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Legolas was a child when he came, pretending to be asleep in his bed. He knew the consequences if he did not.
“I’m taking him,” the stranger said.
“This is a declaration of war,” Adar - not Ada, never Ada - said. He wasn’t shouting, but it was a near thing. “Galadriel and Elrond will -”
“Artanis already knows, Elrond sent me here. Not for this explicitly, but he had to have known.”
“You live on my land -”
“Then we will relocate.”
“And who will take you? The Gondorim do not kindly remember the Kinslayers, for all you claim to have raised Tar-Minyataur. Galadriel may already know you are here, but she will not harbor you either -”
“Rohan - the Riddermark,” the stranger said, scooping two arms beneath Legolas’ back.
Legolas continued to feign sleep.
“Tyelko is friendly with them, and they see children as the responsibility they truly are, not baubles to display. Come, if you dare. They will not like you.”
Legolas was shifted so his rear rested on an arm, a hand gently guided his head to a shoulder, where the ends of hair tickled his nose. A man, then? He’d never met an Elf with such hair, it was nearly unthinkable. But he’d also never known a man so tall, except maybe a Beorning.
Adar said nothing.
The stranger waited a little longer, smoothing Legolas’ hair down his back, then he turned to the door. “We won’t dally long. Should you ever realize what you’ve done, you may find us and beg mercy. I daresay your son will be grown by then, and then it will be his choice to offer or withhold. We will not lie to him.” And with that, he walked, long strides heading down the halls to the doors.
Legolas waited until he was sure his Adar was out of earshot, and then he tucked his face into the stranger’s neck and mumbled “Adar will be angry with me.”
“I won’t let him,” the stranger said, just as softly, but with steel beneath. “My brothers and I will not take another oath, but we will keep our word and we will not let him touch you, nor speak to you without your leave.”
Privately, Legolas wondered that it would be a wonderful thing, if true.
The stranger put him on a horse, laying him down on his front over the horse’s neck so his ruse of sleep continued, and then swung up behind him. The doors opened and the cold night air wafted in. The stranger pulled Legolas close to his chest and wrapped his cloak around them both, and then they were riding.
“You may look up if you wish,” the stranger said, perhaps a league later. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”
Obligingly, Legolas opened his eyes, gasping in delight as he looked up at the weft and weave of the universe. Then he looked a little further up and saw his well-meaning abductor for the first time.
He was an Elf, that much was certain, grey eyes smiling kindly and short red hair whipping in the wind. On a hunch, Legolas looked down and saw only the one hand. He hummed to himself. “Adar said if I wasn’t good, the Kinslayers would take me away. I’m glad he was right.”
Unseen by him, a spark of purpose glinted in Maedhros’ eyes. “Rest if you are tired,” he urged the small elfling, “and if you are not, I will tell you a story - about Lord Elrond.”
Three and three-quarter centuries later, it was Celegorm who brought home the next children, cursing their bastard father so thoroughly it would be a miracle if the Steward lived to see nightfall.
Legolas looked down at his new brothers - men! - as the rest of his attoli tried to calm down his Telkyo. “Are you hungry?”
The younger hid behind his elder brother, who scowled fearsomely. “Is it poison? Father said he wouldn’t let any elf poison us against him as we left.”
“It’s not poison,” Legolas said matter-of-factly, moving to the kitchen and pulling down bowls and cutlery. “My adar didn’t say that when I left, but he did a few years later when we met him in Imladris. What are your names?”
“I’m Boromir, this is Faramir.”
“Fine Sindarin names. I am Legolas.”
Boromir sat at the table as Legolas dished up some of the stew his Nelyo had made for lunch. Faramir sat next to him but did not let go.
“Are you the missing Prince of Mirkwood?” the child asked softly.
“I was Prince of Mirkwood but I’m not anymore, and I was never missing. Nelyo told King Thranduil where I was the night he took me, and His Majesty simply never came to see me afterwards.”
Boromir frowned and nodded slowly, taking a first sip of broth. “The one who brought us - he told Father where to find us as well. What if he tries to take us back by force? I won’t let him hurt Faramir anymore.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Telkyo said, dropping a kiss on top of Legolas’ head as he moved to dish up his own bowl. “The sons of Feanor are mighty indeed, and if Denethor has forgotten that, I will happily remind him.”
“What do you want us to do?” Boromir asked. “And what of Faramir’s studies?”
Telkyo snorted rather ungracefully into his bowl. “Kano can teach him more about history than any Adan could hope to remember, if that’s what he wants, and for what we want you to do, nothing. Tell them the rules, Lassë.”
Legolas smiled. “Be safe, be kind, be true to yourself.”
Boromir squinted untrustingly, but Faramir nodded to himself.
“It’s alright to doubt,” Legolas said. “I thought it was too good to be true, myself. Only time will help you believe, and you may have as much of that as you require. When you’re ready, I’ll show you to your rooms. You’ll have the pick of them - our attoli always intended to open their home to more children.”
Faramir tilted his head at Telkyo. “Is that what we call you? Atto?”
“Eru, I hope not.” Telkyo slurped down the last of his stew and stood to wash his bowl. “You can if you want, but I much prefer to be called Telkyo. The others are Nelyo, Kano, Moryo, Curvo, Minyo, and Atyo. Don’t worry if you can’t tell Minyo and Atyo apart - Nelyo’s the only one East of the Sea who can.”
To Telkyo’s great consternation, Faramir picked up the trick of telling Amrod and Amras apart within a week.
Moryo was the third, which Kano was somewhat upset about, as Telkyo had taken his turn last time. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the two young Periannath behind him. “They followed me. Their fathers declared it an excellent adventure, loaded us down with food and other supplies, and made them promise to write home often. There were tears. And hugs. And they threatened me. Eléntelumë laughed at me when I complained.”
Kano perked up at the mention of the one still-living of his two eldest. “How is Elenyo?” he asked, settling in to interrogate his younger brother.
The Periannath laughed and darted to the kitchen, declared it unfit immediately, and demanded of Boromir where the best mushroom-gathering places were located.
“Who are you?” Boromir demanded straight back.
“Ah! Our apologies!” the curlier-haired of the two said, clambering down from the counter. “Peregrin Took, at your service!”
“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” the other announced. “But you can call us Merry and Pippin. We live here now!”
Boromir looked over their heads at his Curvo, begging him with his eyes to make this make sense.
Telkyo appeared over Curvo’s shoulder. “Did I hear something about gathering mushrooms?” he asked, setting off a round of excited babbling.
Boromir settled back in with his book, grumbling under his breath. He wasn’t sorry in the least to lose his favorite atto to the two newest additions, he told himself.
“Are you coming, Boromir?” Telkyo asked.
Boromir perked up and stashed a ribbon in his book to hold his place. “Of course!”
Bushels of mushrooms and several dunkings in mud later, he had decided his new brothers weren’t that bad at all really.
“Just go visit him yourself!” Moryo shouted as he finally broke free of Kano’s clutches just as they walked in the door.
Boromir glanced over to see Kano had already begun plotting.
Kano did end up being the one to bring home their next addition, though this was not a brother. “Everyone,” he said, delightedly introducing the tall Man, “this is Estel, your nephew, he’d also like to be addressed as Thorongil while here in the Riddermark and will oft be riding out with King Thengel.”
Estel grinned sheepishly and gave a small wave.
Merry and Pippin immediately pounced on him, a chattering Faramir not far behind, while Legolas and Boromir watched bemusedly.
A letter in Khuzdûl arrived for Nelyo not long after, accompanied by a nadan of no more than thirty years.
To Nelyafinwe Russandol, Dwarf-Friend and Once-King of the Noldor Hosts:
It has not escaped the notice of the Lonely Mountain that you have amassed a small hoard of noble-children from nearly every race. The rescues of Legolas Thranduilion and Boromir and Faramir, Denethor’s Sons, were acts of mercy, swiftly delivered where none else dared step in for fear of political ramifications. But then, the Sons of Fëanor have never much feared political ramifications, have they? As for the matter of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, Our Friend Bilbo Baggins has advised us of all they have done and learned in your care and suggested that Our own young might benefit. I believe he seeks to mend a rift between Our Races, not realizing that the Dwarves of ‘Urdek have no quarrel with Elves beyond those willingly under the rule of Thranduil Oropherion, least of all Yourself.
That being said, I would not wish to disappoint a Friend, and so we have sent to you Gimli Glóinul to satisfy Mr. Baggins’ hopes as well as Our Own. The young lad shows much promise and We would see it forged under the Best.
Yours in Friendship,
Balin Fundinul, Seneschal to Daín Ironfoot, King Under the Mountain
Gimli immediately plastered himself to Curvo’s side until the Elf caved and agreed to teach him smithing direct from his own mouth. It took at most five minutes.
Ambarussa returned from Imladris with Estel and two more Periannath in tow. “Olorín,” one of them said, laying every derogatory modifier Fëanor had ever invented (and there were many) onto that one name, “volunteered us to take these two to Mordor to dispose of Mairon’s One Ring.”
Curvo froze at the mention of the fallen Maia who had seduced his son and then quite literally torn him apart.
“We’re coming, too,” Merry insisted, picking up the Hobbit-sized sword he’d forged himself.
Pippin took the new Periannath’s hands, one in each of his own. “Sam?” he asked. “Frodo?”
The two nodded, the one looking more pained than the other. The Ringbearer, then, he had to be.
Pippin nodded. “We’re definitely coming.”
“I’ll not be left out,” Gimli said, turning on his heel and heading for his axe.
“We’re waiting for Telkyo and Boromir to get back, right?” Faramir asked, already packing.
“We’ll get them on the way,” Legolas decided, twirling his cloak about himself.
The Sons of Fëanor looked at them all in shock.
The children they’d raised shared a look, smiling. “We are our fathers’ sons,” they chorused.
“Mithrandir will meet us at Edoras,” Estel said, having the good grace to hide his smile with his hand. “He’s meeting Curunír at Orthanc first - the White Wizard didn’t show up at the Council. And I bear a message from Elrond as well, he’s said: I believe this will be good for you, attoli .”
“Well,” Nelyo sighed, and his brothers all turned to him. “Let’s go, then.”
And once again, Middle Earth was reminded of the might of the Sons of Fëanor, the enduring of friendship, and the steadfastness of Hobbits.