, but to his surprise tears immediately well in his eyes. He gives Cabedon his best, shiniest puppy-eyes, takes a deep breath, and bursts into tears for the second time in as many days.

It works.

Two days out from Rivendell, Arasion goes silent. No amount of coaxing from Barades can convince him to emerge from the nervous, self-occupied shell he has retreated into. It's honestly ridiculous, and he feels ridiculous, but he also feels entitled to act a little irrationally considering everything that's happened recently. So he fidgets and scowls and pulls at the hem of his cloak and, for once, lets himself do it without guilt.

The elves remain intensely worried, both from the orc attack and from Arasion's semi-deceptive response to it. They won't give him back his wand (no matter how much he badgers Caron about it), repeating things like "not until Rivendell" ad nauseum. He tries to argue that he needs it if they get attacked again, because how else is he going to protect them? That argument makes Barades and Cariel weepy and over-affectionate for a solid six hours, so he only tries it once.

The dwarrows are also worried, in their own gruff, slightly awkward way. They pat his head and offer him food. The most effective strategy comes from the youngest dwarrow, who arranges a mock fight using wooden sticks until Barades puts a stop to it. Mostly their efforts exasperate him, because they can't seem to figure out that elflings and dwarflings (dwarrowlings?) aren't actually all that different. Still, it's nice in an overbearing way. He's going to miss them once they get to Rivendell.

They stop early the day before reaching the city instead of pushing on, much to everyone's relief: the elves because they're not looking forward to sharing Arasion, the dwarves because they're reluctant to leave him, and Arasion himself because he's worried about what will happen. He's not in any danger, of course, but what will they do with him? Will they give him a say at all, or will they decide for him? That won't end well at all. It makes him jittery enough that he can't sleep no matter how hard he tries. Cabedon eventually picks him up and simply walks around the camp, singing lullabies in a low voice until the gentle rocking motion finally lulls Arasion into a doze.

Irmo is no help at all. "You have nothing to fear, little one," he says with barely concealed laughter, patting the elfling's back when he climbs into the front of the Vala's robes to hide against the blazing warmth of his chest. "Elrond is perfectly reasonable about these kinds of things. They will treat you as a person, not a commodity, I promise." Arasion grumbles wordlessly in response and stays right where he is, silent until the waking world beckons once more.

Barades is extra touchy-feely that morning, and she insists on bathing him with cloths and heated water before they mount up again. This results in a lengthy argument that culminates with Arasion up a tree, clinging to the very highest branches and adamantly refusing to come down until she yields and lets him bathe himself in privacy. They eventually compromise, with Arasion and the other men bathing in a nearby stream that's 'not too cold' for his 'delicate skin.' The youngest dwarrow catches him rolling his eyes at this and quickly excuses himself, choking on poorly concealed laughter. Arasion manages a wandless warming charm after a few tries and quite enjoys his bath, thank you very much.

Determined to make a good impression, he pulls out his best outfit: dark dragonhide trousers with a matching vest, a crimson and gold tunic, and a tailored black robe with matching red and gold lining. The elves and dwarrows eye him, askance, but he merely shakes his head when they ask who made it for him. He considers demanding his wand again as Barades mounts up and takes him from Cabedon, but ultimately decides that the Rivendell elves would probably ask questions if he came in with it on his hip. If he's clever he can probably steal it back once they get settled.

The sun is high by the time they crest the last hill and Rivendell finally comes into sight. It looks just like how he remembers from his dream, lifetimes ago, all curving lines and gentle swells. Arasion will admit it's a breathtaking view, though he quite firmly places Hogwarts in first place in terms of beauty.

Barades pulls the hood of his traveling cloak up and smiles when he shoots her an inquisitive look. "It would be wise to avoid as much excitement as possible until Lord Elrond can make an official announcement," she says, and Arasion nods vigorously in agreement, pulling the edges of his cloak closed to maximum concealment.

A contingent of mounted guardsmen meets them halfway down the main road. Their armor is absurdly shiny, and they're all wearing matching maroon livery. They eye the dwarrows with barely concealed disdain. Arasion dislikes them instantly.

Caron speaks before anyone says anything they might regret. "Hail and well met, kinsmen," he says evenly, addressing the captain of the group. "We have come from Erebor with precious cargo. These fine soldiers—" he gestures to the dwarrows "—have accompanied us at the behest of Lord Durin. It was their valor that ensured we— all of us —arrived unharmed."

The captain, who had kept a carefully neutral expression through Caron's declaration, smiles. "Then I welcome you, honored guests, to the halls of Lord Elrond Peredhel," he says in a surprisingly deep voice.

Until this point the dwarrows had reacted to the elves' disdain with defensive impassivity, but the captain's friendly overtures are cautiously returned. The dwarrows' own captain, the one Arasion had asked about his ram on the first day of their journey, steps forward and speaks. "We thank you for the offer, but we had planned to push further on today. Our Lord commanded us to return to Khazad-dum posthaste. Please, offer our apologies to Lord Elrond."

The captain inclines his head in acknowledgment and the dwarrows depart without much fanfare. Arasion, having already said his goodbyes earlier, sadly watches them go. The youngest dwarf in the group turns and offers the elfling a wink and a cheeky salute before he disappears back over the hill. Arasion giggles, instantly drawing the attention of every elf in the group.

"Caron," the captain says softly as Arasion squirms uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "is this…?"

Barades butts in before her father-in-law can answer. "Yes," she says frostily, wrapping the elfing in the protective circle of her arms, "and he doesn't much appreciate being stared at."

Deja vu Arasion thinks as the guards flush and quickly look away. Is this particular pattern going to repeat every time he meets a new group of elves? Merlin that's going to get annoying real quick.

"I deem it wise that we avoid unnecessary… furor," Caron says dryly. "We had best go directly to Lord Elrond, if he is available."

The captain nods in agreement, spurring his mount back around toward Rivendell. "Of course."

They trot down the path at a good clip, ringed 'round by guards. Arasion's nervousness spikes again, but he does his best to swallow it. Barades, sensing this, leans down and kisses the top of his head. "You have nothing to fear from us, dearest one," she says in a whisper low enough that none by he can hear it. "All is well." He's not exactly reassured, but it does make him feel a little bit better.

The denizens of Rivendell stare curiously at their company as they move to the stables. Arasion's elves are very careful to keep him concealed from view. He's handed off to Caron and tucked beneath the ellon's large cloak as Barades dismounts and passes her horse's reins to the stable attendants. The captain ushers them quickly into a large central building, though Arasion catches only brief glimpses of the outside from the shelter of Caron's cloak.

His skin tingles strangely as they pass over the threshold, the hairs on his arm standing straight up. Magic, he thinks, shivering. But it's not like any magic he's ever felt before. It's… electric. Alive. He grimaces and puts his occlumency barriers up. It's not unpleasant, exactly, but it's certainly unnerving.

Caron doesn't bring him out until they are all safely behind closed doors and away from the general populace. "Thank you for your patience, Arasion," he says sincerely, passing the elfling back to Barades.

"Welcome," Arasion replies, looking around curiously. The elves they pass in the hall stop dead in their tracks as they see him, but they're so few that it's easy to ignore. "Can I walk now?"

"Later, I promise," Barades says. "For now it is best if we move quickly."

Arasion frowns but concedes the point. He blinks, remembering Hedwig, but before he can ask he spies her sitting contentedly on Cariel's shoulder. That's surprising. The elleth has at some point acquired a leather shoulder guard for the owl to safely perch on. How had he missed that?

He doesn't have much time to contemplate, because they're suddenly in front of a set of intricately carved wooden doors and the captain is knocking politely but decisively. "Enter," a distracted male voice says. Arasion swallows nervously, every bit of anxiety he's suppressed for the past few days rising at once. Barades offers a smile and a quick peck on the side of his head. "It's alright, darling," she reminds him, shifting him so that he's pressed more securely against her side. "I'm right here."

Yeah, he thinks as they enter Lord Elrond's office. Here we go.

The office is really more of a study lined by bookshelves and cabinets, with a sitting area around a fireplace to one side. Arasion's gaze goes to the large desk in the center, where a very familiar-looking elf is sitting and writing. Oh bloody hell, Arasion thinks as it suddenly occurs to him that his dreams might have gone both ways. Will Elrond recognize him even though he's a child instead of an adult? He ducks into Barades's side a little bit, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

Elrond looks up before anyone can speak and Arasion is struck by how keen his eyes are as they sweep quickly over the group. To his surprise, they don't stop on him.

"Caron," Elrond says warmly, passing whatever he was working on to an elf standing at his side. He rises and rounds the desk to embrace the other ellon. "I had not expected to see you so soon."

Caron laughs as he returns the embrace. "Neither had I expected to return so soon," he replies wryly. "There were extenuating circumstances."

Elrond's eyes dart only briefly to Arasion. "Indeed? Well, I am glad to see you nonetheless."

"And I as well. Please, my Lord, come meet my newest charge."

Arasion reflexively hunches a little as both turn to him, but he allows Caron to take him from Barades without a fuss. He latches on to the adult's shoulders and peers up at Elrond from beneath his hood. "Arasion," Caron says in a tone reserved for soothing skittish horses, "this is Lord Elrond. My Lord, Arasion."

A strange expression crosses Elrond's face as he looks at Arasion. "Well met, little one," he says after a brief pause. "I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time."

"Well met," he parrots, trying very hard not to grin at the mild exasperation in the last half of Elrond's statement. They must have had quite the experience trying to chase him down. He doesn't regret it one bit. He wonders what happened to the twins and the sun-haired elf who almost found him, but wisely doesn't bring it up.

This brief exchange seems to be the extent of his interrogation for the moment, because Elrond turns to the elf who had been standing behind him earlier and says "Erestor, if you could show them to their rooms and arrange for private meals until further notice?"

"Of course, my Lord," Erestor says, bowing slightly.

Elrond offers one last smile to Arasion before addressing Caron again. "We will speak at length later, my friend, but for now I have preparations to make. Thank you for bringing the little one here safely."

Caron smiles and offers his own shallow bow. "It was our pleasure, my Lord. I look forward to a more lengthy discussion of our arrangements."

If Arasion had actually been his physical age, he never would have noticed the subtext of their brief exchange, but it's no challenge for an adult. Clearly they need to discuss him but they don't want him there when they do. He purses his lips, thinking about ways to listen in, but sets the problem aside when they exit the study after Erestor.

"Now can I walk?" he asks—demands—looking over to Barades.

"We did promise," she says, and Caron sets him down with only a little reluctance. She firmly takes his hand in her own and they continue on. His bare feet stick slightly to the cold stone, making little slap-slap sounds with each stride. The adults start talking in that language he can't understand, much to his displeasure, so he occupies himself looking at the art and architecture.

Arasion only realizes how sleepy he is when Barades ushers him into a bedroom, Cabedon close on her heels, and says "naptime, little one."

He grunts, glancing back at the door to see Cariel, Caron, and Erenil pass by just before Cabedon closes it. They must be in the rooms next to this one. The elfling only gets more sleepy as the anxiety-induced adrenaline rush wears off, so much so that he doesn't fuss when Barades helps him strip down to his trousers and crawl into the overlarge bed. Cabedon says something, stroking his hair back from his eyes, but he's too far gone to hear it. Within moments, he's soundly asleep.

Arasion wakes about an hour later to the aroma of fresh food and the sound of Barades and Cabedon conversing in low tones. He snuffles, rubbing at his eyes, then rolls over and presses his face into his pillow. The bed linens smell strongly of flowers and cold air. After a few minutes he gives up on continuing his nap and sits up.

"Hello, Arasion," Cabedon says, and the elfling looks over to find him and Barades sitting at a small table beneath a window, sharing lunch. Hedwig is perched on the back of his chair, apparently taking a nap of her own. Her snowy feathers fairly glow in the afternoon light. "Come, eat."

Food does sound pretty good, so he rolls over to the side of the bed and clambers down, drowsily cursing his tiny body when he has to slide over the edge on his stomach to reach the floor. Barades makes a sound that's probably stifled laughter as he stumbles over. He has to pause in the middle of his trek to yawn.

"Did you sleep well, Arasion?" she asks, reaching down and pulling him up onto her lap.

"Uh-huh," he says, entirely forgetting to protest the coddling and demand his own chair. Plus she's warm and soft and comfortable, and when he leans back against her chest she hands him some kind of flatbread stuffed with vegetables. Alertness returns a little bit with each bite. He hums contentedly when the whole thing is gone, licking sauce from his fingertips. Cabedon smiles and moves a bowl of cut-up fruit toward him.

"So what are we doing today?" he asks when they've all finished eating and Barades is stacking their dishes on a wooden tray.

"Resting," she says. Cabedon takes the tray and stands, putting it on the floor outside of the door to their room. "Why, do you want to do something specific?"

I wanna know what the hell you're going to do with me, he thinks, but instead he says "can we go play outside?" Traipsing around the halls should be enlightening, and it might even give him a chance to figure out how he's going to spy on Caron and Elrond's conversation. He really, really needs to know what they think of his magic. Which reminds him, he needs to steal back his wand.

He nearly misses the glance Barades and Cabedon exchange. It's cautious and thoughtful, a shared nonverbal 'I don't know…

"Perhaps, in a little while," Barades says diplomatically. "Cabedon needs to speak with his father first."

Cabedon needs to know where we're allowed to go, Arasion reasons. So he nods and doesn't throw a fit. Cabedon kisses Barades quickly, then takes him by surprise when he plants a loud kiss on Arasion's chubby cheek. He's out the door before Arasion processes what happened.

"Eew," he complains, more out of reflex than anything else, wiping his cheek. Apparently this is hilarious, because Barades laughs.

"Oh Arasion, you are terribly precious," she says, standing and carrying him back over to the bed. She hands him his pack without being prompted. He's relieved to see that they didn't try to unpack while he was asleep, since he has no idea how they'd react to a bottomless pack. The thought makes him pause in the middle of pulling a shirt on. Actually…

"Barades?" he says, looking up.

She turns from where she'd been fiddling with her own pack, blinking curiously. "Yes, little one?"

Arasion only hesitates for a moment before plowing ahead. "You know I'm…" a freak "...different."

Her expression turns cautious. "I… suppose so."

"Well, since you know, you should also know that my pack is enchanted."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. Look." He opens the flap and begins pulling things out. The elleth's expression remains mildly confused as he pulls out his dirty, wadded-up clothing, then the clean and neatly folded outfits Hermione packed. It's only when he starts extracting entire stacks of books that confusion turns to disbelief.

Which is to say, her jaw drops.

"...h-how are you doing that?" she stutters when he pulls out the twentieth volume of the Encyclopedia Magica (which, geez Hermione, overkill much?)

"It's enchanted," he repeats patiently. Satisfied that the point is made, he reflexively reaches for his wand to re-pack everything. Of course, it's still not on his hip and his hand closes around air. He pauses, then decides asking can't hurt. "Can I have my wand back now?"

It takes a few seconds for the grown-up's brain to kick back into gear. "I—I. Yes, I—" She's still staring at his pack, but she reaches around and pulls his wand from where it had been tucked into the back of her trousers.

"Perfect, thank you," Arasion says, repacking everything he dug out with a quick spell.

"Who—" Barades's face is white as a sheet. He feels a twinge of impatience with her reaction because honestly, this is one of the mildest ways to introduce her to his abilities. She didn't react this badly to him making orcs explode. Well, to be fair that was probably because she had him to worry about immediately after. "Who gave you this, Arasion?"

"My friend Hermione made it," he replies, and is startled by the intense stab of grief he feels saying her name aloud. His eyes water, just a little, but that's enough to snap Barades from her horrified trance.

"Shh, it's alright," she says, her pale grey eyes full of compassion as she sits down next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you hurt."

"S'okay." Arasion swipes an arm quickly across his face, forcing the hurt down. Now isn't the time. Then, to forestall any questions she might ask later: "She...died. I miss her."

Barades sighs a sad 'oh' and lifts him into her lap, but doesn't say anything. They stay like that, silent, until Cabedon returns.

"I bring good news," he says cheerfully, though his smile falters for a moment when he sees their expressions. Barades must make some kind of face at him because he rallies himself and continues. "We have permission to play in one of Lady Celebrian's private gardens until supper time. That is, if you would still like to, Arasion."

Arasion perks up. Aha! Time for reconnaissance. "Yes! Let's go now. But I'm walking there, ok?"

Barades chuffs in amusement at his stern tone, helping him down from her lap and once more taking his hand. "Alright, Arasion, you can walk to the gardens, but no running off. I will carry you all day if you do, am I clear?"

He rolls his eyes where she can't see, pulling her insistently toward the door. "Yes, nana."

Arasion lays still and silent, listening intently as Barades eases the door to their room shut, leaving him alone and "asleep." The afternoon had gone well. They had played in the gardens for a while (apparently tag transcended universes) and he had gotten quite a bit of reconnaissance done before dinner under the pretext of 'exploring.' The family had come together to eat, all five adults and him in a small dining room. As the sun had set, Barades returned him to their shared room where a child-sized bed had been delivered while they were away. Now he waits, prepared to sneak out and spy on their meeting with Elrond and some other important elves.

Arasion exhales slowly, counting to one hundred in his head to make sure Barades isn't waiting just outside the door. Coast clear, he sits up and grabs his wand, then rearranges the pillows to look like his curled-up body. He pulls a wig out (one of Ron's additions to his supplies, for some reason) and arranges it where his head should be. Then, as a final touch, he pulls out a smallish book and carefully follows the instructions to add a simple up-and-down breathing motion to the mass of pillows. He holds his breath as he casts it, and… nothing explodes. He exhales in relief.

Illusion complete, Arasion drops to the floor and grabs his invisibility cloak and broom. He sticks the shrunken broom in the waistband of his trousers, securely ties the cloak closed, and pulls the hood up. He can't go through the doors, since there are undoubtedly guards lining the halls, so instead he goes to the window. The frame is high, but he's dexterous enough to climb up and carefully open it. It's too close to sunset for the air to be chilled, and the soil is still warm beneath his bare feet. As he looks around furtively for any passers-by, he catches sight of Hedwig winging gracefully over the lower levels of the city. Hunting for dinner, no doubt, he thinks.

Arasion takes a deep, steadying breath as he brings the broom back to full length and carefully, calmly casts a disillusionment spell on it and on himself. This, too, works without unwanted explosions and he wonders suddenly if the stable magical atmosphere has some effect on his casting. Of course, that's a topic for later exploration. He has a meeting to spy on.

Caron had casually mentioned that they were going to gather in a garden near the one Arasion had played in earlier, so he mounts the broom and rises above the building, cresting its sloped roof before moving toward the gardens. Part of him wants to linger and enjoy the freedom of flying, but he knows he has little time to spare. The adults may already have begun speaking, and he can't afford to miss a single word.

He sticks close to the ground, worrying that some sharp-eyed elf might see the slight wavering of his disillusioned broom, and flies as fast as he can without noticeably rustling the greenery. The city is still quite active but there are far fewer elves here in Lord Elrond's private gardens. He only has to stop once to let a harried-looking elleth with an alarming amount of feathers in her hair cross his path. He watches, wide-eyed, as she stomps into the building and slams the door shut. A second later muffled yelling reaches his ears and he shakes himself. Meeting, he thinks, and sets off again.

Arasion arrives in time to see Lord Elrond and a very familiar golden-haired elf join his wandering elves on a small patio. There's another elleth too, but he doesn't have much time to look at her before Caron starts speaking.

"The child is maia-born," he blurts out with uncommon haste. The Rivendell elves stiffen in unison. He continues, "we are certain. Arasion has strange powers and abilities. We were attacked in the high pass, and he defended us, Elrond! Our foes were quite literally in pieces by the end of the battle."

"He showed me other things today," Barades adds, twining her hands with Cabedon's. Her face is pale, expression queasy, and Arasion feels a twinge of guilt. "His pack is enchanted to be without limit. When I returned his 'wand' to him, he spoke a single word and his possessions returned themselves to order within it. He has other skills too, I am certain."

Ok well... maybe he should have waited after all. That isn't quite the impression he wanted to give her.

Elrond passes a hand over his eyes. "Maia-born. Of all the… and his parents? Where are they?"

Erenil shakes her head. "Across the sea," she says with sorrow in her soft voice.

"And yet their son is here?" the golden-haired elf asks in a pained tone. "Surely we would have heard of any pairings well before now, let alone a birth. Surely he is not—"

"No!" Caron bursts out. His own face has gone pale. "No! He—they would not do that to a little one."

Arasion cocks his head inquisitively. Would not do what? Who are 'they'?

The silver-haired Rivendell elleth that Arasion doesn't know cuts in calmly. "They would not, so let us turn our attention elsewhere. Whatever Arasion is, that does not change that he is unclaimed and unidentified. Have the summons been sent?"

"Yes, thank you, Celebrian," says Elrond. "The runners were sent out this evening. Word should reach the others within the week. With fortune, the council will convene in two fortnights."

"And what of Arasion himself?" Caron asks. "We must occupy his time, or I assure you he will wreak unimaginable havoc. I suspect the novelty of our journey was the only thing that kept him from wandering off again. We shall be hard-pressed to keep him here if he desires to leave."

The golden-haired Rivendell elf finally speaks up, eyebrows raised. "You think he is capable to such a degree? At his age?"

"We do not think, we are certain," Caron says dryly. "But judging from what the twins told me earlier, you are well aware of this. He out-foxed you, Lord Glorfindel, did he not?"

Glorfindel huffs a laugh and spreads his hands. "A fluke, surely. Maia or no, he is hardly more than a babe."

"We will arrange lessons and excursions," Elrond decides before an argument can erupt. "And a subtle guard rotation, in addition to an obvious one. He will not be out of sight for even a moment. We will certainly not allow him to wander off again."

"It will be nice to stop losing track of the babe," Celebrian adds, a wry smile quirking the edge of her lips.

At that precise moment, a frantic guard comes running in through the garden's arched gate. "My Lord" he cries, "the child is gone!"

Pandemonium erupts. Barades and Cabedon leap up and sprint out as one, disappearing before Arasion can do more than blink. Caron and Glorfindel begin interrogating the guard, drowning out the remaining ellyth's dismayed cries. Merlin dammit! Arasion curses as the guard explains how his bed had caught fire but contained no elfling (singed or otherwise) when they had put it out. I thought that worked!

Arasion is so lost in his irritation that he nearly misses the narrow-eyed look Elrond is casting about the garden. "I do not suppose…" he murmurs, trailing off. Glorfindel pauses, blinking at his Lord before casting his own narrow-eyed look around. The two exchange a glance before turning, unerringly, to look at the exact place Arasion is hovering invisibly.

The elfling barely suppresses a surprised "eep!" He glances down to confirm that yes, he is completely invisible. How...they can't possibly know where I am!

Elrond crosses his arms over his chest. "Arasion," he says sternly, and the elfling makes himself smaller on reflex. The other elves all fall silent, staring at Elrond in surprise before following his gaze to Arasion's hiding place.

No way, he thinks. Experimentally, he nudges the broom back a few feet.

After a moment's delay, the elves' eyes follow his retreat.

Alarm surges down his spine like lightning. Nope, nope, nope, he thinks, I'm out. He backs behind a large flowering bush before taking off in a rush. Another cry goes up as the leaves rustle with his hasty retreat. He presses low against the broom, cursing himself as he flies to a distant, safe-looking rooftop. How did they know? Did they hear my clothes rustling?

He sets down on the roof, mind racing. Could they...feel me? What an alarming thought. He checks his occlumency shields. They're not the best, admittedly, but they're also not bad. If the elves could feel him so easily, then he's going to be at more of a disadvantage than he originally thought.

Sighing, he sits down with his back against a chimney and pulls his hood down, dispelling the disillusionment as well. Now that the adrenaline is fading, he's starting to feel irritated by the whole situation. "Stupid elves," he grumbles, stuffing his broom back into his pocket. "Stupid Irmo and his stupid ultimatims. I would have been fine alone." Untrue, but he's too grumpy to admit it aloud. He crosses his arms and slumps back, determined to stay where he is as long as possible. If they can feel him so easily then they can come and get him down themselves.

It takes them a surprisingly long time to find him. He's dozing against the chimney, chin tucked to his chest, when he hears feather-light feet on the roof tiles. "There you are," a familiar voice whispers, and he raises his head to blink drowsily at the figure approaching him. It's the golden-haired elf from earlier, Glorfindel. It takes a moment for Arasion's sleepy mind to realize what's so strange about the elf crouching before him: he's glowing, a gentle golden shine that seems more spiritual than physical.

Whatever, he thinks, unwilling to devote any energy to pondering this strange fact.

"Come, little one, I think you would be much more comfortable sleeping in a bed rather than a rooftop, hmm?"

He's too tired to do more than grumble as Glorfindel removes his cloak, wraps him in it, and picks him up like an overlarge burrito. "Shh, go back to sleep," he says at Arasion's grumbling, smoothing the elfling's hair back from his face as he gracefully returns to the ground. Arasion goes back to dozing, turning his head into Glorfindel's chest to block the light as they return to the city proper.

"Oh, Arasion." He rouses a little at Barades's voice with no idea how much time has passed. She sounds exasperated rather than worried, so he allows himself a little smirk. "Where was he?"

"Atop the garrison, for some reason." Glorfindel's voice rumbles through his chest and into Arasion's ear.

"Oh, naturally," she says, and then he's being passed between them. He makes a complaining noise at the sudden shift, squinting against the light. Barades cradles him against her shoulder, tucking his head beneath her chin. Glorfindel steps into his line of sight, smiling at him, and he can only imagine the pathetic sight he must present

"Imladris will not be boring so long as you are here, will it, little Arasion?" he asks teasingly.

Arasion blinks, wiggling his chin free of the cloak, and sticks out his tongue.

Barades makes an exasperated sound as Glorfindel laughs. "Alright, grumpy little cub, clearly you need to sleep," she says. He grunts in agreement, allowing his eyes to slip shut. Everything can wait until tomorrow. By the time the door closes behind them, he's already unconscious.