FINDING NÁMO
Overall rating: yellow/orange
Category: slash (two male Elves in love), romance, drama, ANGST, h/c, humour.
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel, Orophin/Elladan, Elrohir/Námo, Elrond/Gil-galad, Gil-galad/Amaris, Celeborn/Melpomaen, Haldir/Rabbit, Rúmil/Galadriel and more
Warnings: mpreg, Angst - and we have scruffy Legolas, if this needs a warning.
Beta: Miss Eveiya
Beautiful artwork by Pira, who managed perfectly to capture my imagination into pictures. Thanks so much for sharing your talent!
Summary: "Finding Námo" is the sequel to "The Knave", and I recommend that you read "The Knave" and "The Tw-Elf Days of Yule" first, otherwise some aspects of this story will be confusing.
CHAPTER 1
We can’t go on together
With suspicious minds
And we can’t build our dreams
On suspicious minds
"Suspicious Minds" – Elvis Presley
~°~
"…and this is the reason we allowed the men of the Northern Woods to use the bridge across the Bruinen. It was a deal both sides profited from, and right now, your ada is dancing with a green and yellow striped Balrog in the courtyard – are you paying any attention at all, Elladan?"
"Huh?" the young lord replied, focusing his attention on a rather grumpy Erestor. For the last half hour he had stared out of the window, watching the preparations for the departure of the guests in the next morrow in the courtyard, and indeed – he had not heard a single word of Erestor's lecture.
Erestor sighed, and stepped beside the young Elf.
"Elladan – I am well aware that this is not as exciting as the goings-on down there – but it is important. You need to know these things if you want to be a support and help to your father, and when he leaves for The Havens by the end of this year, responsibility for all of Imladris will be with you."
Elladan blushed.
"I am sorry, Master Erestor. I know this is important, but there are so many things going through my mind right now – I find it difficult to concentrate."
Erestor looked over Elladan's shoulder, and cocked an eyebrow.
"Aha," he said, and smiled when he witnessed what had become a daily ritual.
Eldanar, the Elfling Haldir and Orophin had found in the woods, sat on the border of the fountain, dangling his legs and eating an apple. The boy had literally blossomed under the loving attention in Rivendell, and it was obvious that he had taken a special liking to Orophin.
No matter whether Orophin returned from a patrol or a walk with Estorel – Eldanar was sitting in the same place, waiting for him. He'd shyly follow the Elf and, eventually, slip his hand in Orophin's, and together they would walk back to the Last Homely House. If Orophin stopped to talk to somebody, Eldanar would cling to his leg, hiding, burying his face in the Galadhrim's cloak.
Erestor knew that Orophin had a special way with children – they loved him, all of them, which must be a special gift from the Valar. Even Estorel quietened down when Orophin carried him, and though Erestor would never have mentioned it – he even had a calming influence on Glorfindel.
Tomorrow, Eldanar would leave. Arwen and Estel had kindly offered to take the boy with them to Minas Tirith, to live at their court. "The little one needs a home, and he is very self-conscious about his ears," Arwen had stated, "so it is nothing but logical to let him grow up in a place where nobody notices the difference."
Lord Elrond could not find anything speaking against this conclusion of female logic, and had been delighted by this offer. Unlike Eldanar who, despite being told over and over by everybody what a lucky boy he was, going to live at the king's court, was not looking forward to leaving Rivendell at all. He had quickly grown fond of the people here, and like most children, he had roots which grew fast and deep, and transferring such a fragile little plant to another place is neither an easy nor a very wise thing to do.
"I will miss him," Elladan said, and sighed. Ever since the day of the departure had been announced, his heart had grown heavier, and the closer the departure, the more silent Orophin became.
"We all will," Erestor said, and smiled. "Especially Bramble, who has taken a deep liking to the young one. Did you know that she was teaching him how to catch crayfish?"
Elladan laughed.
"Oh yes, I know! He fell in the water and came home dripping wet, and when we undressed him, there was a crayfish in his pocket!"
"Young ones always carry strange things in their pockets. I remember how I once almost scared my sister to death when she found a living frog in one of my pockets."
Elladan looked up in surprise.
"Your sister? I did not know you had a sister, Master Erestor."
A dark shadow fell over the advisor's face.
"She is dead, like all of my family. I lost them all on the same day - I was the only one to make it out of Gondolin alive."
Elladan hugged Erestor, and had to smile when he felt that his embrace was returned. How very much Erestor had changed – not too long ago, he would have snapped the head off anybody who dared to approach him in this way.
When Elladan let go, Erestor straightened up, a little embarrassed, and tugged his robe into place.
"Have you considered keeping the boy here?" he asked, and Elladan started.
"Keeping him? How? Where? What do you mean?" he asked, and Erestor shrugged.
"You and Orophin – have you not thought about keeping him with you?"
Elladan began to pace the room.
"Ai, the thought has crossed my mind, but it is not possible. We have so many duties, and then – two males raising a child, this would not be looked upon favourably."
Erestor cocked an eyebrow and looked down his long nose at Elladan.
"Indeed – is it not?" he said, and Elladan quickly added: "Your case is different, Master Erestor – but see, the customs of men especially are different from ours. There have already been rather unfriendly notes regarding my wedding landing on my father's desk. They object to the fact that a male bound to a male will rule over Imladris – now imagine their reaction if they hear that the next heir of Imladris will be a child we found in the woods!"
Erestor was close to saying where, in his opinion, men could stick their customs and protests, but kept quiet, for this would not be a shining example of diplomacy for Elladan.
* * *
The very moment Eldanar caught the first glimpse of Orophin and five guards down the main street, he stuffed the apple-core into one of his pockets and ran towards the Galadhrim.
"Look, your knave is waiting for you already," Mela joked, and Orophin smiled warmly when he saw the little boy. But then he remembered the message in his saddle bag, and his smile froze. He would have to talk to Eldanar today, and it was a conversation no child should have to endure.
"'phin! 'phin!" Eldanar cried, and waved both hands. Orophin, without halting his horse, grabbed the boy, lifting him up and settling him in front of him. Eldanar beamed like the spring sun above, and Orophin ruffled his hair.
"Now, young master Eldanar, what have you done today?" he asked.
"I went hunting with Bramble. I caught a crayfish!" the Elfling said, and then he described enthusiastically how he had hunted down his prey all by himself, and without falling in the river, and Orophin, whose hair stood on end at the mere thought of the child falling into the Bruinen, managed a smile and told Eldanar that he would become great hunter one day.
The boy blushed with pride.
"Rabbit watched us and he said so, too," he grinned, and Orophin released a sigh of relief. Rabbit had been there, so all was well. No river spirit would dare to lure a child with Rabbit near.
"He said I would be a great hunter and warrior, like you and my ada. My ada was the greatest of all warriors, you know. He wore this golden armour when he rode away, all shiny and sparkling. Will I get an armour too when I'm grown up, 'phin?"
Orophin's heart contracted painfully when the boy mentioned his father, and the message in the saddle bag weighed down his soul like a heavy stone.
"Why not? I am sure you will look splendid in armour, and I have no doubt that you will be a great warrior one day," he said, faking cheerfulness, and Eldanar grinned again and snuggled into Orophin's arm.
"Listen, penneth – there is something I wish to talk about with you. What do you say – shall we go in the garden, where we will be alone?"
Eldanar, not suspecting anything unpleasant, nodded, and did not notice the pitiful looks of Mela and the other guards, who waved Orophin good-bye when he directed his horse into the forest while they rode on towards the Last Homely House.
It was a short ride, and before long, they arrived in a small clearing. Orophin halted his horse, slipped out of the saddle and lifted Eldanar down, placing the child carefully on the ground. They boy looked around – he had never been here before.
"Oh, what is this?" he asked, and ran towards a monument which was almost fully overgrown by a rose bush.
Orophin didn't answer, just followed the boy.
Eldanar walked around the monument, tried to shift the ranks of the bush aside and yelped when he stung his finger on a thorn. He sucked on the hurt finger, then he gasped.
"Oh! This is your name, 'phin! Here! 'O-ro-phi' – see? I learned my letters well!"
Orophin stroked the child's hair lovingly, then he sat down on the soft leaves which covered the ground in front of the monument, and Eldanar followed, snuggling up to him.
"Yes, this is my name, Eldanar. Do you know what this monument is here for?"
Eldanar thought about it for a moment, then he shrugged.
"To let everybody know that you are a great warrior?" he guessed, and Orophin smiled.
"This is a nice thought, but – see, I must tell you something, Eldanar, and I know that this will not be easy to understand or accept for one as young as you are. I even doubt an Elf who had lived many millennia could understand it – indeed, I do not fully understand it, either. But will you try?"
Eldanar nodded, and put his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he was tired, concentrating or confused.
Orophin cleared his throat.
"This monument here was build by Lord Elladan, little one. He… it was… you see, he built it in memory of me."
Eldanar cocked his head.
"Memory? So not to forget you when you are away?" he asked, and Orophin nodded.
"Yes. Some time ago, there was a great battle. Not as big as the battle your ada went to fight, but big enough."
Eldanar slipped his thumb out of his mouth.
"Did you fight, too?" he asked.
"Yes. I did fight, too." Orophin answered, which impressed Eldanar greatly.
"Oh! Did you wear shiny armour, like my ada?"
Orophin tried to remember the time in Tíngel forest, but it was difficult. He remembered being cold, lonely and in pain – and there had been comfort, too. Whispered words, stolen touches – he shook his head, as if to chase away these ghosts of the past.
"No, I did not wear armour, little one. But I was fighting, and then I was hurt."
Eldanar's eyes got big like saucers.
"You were hurt? Oh 'phin, was it bad?"
Orophin hated to scare the child, but this had to be told.
"Yes, little one. I was hurt so badly that Mandos came to take me with him to the Halls of Waiting, where all my friends were waiting for me."
Eldanar almost forgot to breathe, so captivated was he by this tale.
"You went with Mandos? But my ada said only dead Elves see him?"
Orophin looked into the scared blue eyes of the child, and pressed a gentle kiss on the soft silver blond hair.
"Yes, only dead Elves. This is what I am trying to tell you: I died in this battle. My beloved Elladan thought he would never see me again, so he built this monument so he would always remember me."
Eldanar had now tears in his eyes.
"I do not understand this, 'phin! Why are you here when you are dead? Oh, this is a horrible story!"
"Shhh," Orophin soothed the child, gently rocking him. "As you see, I am here. King Gil-galad and Amaris brought me with them when they returned from the Halls of Waiting, so here I am."
"The pumpkin king brought you back?" Eldanar gasped, and despite the serious situation, Orophin had to smile.
"Yes, the pumpkin king – but you really should not call him this in public, Eldanar."
"But Lord Elrond calls him pumpkin, too!"
"He is allowed to."
"Awww… I want to grow up very fast, because I want to have all the fun, and then I will be a great warrior in shiny armour and I can call everybody pumpkin!"
Eldanar wiped away his tears and began to play with Orophin's braids.
"Now, Eldanar – I told you this tale for a reason. It is important that you understand that nobody is gone just because he enters the Halls of Waiting. Sooner or later, we all return, just like we all die – it is the circle of life. Do you understand this?"
"Yes – I know all about fëas, Master Erestor taught me."
"Good. So, while I was in the Halls of Waiting, I thought of my beloved Elladan every single second. I did not forget him, I did not love him less, and I missed him greatly. Do you believe me?"
"Oh yes," Eldanar answered, and nodded, "Elladan said he loves you very much, too."
Orophin took a deep breath.
"When you came here and told us how you had to leave your home and that your ada went to Helm's Deep, I wrote to my friends in the Golden Wood to see if any of them knew what had happened to your ada, or knew where he was now."
Eldanar perked up, all excited.
"You found my ada? Really? Where is he? When will he come to see me?"
Orophin hugged the child close.
"Eldanar – I am very, very sorry, but your ada fell in that battle. He will not come back – Mandos called him, and he followed."
The child in his arms turned to stone, and big, unbelieving blue eyes looked up at him.
"Dead? My ada is dead?" he whispered, and Orophin nodded, hugging the child even closer to his chest.
"Yes, my little star, your ada is dead. But just like I thought of Elladan every second, your ada thinks of you, and he is always with you. Never think that you are unloved, for I am sure he will always watch over you, no matter where you are or what you do."
No sound came from the child, for Eldanar had slipped his thumb back into his mouth and sucked fervently.
"I have received word from one of your Ada's friends. His name is Sildil, he fought by his side and was with him when… it happened. He wrote that your ada talked about you all the time and was very proud of you, saying you were the best son any Elf could have."
Eldanar looked up.
"He will not come back?" he whispered, and Orophin saw that he was crying.
"One day he will, Eldanar, I am sure of this."
"How will I know him? He will look different! I want my ada now, I do not want to wait," the boy sobbed, and Orophin stroked his back.
"Oh – you will know him, believe me, you will."
Eldanar sobbed into Orophin's uniform and soaked the garment with his tears, but the Galadhrim didn't notice. The child's pain cut deep into his heart, and he wished he could do anything to help the boy.
"It is good that you cry, Eldanar – tears can help a pained heart more than one of Lord Elrond's draughts."
"This is not fair! He just went away and left me alone! Nobody loves me or wants me!" Eldanar cried, and Orophin shook his head.
"This is not true, little one, we all love you very much. And look, Arwen and Estel love you so much that they will give you a new home, and they will love you like one of their own children. You mean a lot to all of us, and we will always be there for you if you need us."
Eldanar struggled to his feet and freed himself of Orophin's embrace.
"Liar! Liar! You do not want me! You already have an Elfling, you do not want another one! You just send me away because you hate me and because you do not like my ears! I hate you!"
With that, the child ran away as fast as if a Balrog was following him with a whip, but Orophin stayed where he was. He knew well how the boy must feel – had he not been a child without a home, too? Believed that nobody loved him or cared for him? Yes, Orophin knew all about pain and loneliness, and he swore to himself that this boy would never, ever have to endure what he had gone through.
A determined expression on his face, Orophin got up and went to look for Eldanar.
"How dramatic. How touching," Irmo, also known as Lórien sighed, and he propped up on his elbows. The Master of Dreams lay on his front, and watched Orophin disappear among the trees. "Did you really call the child's father?" he asked, and Námo nodded.
"Oh yes – horrible wound, there was nothing the healers could do. He would have welcomed me, for he was in great pain, if there had not been the fear for his child's well-being."
"So how did you convince him to follow you then? When it comes to their offspring, Elves are incredibly uncooperative and stubborn," Irmo asked, and Námo smiled.
"I promised him that I would make sure his son would find a new family."
Irmo got up, and brushed some non-existent leaves from his robes, because he felt that he looked rather elegant doing it.
"And you have kept your promise – in a most generous way, if I may say so. Many will envy him, living with the King of Gondor."
Námo shook his head, then he slipped down from the monument he sat on.
"My dear Irmo, for a Vala, you are amazingly slow on the uptake. And now please excuse me, I have important matters to attend."
With that, he directed his steps towards the Last Homely House, leaving a rather baffled Irmo behind, who thought that Námo, who could be anywhere he wanted, spent an amazing amount of time sitting on monuments and watching the petty squabbles of the Firstborn.
* * *
Elrond sighed, then he closed the book and shoved it over the table, where Gandalf took it and put it away in this bag.
The Lord of Imladris ran his hands through his hair, and shook his head.
"This is driving me insane, Mithrandir - for months, we have looked through every book and every scroll in my library, and did not find a single word about the ring which has influenced Galadriel's actions in such an unfavourable way. And nothing has happened, either - Firinwë did not steal the ring without a purpose. Why is she not using it? What is her plan? And where is she?"
None of the Elves gathered around the table answered, but they all looked worried. Glorfindel was the first to speak.
"My lord - maybe the ring only had power while in Galadriel’s possession? Maybe a normal Elf could not use its power?"
Some nodded, others shook their heads.
"We know all about the rings of power - but nothing about this one. But there must be some information somewhere, otherwise Firinwë, who is not exactly the brightest pebble on the beach, would not have bothered to steal it. Maybe she had a partner in crime? Somebody who helped her?" Erestor said, and again, some agreed, some didn't.
"Oh, by the Valar, this is not leading anywhere," Gil-galad grumbled, rather annoyed, and leant back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "We have discussed this over and over again - I say: none of your warriors and scouts were able to locate this Firinwë-tramp. Nothing has happened yet. As unpleasant as it is I am most afraid that we will have to wait until something happens before we can react."
Celeborn nodded, though his heart was bleeding that he had to agree with Gil-galad.
"The king is right. There is nothing we can do but wait."
Galadriel, who had not spoken so far, stood up.
"My friends - I have no mirror anymore to advise and guide me, but still I can see more than any of you. Yet even to me, the future is unknown - whatever powers are ruling here, they are above mine. I feel that we are in danger, but I agree with Celeborn - we will have to be patient and wait."
"I do, however, suggest that we use this time of waiting to prepare ourselves, my lord," Erestor said, "let us collect all forces, increase the guards at the borders and undertake everything that is needed to keep our people safe."
Elrond got up as well, and nodded.
"You are right. Glorfindel, I wish you to start tomorrow to make plans to improve the protection of our borders. Erestor, I want every part of the Last Homely House checked for damage and, if necessary, repaired. Melpomaen - have you noted everything down?"
The young advisor, who had scribbled away as quickly as he could and had even managed to divide his attention between the ongoing discussion and Lord Celeborn, nodded
"Aye, my lord."
"Good. So I suggest we finish this discussion now, you all have a long ride ahead of you tomorrow, and will need the rest."
Galadriel, Celeborn and Gandalf left the room, and only Gil stayed behind. He dragged the tired Lord of Imladris towards the window where he flopped in a comfortable chair and made Elrond sit on his lap, which was rather childish, but at the same time also very comforting.
Elrond buried his face in Gil's hair.
"Beloved - how can I leave Middle earth at a time like this? What if nothing happens by the end of the year? I could not leave my children here, battling such danger!"
Gil stroked his back.
"Elrond - I do not wish to play down the fact that we might be in great danger. But there is always a threat somewhere. Elladan is wise and strong - I am sure he will handle every situation. Our time here has come to an end. You are tired, beloved, and worn out. It is time to leave duties to the younger ones, and I have every faith in your son."
Elrond sighed, but enjoyed the attention from his lover. How long had he been without somebody to care for him! He felt like a small plant which began to grow and strengthen in the warming rays of Gil-galad's love, and he knew that the king was right: his time here was over, and now it was Elladan's turn.
"Elladan - yes, I know he will protect Imladris. But I am worried - you should see some of the messages I got from the realms of men."
Gil sighed.
"I know - they do not understand our way of living, and so they fear it. But in the end, this will be Elladan's battle, not yours. He has chosen his husband, and I have no doubt that he will see to it that his choice will be respected, be it by Elf, Dwarf of Man. And do not underestimate Orophin, either - he has the authority of a king, and will never allow any harm to come to your child."
"I know, Gil, I know," Elrond said, and snuggled closer into Gil's arms. "My son has made an excellent choice with Orophin. Elrohir, on the other hand..." Elrond broke off, and shook his head.
"Oh. Is he still speaking with invisible people?" Gil-galad asked, and Elrond nodded.
"Yes. And he refuses to let me examine him. He says he is only tired. But he has been seen by many, talking to somebody who is not there. I do fear his mind is - troubled in some way, but he will not allow anybody to help him."
"Maybe he is lonely? I know that some Elflings invent invisible friends when they have nobody to talk to."
"Elflings, yes. I have read about this. But Elrohir is a grown-up Elf. There were never any problems with him, he was perfect in everything he did - and now this. I am really at my wits end, beloved."
Gil kissed Elrond gently.
"Do not worry, Elrond. I am sure everything is fine with Elrohir. Maybe he is trying to get attention? I’m sure it must have been a great shock for him to be separated from his brother when Elladan got married. Twins are much closer to each other than normal brothers, as you surely know."
For a while, neither of them spoke, they simply enjoyed each other's nearness and company. Then Elrond looked up, and cupped Gil's face with his hands.
"I am very, very glad that you are here, Gil."
Gil smiled, and kissed the tip of Elrond's nose.
"Thank you. And I can assure you that you will not be able to get rid of me any time soon, love."
Elrond rested his head on Gil's shoulder, and closed his eyes. He wished so much that Gil was speaking the truth, and that he would never, ever lose him again. Yes, when he reached out to touch Gil's mind, he felt the love, he knew that his words were true. Elrond's face was imprinted in Gil's mind like the tattoos in Rabbit's skin.
The only problem was that Elrond's face was not the only one.
* * *
"It is starting to show, darling," Glorfindel said, and looked dotingly at his husband.
Erestor looked down at his slightly protruding stomach, and smiled.
"Yes - not too long, and I will be able to feel the Elfling."
The advisor continued to sort the scrolls, and once in a while, he made a note, while Glorfindel helped Estorel build a tower with his building blocks. The real fun about the whole thing was to smash the tower down once it was finished, which made Estorel giggle and laugh to no end.
"Your son has a rather destructive streak, dear Erestor," Fin said, watching Estorel throwing the blocks around, and he ducked when one flew in his direction.
"How come, dear Glorfindel;" Erestor said, without looking up from his work, "that every time our Elfling is doing something bad, he is my son, while every positive achievement is credited to your offspring? I was under the impression that he was our son."
Fin grinned.
"My dear, it is one fool-proof way to wind you up, how could I let such a chance pass by unused? I love it when you get all angry and annoyed. It adds to your charms."
Erestor quickly looked up and glared at Glorfindel.
"There are days when I really wonder why I married you, Fin," he grumbled, and Glorfindel gave him his most charming smile.
"Oh, there are many reasons, dear advisor of my heart. First: I am the most beautiful Elf on Arda. Second: I am intelligent beyond belief. Third: I know "Mirkwood Love Secrets" by heart and have performed position no. 17 four times in one night without collapsing."
"Fin! You are incredible!" Erestor cried, and Fin nodded.
"Yes, I am - thanks for reminding me. That would be reason number four, of course."
Estorel again sent all the building blocks flying across the floor with great noise, clapping his hands and cheering.
"See?" Fin said, "Estorel agrees! Now what a clever Elfling you are, penneth!"
He tickled the child, and Estorel giggled, curled up and struggled.
Erestor sighed.
"Fin - how am I supposed to finish this translation with this noise? Why not go for a walk with Estorel? The weather is beautiful, and I could join you in a short time."
"A wonderful idea, oh cranky one."
He got up, then quickly went over to Erestor, kissing him hard and slipping his hand under the advisor's tunic. The surprised Elf gasped, arching under Glorfindel's skilled hands. When he heard Erestor moan, Fin released him, straightened his tunic and grinned.
"We shall leave you to your work now, beloved. See you later!"
With he took Estorel by the hand and headed for the door.
Erestor, who sat in his chair all flushed and worked up, howled: "And what was that supposed to be?"
"This, dear Erestor, was reason number 5 why you love me: because I am such a wonderful tease."
With that, he was out of the door, and Erestor had to think of Lady Firinwë for at least five minutes to get his body back into a state where he was able to finish his work.
At least she was useful for something.
* * *
In Mirkwood too, spring had come early this year. Though these were the first days of March, the sun was already shining warmly and nature was in full bloom, a fact which pleased Legolas greatly.
Less pleased, however, was he about the Elf who sat in a tree close to the banks of the pond. Legolas and his friend had used the warm weather to have a swim, and after lots of laughter and dunking each other, they were now lazily floating on their backs, listening to the song of love lost which was heard from the direction of the tree.
"This is just not the time and place for singing," Legolas grumbled, and sent a sinister look in direction of his uncle, the Elf who sang.
"Why not?" Feon asked, a good friend of the prince and only a couple of decades older than him. "If it is a good time for swimming, then it is also a good time for singing."
Legolas snorted.
"Yes, and inviting every Orc within hearing distance for dinner."
Feon laughed.
"My dear Legolas, if the Orcs were not alerted by your squeaks when I dunked you, they will certainly not be alerted by this sweet voice. And do not worry about getting eaten: they would let you go after the first bite, sourly grump that you are."
Legolas rolled his eyes.
"And here goes another fool falling for Amaris' charms. Really, Feon – what is wrong with you? I would have thought you to have more sense than all the stable hands and chamber maids who dissolve in pools of melted butter whenever he passes by."
Again, the dark-haired archer laughed.
"Ai, Legolas – do I hear envy in your voice? A tiny bit of jealousy, even?"
Legolas stood up, the water running in rivulets down his body.
"Envious? Jealous? Me? Because of him? Never!"
Feon giggled, then he batted his lashes.
"Aw, poor little Legolas, did you not get enough attention lately? No chamber maids? No stable grooms? Dear me – it sure looks like you will have to start braiding your hair properly and washing your face once in a while."
Legolas crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.
"Some friend you are – so you have fallen for his so-called charms, too, I reckon?"
Feon smiled, then he sighed dreamily.
"Ai, Legolas – he is without a doubt the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Those eyes! That smile! This voice! You know that I am not interested in males, but by the Forest Spirits, I would reconsider this point of view if your lovely uncle were ever to smile at me!"
Legolas shuddered.
"Do not call him my uncle! I do not have an uncle, the only one I had was lost back in the Great Battle, fighting bravely for our people and dying in the process."
Feon got up, and wrung out his long hair. He shook his mane, and sent water drops flying all over the place. Then he looked at Legolas, serious now.
"Legolas, you may not like it, but no tantrum of yours will change the course of events. He is your uncle, he is here, and you will have to deal with it. And as he is your father's older brother, he could actually claim the throne of Mirkwood if he wanted - he is the head of the clan. No matter how much this rubs your fur the wrong way: you owe him your allegiance."
Legolas' eyes flashed.
"Older brother – the laugh! He is only 700 years old! A third of my age! And this story about returning from the Halls of Mandos – why is everybody believing it? He could be anybody! He could be an evil wizard! He could be the Dark Lord in disguise! He could be…"
"… the uncle of an Elf who fell on his head once too often," Feon finished the sentence, and shook his head. "Really, Legolas, I do not understand what your problem is. We all know that Mandos does release souls from his halls at times – just think of Lord Glorfindel."
Legolas tried to run his fingers through his hair, but got stuck in the mats. Another infuriating thing about Amaris – his hair. Even after a wild ride, the blond tresses would fall down his back like silk. No strand ever got loose, no braid ever lost its clasp, and no tangle would ever dare to even look at Amaris' hair. The Elf was perfect – in every way. Everybody loved him, so it was only natural that Legolas couldn't stand him. Standing beside his uncle, the prince of Mirkwood felt even more inferior than usual. Being compared to his father was hard, but being compared to Amaris was – cruel. At least his ada had some faults, be it his temper, his sometimes colourful interpretation of the truth or his love for gems and silver. But Amaris – Amaris was perfect.
Feon knew what was going on in Legolas' head – he had known him for almost all of his life, and he could read his face as he would read a book. Despite his often demonstrated rough ways, Feon knew that deep inside the other Elf there was a very soft center, and he knew that every time somebody complimented Amaris, Legolas took it as a personal insult.
The two Elves hadn't paid attention to the fact that Amaris had stopped singing, so they started when he suddenly stood on the bank, only a short distance away, and Legolas wondered if he had overheard their conversation.
If he had, he did not show it, only smiled at the two Elves, and Feon was glad he was still up to his waist in the water, for this smile did most interesting things to his body. He bowed his head, and Amaris returned the greeting, ignoring Legolas’ deliberate refusal to extend the greeting that custom and respect demanded.
"This is a lovely place for swimming," Amaris said, "I almost forgot about it."
"Did you?" Legolas asked, "Forget it, I mean? Or have you, maybe, never been here before?"
Feon winced and prepared for a sharp reprimand from Amaris, but the Elf only smiled.
"No, my dear nephew, I remember this place well. It was here I first tried the spell to turn myself into a sea dragon – as you know, sea dragons are the pet of choice for us evil wizards. However, after a while I gave up trying to be a wizard and began training as Dark Lord - alas, again I failed. Though I still think Saruman's Orcs looked lovely in their pink uniforms."
Feon couldn't help but snicker, which earned him an evil look from Legolas. Amaris stretched his body, then he looked at the two Elves in the water.
"I see that I have dealings here with two great warriors," he said, and gestured at the markings on Legolas' and Feon's bodies. A rune for every battle won, merging into intricate patterns which began on the neck and went down the shoulders. Though Legolas was younger, the tattoos reached halfway down his back already - his adventures had earned him the right to wear them. But Feon also proudly displayed his victories.
"Yes, indeed, you have, and you had better not forget this, uncle," Legolas snapped, and stormed out of the water, grabbing for his clothes and, with a last angry look at Amaris, disappearing into the woods.
Feon sighed.
"I am sorry, my lord - he is a good Elf, though a little - unpolished, if I may say so."
Amaris laughed.
"There is no need to apologize - he has inherited his father's temper. Who inherited his father's temper. So you see - it is, as usual, all Oropher's fault."
Feon wasn't sure if it was appropriate to laugh at this joke, so he asked: "And you, my lord, have inherited your father's temper, too?"
Amaris smiled - it was a predatory smile, showing two rows of perfect, pearly white teeth, and Feon felt his knees go weak.
"Me? Oh - I am not sure. You see, my father had many - talents and weaknesses."
"Oh? He had?" asked Feon, who could hardly remember King Oropher, but had been more than once on the receiving end of one of Thrandúil's or Legolas' tantrums.
"Like - what?" he added, and Amaris smiled again while he kicked off his boots, pulled the tunic over his head, slipped out of his breeches and almost caused Feon a heart attack. Now this was a sight - a lean, strong body, all sinew and elegance, like a wildcat, and Feon caught his breath when he saw the pattern which ran from Amaris' neck down his chest, narrowing toward his abdomen, and pointing like an arrow towards Amaris groin. Feon immediately forgot all about kings and princes and personal preferences - he wanted Amaris. Now. Please.
Amaris stepped into the water, without causing even so much as a small wave, and stood opposite Feon, who was gasping for air.
"To answer your question, dear young friend - he could not, for example, pass any beautiful Elf," Amaris said, then he reached out and pulled Feon close by his braids. He wrapped his body around the other's like a vine around a tree, held him tight by the traditional leather straps around his arms, licked his ear and purred:
"And as it just happens - neither can I."
* * *
It was a bad day, Eldanorien decided. For over a year now, she had been living in Rivendell, and still Elrohir hadn't managed to tell his father about her. In the beginning, it had been fun, the secrecy adding to the thrill of her new love, but by now, she was missing Mirkwood more and more every day. The little she saw of Lord Elrond's younger son was not enough to outweigh her homesickness, not any more, and recently, things had gone from bad to worse. He had stopped talking about the goings-on in the Last Homely House, and every so often, he would start up and look over his shoulder, as if somebody was standing behind him. Maybe it was true what her father used to say: the minds of the Half-elves were oddly wired, and though Elrohir was very fair of face, she had to admit to herself that she did not love him anymore.
So today, she had walked up to the Last Homely House, a made-up story at hand to explain her presence, but luckily, Master Erestor had welcomed her. Now that was one strange Elf if ever there was one - not only had he given birth to a child, which was odd enough, no, he also had this crow following his every step, and Eldanorien had a hard time keeping the bird out of her braids.
Master Erestor had been rather brief, explaining to her that Elrohir was, unfortunately, unavailable, and no, she couldn't wait for him here, either, as they had visitors, but he would tell Elrohir that she was waiting for him in her house. While the Mirkwood maid was not one lost for words under normal circumstances, the tall, dark Elf radiated authority, and she had felt instinctively that no gainsaying would be accepted, so she had bid her farewells and made her way back to her temporary home.
Various odd things had happened on the short way from the Last Homely House to her home - first, a flower pot had fallen off a window sill, crashing in front of her feet and almost giving her a heart-attack. Then she had only escaped by a hairs-breadth death by decapitation when the chains holding the huge sword which hung as an eye-catcher over the entrance of the blacksmith's workshop snapped and the heavy weapon fell down, slashing her skirt in the process.
Did the Valar hate her? It seemed so, for the next accident was already waiting for her, this time in the form of a huge branch which broke off a tree and almost crushed her. Eldanorien breathed a great sigh of relief when she finally arrived home and could close the door behind her.
A bad day, really. And so she went to her bedroom, took out the huge leather bag from under the bed and began to pack. Carefully, she folded skirts and shirts and placed them in the bag, then her shoes and all those small knick-knacks which she had collected over the year. Dried roses she had gotten from Elrohir; the book of 2nd age poems he had presented her with for her begetting day - all those little things she had enjoyed, and which now had lost their meaning.
"Elda? What are you doing?" a hesitant voice could be heard behind her, and without turning around, she put a dress in the bag, and answered: "It should be obvious, Elrohir. I am packing."
"Packing? But - why?"
He stepped closer to her, trying to embrace her, but she pushed him away.
"Elrohir - please. Let us part as friends."
"Part?"
Elrohir was baffled. Certainly, they had had some problems these last weeks; the presence of Gil-galad had demanded the greatest secrecy, and he couldn't risk telling her of the miracle which had occurred. Naturally, she must have assumed that he had cut her out of his life.
"My love, I know I have been neglecting you these last weeks, and I am most sorry for it, but I promise you, this will be over soon."
Again he tried to embrace her, and this time, she pushed him away a little harder.
"Elrohir - you have promised me a thousand times to tell your father about me. We even talked about getting married. I almost broke up with my family to come here, and have you talked to him? No. Over a year, and you could not find the heart to tell him that you love somebody from Mirkwood."
Finally, she turned around, and looked at Elrohir's face. He had blushed, and looked down at the tips of his boots, knowing well that she had every right to be upset.
"Look at me, Elrohir", she said, and he obeyed, only to take one step back in panic when he saw Námo standing behind her, watching with an amused smile the heavy fruit bowl which floated above her head.
"Come here, Eldanorien!" he shrieked, and dragged her away. Námo frowned, shrugged, and the fruit bowl slowly, slowly sank back onto the table, landing without a sound.
Eldanorien eyed him suspiciously. He got odder by the minute - it was indeed high time to end this.
"Look - I am not really angry, Elrohir. We had a good time, and I would not want to have missed it. But now it is time for our ways to part."
Elrohir wanted to say something, but got distracted by Námo who now stood beside Eldanorien, nodding enthusiastically.
"Will you stop this now!" Elrohir barked at him.
"I really do not think you are in the position to shout at me!" Eldanorien complained, rather taken aback.
"My apologies, love, I was not talking to you," Elrohir said, and gave Námo The Eyebrow As Seen On Elrond. The Vala rolled his eyes and shrugged again.
"Elrohir!" Eldanorien cried out. "You go too far! I will not have you mocking me!"
With that, she turned around, stuffed the last piece of clothing in her bag, laced it up and grabbed for her cloak.
"If you should see sense again, you can write me a letter. Until then - namaarië, Elrohir!"
With that, she walked past him, through the door which miraculously opened itself, though she didn't notice this in her fury, a fury which turned to rage when she heard the door closing with a loud "bang" behind her - the cheek, she thought, now he even slams the door shut behind me!
Elrohir sank on her bed, raking his hair in despair, and stared at Námo, who stood at the window and waved Eldanorien good-bye.
"One day, you will be the death of me," he groaned, shaking his head.
Námo turned around, elegant and soundless as usual, sat on the table, draped one leg over the other, and took one of the apples from the fruit bowl.
"Thank you, Elrohir," the Vala replied, still chewing, "I try to do my best."
* * *
Celeborn was already lying in his bed when he heard the faint, hesitant knock on the door. He frowned, for he certainly had no wish to talk to anybody in the middle of the night, but when the unwelcome visitor knocked for the third time, a little louder now, he slipped out of bed and called: "Stop tearing down the house, I am up already! Come in if you must!"
The door opened a little, and much to Celeborn's surprise Melpomaen slipped into the room, clutching a large scroll to his chest and looking rather uncomfortable.
It was not that Celeborn didn't like Melpomaen. He liked him very much, and had the times been different, he would have kept him as one keeps a toy, to be pampered and played with and eventually discarded in favour of a new toy.
But Celeborn had changed, and he even felt a little guilty about kissing the young advisor on Yule Eve. This innocent heart was neither match nor challenge for him, so he had been avoiding Melpomaen whenever possible.
Melpomaen had turned crimson red when he entered the room, seeing that Celeborn wore nothing but a pair of thin silk pants, which left little to his imagination, and if there was one thing which worked with excessive speed and effectiveness in Melpomaen, then it was his imagination. He had woken up the morning after Yule Eve, with a sore head and a sore heart. First he had thought that maybe the events of the last night had been nothing but a dream, caused by his longing, but soon enough he realised that he had actually really been kissed by Celeborn, and delight began to fight with terror in his heart.
Though he knew little about the dealings of the heart, he knew that this should not have happened, so the young advisor had decided to keep the kiss as a precious memory for dark days, and neither pursue nor ever mention the matter again, and he had gone out of his way not to meet Celeborn again.
But tonight, he had to come to him, for there was something important to discuss.
"My lord, I - my apologies for disturbing your slumber," he began, careful with his choice of words.
Celeborn scratched his head, then went over to the small table by the window and poured himself some wine.
"No need to apologise, Master Melpomaen. I was not asleep. Do you wish some wine, too?"
Melpomaen shook his head, a little too energetically, and Celeborn had to think again about how soft the brown tresses had felt when he ran his fingers through them, and now it was his turn to shake his head. Better not follow that train of thought.
"No, my lord, but I thank you for your generous offer."
"So, what has brought you here at this late hour, Master Melpomaen?" Celeborn asked after he had taken a sip of the wine.
Melpomaen stepped closer, and wet his lips with his tongue.
"My lord - I was thinking. About - the ring, you know, and the meeting we had today."
Celeborn looked up, his interest aroused.
"Yes? Please speak freely, Master Melpomaen - any information can be valuable."
The young Elf swallowed hard.
"Lord Elrond said that we could not find any information on the ring in any of the books or scrolls in Imladris."
Celeborn nodded - yes, these had been Elrond's words.
Melpomaen began to unroll the scroll he had brought along, and his eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Lord Celeborn - when I was back in my chambers, I read the transcript of the meeting, and when I came to this part of Lord Elrond's comment, I thought: what about the books and scrolls that are NOT in the library?"
Celeborn cocked an eyebrow.
"I am not sure that I can follow you there, Melpomaen..."
The advisor was too excited to notice that Celeborn had dropped the formal title, and he pointed at the scroll.
"This is a list of all the books and documents that are part of the library but are not, for some reason, here in Imladris at the moment. King Elessar has borrowed some tomes about the history of Gondor, for example, and some books are in Lothlórien at the moment. I cross checked this list with the index of the books, and found that there is one book which has not been given to anybody, but also is not here at the moment."
Celeborn, who now began to understand what Melpomaen was telling him, became very alert.
"You mean - there is one book missing?"
"Yes!" Melpomaen said, and gave Celeborn his biggest smile.
"There is one book missing! It was written in the beginning of the 1st age, my lord, and was always considered to be a parody or a joke, written by a rebel who wished to mock the Valar. This is why there are no copies of it save the one here in Imladris. It is called "The Creation Chronicles", and while I never read it, I found the index card."
Celeborn was all excited now.
"Do you have the card with you?" he asked, and Melpomaen nodded, passing the card on to Celeborn with trembling fingers.
The silver haired Elf read the summary of the book, looked up to Melpomaen, read again, then he ran one hand through his hair.
"This, my dear Melpomaen, is the most incredible thing I have ever read."
Melpomaen clutched the scroll to his chest.
"Is this of any help to you, Lord Celeborn?" he asked anxiously.
Celeborn looked up.
"Help? You ask if this is of any help? My dear Melpomaen - you might just have saved Middle earth from destruction. And now come, we must make haste and inform Elrond and the others about this."
He opened the door and walked quickly down the corridor to Elrond's chamber, not bothering to put on some clothes first, and Melpomaen followed him as best he could, despite all the excitement not missing the opportunity to admire Celeborn's backside, which showed most favourably in the silk pants.
Celeborn knocked on Elrond's door, and very soon, it was opened, revealing Elrond in a hastily thrown-on night robe and a rather annoyed Gil-galad wrapped in a bed sheet.
"I hope you have a good reason for turning up at this time of the night," Gil growled, and Elrond asked: "Celeborn - and Melpomaen? What does this mean?"
"This means that we know, thanks to this wonderful Elf here, who forged this dreaded ring, Elrond."
The Lord of Imladris paled, and grasped his robe.
"Melpomaen? But - how? Celeborn - pray tell, I need to know: who forged the evil ring? Sauron?"
Celeborn shook his head.
"No, Elrond, not Sauron."
He quickly looked at Gil-galad, then he sighed.
"Who, Celeborn, who forged the ring!" Elrond demanded to know.
Celeborn held out the index card, and Elrond took it.
"It was Námo, Elrond. The evil ring was forged by the Vala of Death."
* * *
Author's notes: Námo is the real name of Mandos, the Keeper of the Halls of Waiting, but in my universe, he is actually the Middle-earth equivalent to The Grim Reaper. Irmo is the real name of Lórien, the Master of Dreams. Unlike Námo, Lórien is not one of the eight Aratar, the mightiest of the Valar.
Melpomaen is Figwit - I don't know whom to credit for this translation, so thanks to anonymous.
* * *
Forward to chapter 2 ->