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
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 4
You could be my unintended choice
To live my life extended
You could be the one I'll always love
"Unintended" - Muse
~°~
Námo stood by the window, overlooking the plains and the dark sea, and let his thoughts wander. 'How strange to stand here, in the form of the Firstborn', he mused. He looked down at his hands - narrow hands, with long, almost claw-like fingers. Everything looked so real - his hands, his arms, even his clothes - and yet, it was only an illusion, kept up so as not to frighten the ones to be reborn upon their arrival in the Halls of Waiting.
His finger followed the shell of his ear, up to the pointed tip. He had never thought about it - but what did their children feel? What was it like, being restricted to the confines of a solid body instead of being a spirit, free to roam wherever one wanted?
"So I found you at last."
"So you did, Irmo, my friend," Námo answered, but his eyes didn't move, he kept them fixed on the dark water.
"You could still change your mind, Námo."
The Keeper of the House of Death did not answer. He felt Irmo's sadness, and he wished he could do something about it, but he was not the one to change what had to be.
The master of visions and dreams waited a while, but when no answer came, he left his friend to his thoughts, which were interrupted again later when Námo sensed the presence of another Vala, and this time, he turned around to greet his visitor.
"It is time," Vairë said, and bowed her head.
Námo nodded, then he returned to his place by the window for a short moment, taking in the sight of the sea.
"So it comes to pass - the judge shall be judged," she said, and he realised, to his surprise, that she was angry.
"Why are you doing this? You - who see all and know all, and are almost as powerful as Manwë himself - why are you ignoring our laws? You, before any of us, should know the consequences when life and death become nothing but a game! Have you forgotten the disaster for which Melkor and your brother were responsible?"
Námo cocked his head, hands clasped behind his back. He was quite a contrast beside Vairë's radiant beauty, with his willowy frame, the pale skin and eyes which showed no emotion - black liquid pools, bottomless like the universe. So powerful, she thought - and yet nothing but a shadow. Was this what attracted her? The challenge of trying to find love, hate, anger, passion, sadness - any emotion at all behind his indifference?
"All things come to pass they way they are supposed to. This is the only law I know, Vairë. But you are right - it is time."
He walked past her, and after a moment of hesitation, she followed him.
* * *
It was already deep into the night when Elladan finally left the Healing House and made his way back home. Day after day he had sat by his brother's side, just in case his twin should need anything. He talked to him, silly stories about daily life in Rivendell, talked about Orophin, and how delighted they both were to have Eldanar stay with them. He cleaned the wounds, dressed them in new bandages, turned Elrohir around every three hours so he wouldn't get sore. He washed him, rubbed oil into his skin to keep it from breaking, brushed his hair and braided it, and he would not allow anybody but his ada and Orophin to help him with this task. No matter how often friends and family urged him to take a break - Elladan stayed by Elrohir's side.
Elrohir's condition had improved gradually, he was conscious by now, but he talked slowly, his speech was slurred, and often his words made no sense. When there was nothing else to do, Elladan just held Elrohir's hand, stroking the knuckles gently with his fingers. However, their father was confident that Elrohir would recover, eventually. Just when "eventually" was, he couldn't tell, and he had finally admitted to Elladan that it was very possible Elrohir would not recover fully - magic had been at work here, and while a normal wound would have healed in time, the injuries inflicted on Elrond's youngest son would leave scars.
Elladan sighed, and rubbed his eyes. He was very tired - both physically and mentally. The worry over his brother, the helplessness, the anger - they took their toll on the young Elf. Before he entered his own chambers, he peeked into the room where Eldanar slept, to check on the child.
Eldanar slept peacefully, with closed eyes - a fact which had in the beginning confused Elladan, but he had grown used to it. The Elfling was sucking on his thumb and held Tathar, the loyal dragon, closely pressed to his chest. Elladan smiled, and stepped closer, drew up the cover which the child had kicked off in his sleep, and bent down to press a kiss on the thin, soft hair. Only when he had checked that everything was in order and Eldanar was breathing calmly, did he finally go to the chambers he and Orophin shared.
His husband was sleeping - from the arrow in his hand and the knife on the side-table, Elladan concluded that Orophin had been waiting for him when he had fallen asleep.
The young Elf had to smile. It was such a typical thing for Orophin to do - waiting for Elladan. The young Elf slipped out of his clothes, lay down beside his husband and enjoyed the opportunity to watch his beloved. It was hard to believe that Orophin was so many millennia older than him - since his return from the Halls of Waiting, he looked like a young Elf, and only by looking into his eyes could one see the age and the wisdom. Though many months had passed since Orophin had returned, and they were married now, Elladan still sometimes woke up at night, frightened that he had only dreamt of his beloved's return, and sighing in relief when he found Orophin sleeping peacefully beside him. The nights when Orophin was out in the woods were nights without sleep for Elladan, for he feared to wake up and find him gone.
Maybe it was Orophin's living with the Galadhrim that was responsible for his longing for the open air and the woods. Elladan often wondered if his husband was really happy here in Rivendell, living in the Last Homely House, surrounded by stones. Whenever his duties allowed, the blond Elf would slip out of their home and into the woods, and more than once Elladan had come to look for him, only to find him sitting in a tree, watching the clouds drift by. Did Orophin maybe feel like a bird trapped in a cage? Would he have preferred to live his old life again?
Orophin stirred, and woke up, rubbing his eyes and looking at Elladan with a tired smile.
"I am sorry, I must have fallen asleep while I waited for you," he apologized, putting the arrow aside with a frown, then yawning and stretching. "Some guardian I make, falling asleep while on watch."
Elladan leant forward and kissed his cheek, then he tucked a strand of hair which had fallen in Orophin's face behind his ear. "You have guarded me long enough, now it is my turn."
Orophin smiled, and gently stroked his husband's face.
"Talking of guarding - how is Elrohir doing?"
Elladan sat back on his heels and began to undo his braids.
"Better. He improves daily. He is still exhausted, but ada said this would pass. Elrohir is in pain, but he does not show it - he is very brave. But it is hard to sit by his side, seeing him suffer and not being able to do anything. I always wanted to be a healer to help those who suffer - seeing that all I learned does nothing to improve his condition is painful."
Orophin rested his head in Elladan's lap and gently stroked his hip.
"Your presence and your love might do more for his healing than any draughts or herbs, beloved. There is a strong bond between you."
Elladan had finished unravelling his braids, and now he began to run his fingers through Orophin's hair.
"Yes, there is - at least as far as our hearts are concerned, we are true twins."
Orophin frowned, sensing the sadness in Elladan's voice. He rubbed his face on Elladan's belly, and kissed the soft skin.
"You are true twins in every respect, Elladan. Do not listen to the silly remarks of those who have nothing better to do than let their tongues flutter all day long."
Elladan had to smile, despite his melancholic mood.
"I know that ada has often secretly thought that Elrohir would be a more suitable heir to Imladris. I do not hold this against him, I think he loves both of us very much, but in different ways. As I am his heir, his expectations of me were higher, and could only be disappointed."
Orophin moved and gently pressed Elladan down in the soft mattress, kissing his way from chest to lips.
"Have a little faith in your ada, Elladan. He knows that you can achieve great things if you set your mind to it - just look how he reacted when we told him that we would adopt Eldanar! You thought he would have a heart attack upon hearing that your heir would be a half-elf Haldir found in the woods! And what happened?"
Elladan chuckled.
"He helped me paint duckies on the wall in the nursery. Yes, you are right, that was very surprising."
Orophin nuzzled his ear again, and Elladan closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation. When he felt the pressure of firm lips on his own, he opened greedily to his lover, and responded passionately. Usually, Orophin was a very gentle and considerate lover, but there were times when Elladan craved for more than gentle love-making and the feather light touch of Orophin's hands on his skin.
He bit Orophin's lip, not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting, and though they had been lovers for only a few months, Orophin knew the message behind this gesture. The kisses grew more aggressive, their love making became rough and wild. The ever-present fear of losing Orophin again had awoken in Elladan the need to feel. Teeth biting his shoulder. Fingernails scraping over his back. Fingers digging into his hips. Being taken, giving over all control to his lover, safe in the knowledge that he was alive, not a dream, not an illusion, but real, here, with him, and that, when everything was over, both of them exhausted and their passion stilled, he would be safely held in Orophin's arms.
Elladan's fingers grasped the sheets, eyes still closed, for he had to concentrate on every touch, every contact. Orophin had his face buried in Elladan's neck, never replying to his husband's begging and pleading, but giving him whatever he wanted. Elladan repeated his name over and over again, until the syllables lost all meaning, becoming a murmur and finally a sobbed cry. Orophin gasped in pain as well as pleasure when Elladan's fingernails clawed into his back, leaving deep scratches, drawing blood. He collapsed on the younger Elf, and for a long while, the only sound to be heard was their breathing.
Finally, Orophin rolled off his husband, and winced.
"Have I hurt you?" Elladan asked worried, but Orophin shook his head.
"Do not worry, beloved. It is nothing, just small scratches."
He stretched out on his front, his left arm draped over Elladan's chest, his head resting on Elladan's shoulder. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, and Elladan took a small jar of cooling salve out of the side-table drawer. He lay on his side and began to apply the salve gently to the angry red marks his nails had left on his husband's back. Orophin sighed in his sleep, almost a purr, which made Elladan smile. Then, continuing from where he had been interrupted, he watched Orophin sleep.
* * *
Darkness. Silence. No light, no sound. No voice to cry his pain. The touch of water on his skin, the smell of wet, damp earth - rain? Was it raining? Yes. He had to be careful - one wrong step, and he might fall. Not only down stairs or over objects. He had to concentrate. He sniffed. Mortals. Now he needed to be careful: stairs. One step after the other. Inside? Yes, he was inside a house. A house? The smell of a fire burning - warmth. It was warm, he felt the heat. A fireplace, maybe?
A tug on the rope tied around his wrists, more stumbling steps. A push, falling down. Wood, the floor was made out of wood. Again, the smell of fire. Fear - somebody touched him. A hand touched his hair, played with one of his braids. He tried to move his head, but now another hand touched the tip of his ear. A gentle, curious touch. Then the hands were gone, and he felt himself being lifted up. Whoever carried him must be rather strong. His hand touched a soft fabric - velvet, maybe, and the scent was familiar. Green, fresh. Now he was sat down - pillows? Yes, soft, comfortable, and now something warm was draped over his shoulders. A blanket.
The scent of the fire was now closer, and he felt heat. So he sat in front of a fireplace, on pillows, warmed by a blanket, and now a hand placed something in front of his mouth. At first, he shied back, but then he realized that it was a piece of fruit - dried fruit. Apple? Yes. Dried apple. Maybe it was poisoned? But he was starving - and being poisoned couldn't be half as bad as being blind, deaf and mute.
Hesitatingly, he opened his mouth, and the hand slipped the piece of fruit between his lips. He chewed and swallowed, and felt another piece of food held to his lips.
'I am fed like an Elfling', he thought, 'but who is doing this? Certainly not my captors!'
When the meal was finished, no hands touched him anymore, and he could no longer feel the presence of his - keepers? Guards? Friends? Enemies? So he was alone now. He lay down and wrapped himself in the blanket. A deep sadness overcame him - how far was he from his home, and how hopeless was his situation. So this would be the way he ended? Never seeing Lothlórien, never hearing laughter, never speaking words of love again?
He knew that now the time had come for him to make a decision: to fade or to live. Was there any reason for further suffering? He had no purpose in Middle earth anymore. There were no battles for him to win; there was nobody to look after. A lord without a realm or a purpose - indeed, fading became a rather tempting choice. Would anybody care?
I would.
Where had that come from? He couldn't hear so - how could he hear this? Was his mind playing tricks on him?
I would.
He knew this voice in his head, but he could not tell whose voice it was. But it was a good voice - warm, full of compassion and trust. A voice to hold on to, and the words gave him hope. So he finally allowed himself to sink down on the pillows and sleep.
I would. I would go to Mordor for you, and carry you back, if I had to.
* * *
Elrond, Gil-galad, Elladan, Orophin, Haldir, Feronil, Melpomaen and Mauburz stood around the large conference table, studying the map the Lord of Imladris had laid out, and listening to his plan.
"Thrandúil's scouts have confirmed that the prisoners were taken to Tíngel. They could not, however, count enemy numbers or find out how well they are armed. My friends, we are in a very difficult situation. We know where the enemy is – but we do not know his intentions or what to expect. What we do is madness, but we have no choice: we must summon our forces and attack."
"My lord – what about your suspicion that Lord Námo himself is behind this scheme?" Feronil asked, and Elrond saw fear in the advisor's eyes. He sighed.
"It is just that – a suspicion. We have the book Master Melpomaen found, we have the word of my son – but at the end of the day, we do not know anything. I can only pray that we will not have to confront the Doomsman of the Valar himself, and that if we do, we will find that this is just another of his games, and one he will tire of soon. I know that I ask much of you, my friends. But this is not only about Glorfindel and Celeborn – this is about the fate of all of us. For millennia, something dark and evil has been festering in Tíngel forest. We all knew it, but did not act. Now I pray to the Valar that it will not be too late, and that we will find our brothers unharmed."
Melpomaen, who had been quiet all through the meeting, cleared his throat, and Elrond nodded, encouraging the young advisor to speak.
"My lord Elrond – what about Master Erestor? Do we know where he went to? Can he help us? Surely he did not ride off without a plan?"
"I am sure he has a plan, I just do not know if I like it. But it is my fault," Elrond admitted, "I was a fool to think that I could keep him safe and locked up. I should have known better. He followed his heart, and I think it is safe to assume that his heart will eventually lead him to Tíngel forest."
Elrond saw the worried look on Melpomaen's face. He knew how much Melpomaen admired Erestor and could well imagine that the young advisor feared for his mentor's well-being. They all did, but Elrond managed an encouraging smile.
"Do not worry, Master Melpomaen. Erestor is a very skilled warrior – I have not forgotten the times we stood side by side in battle, and I have every faith that he will stand his ground. He has the instincts of the Plains Elves, and if anybody is able to get into this cursed forest unnoticed, then it is him. What his plans are, I do not know, but I hope that the Valar will hold their hands over Erestor and bring him and Glorfindel back home."
"But is there nothing we can do for him? Send guards? An army? A dragon? Anything?"
Melpomaen didn't like Elrond's answer; the thought of Erestor all alone in a haunted forest full of spiders, Wargs, Orcs, evil deities and, worst of all, Lady Firinwë was too terrifying to accept.
Gil-galad, who stood next to Melpomaen and towered one head above him, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.
"You must understand, Master Melpomaen, that this is Erestor's personal battle. He chose to ride alone. Not all wars are won by armies. He did what he thought to be the right thing, and that is what we will have to do as well."
The former High King turned back, and leant over the table, pointing at the map and explaining his plan.
"The Galadhrim will come from here; I will lead the Rivendell army to Mirkwood where we will meet up with Thrandúil's warriors. Haldir, you will take over the command of half of Galadriel's forces and lead them here. Gondor's army is there. When the time comes, we will attack from all sides. We already know that Orcs are involved, and possibly also the men of Breon, but this we do not know for sure, and we cannot attack the kingdom of Breon on mere suspicion. I tend to agree with Master Feronil that Breon might send mercenaries, but I doubt they would openly join in war – they are too frightened of Gondor."
"I will join the High King."
Gil-galad looked at Elrond as if he suddenly had grown a second head.
"You will what?"
"Join you."
"Do you have a fever?"
"Do you wish to see the dungeons?"
"No."
"Fine. Elladan, for the time being, you are the Lord of Imladris. We will leave some forces behind to protect our realm, but keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Mauburz – as soon as we arrive in Tíngel, you will try to find out what exactly the Orcs are doing there – I hope they have not heard of you yet and will not know you."
"Will do, Lord Elrond. Mauburz goes to Tíngel and spies." She rubbed her paws. "Good! Good! Finally adventure again! Mauburz looks forward to it! When stumbles over Lady Firinwë, can Mauburz spank her?" she asked hopefully, and Elrond had to hide a grin.
"Ah, I suppose the pleasure of spanking Lady Firinwë once we get a hold of her should belong to the guards she stole the ring from. I heard they have a nice selection of birch branches already collected for the occasion."
Mauburz looked rather disappointed, and grumbled: "Nobody ever wants Mauburz to have any fun. Stoopid Elves."
"Who will I ride with?" Melpomaen asked, and everybody looked at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement.
"You will stay here, Master Melpomaen – my son will need a good advisor to help him with his task," Elrond finally answered, but Melpomaen was not happy with this information.
"But – I want to help as well! Surely there is something I could do? I could scout… or be a messenger - I can run fast! Or I could…"
"Did you not hear what Lord Elrond said?" Haldir interrupted the young advisor impatiently. "We are going to war, so warriors are needed, not scholars! You will serve us all best if you stay here and make sure that the dust does not collect on Master Erestor's books until he returns."
For once, Melpomaen was at loss for words. This was the Haldir of old speaking, and he knew from experience that any attempt on his part to disagree with him would end up in a terrible argument, and this was not what was needed now. So he kept quiet and took a step back, told off like an Elfling, and his anger burnt hot in his stomach.
The plan was discussed in detail, and finally, all but Elladan and Orophin left. The young Elf stood by the table, staring at the map.
"Is there anything amiss, beloved?" Orophin asked, and Elladan's shoulders dropped.
"No, nothing – well, of course, there are Orcs, spiders, Wargs, treacherous Valar, black magic and Lady Firinwë, the fact that we go to war and my brother has almost been killed – but this aside, everything is fine."
Orophin hugged his husband from behind, and Elladan rested his head on the blond Elf's shoulder.
"You will do fine, Elladan – you can do so much more than you think," he said, and pressed a kiss behind the slightly pointed ear. "You have good advisors, and do not underestimate Eldanar – since the young one got his wooden sword, he has become a force to be reckoned with!"
Elladan had to laugh, turning and slinging his arms around Orophin's neck.
"Oh yes, our son – do you think we might be able to convince that dreaded toy dragon of his to sleep in his own bed tonight for a change? I do not mind if the young one comes to us when he is scared of a thunderstorm or had a bad dream – but once in a while, I would prefer to share the bed with nobody else but you."
Orophin nipped Elladan's neck.
"Well, we could leave the bed to Eldanar and the dragon, and sleep in the stables…" he murmured, "…or on one of the flets…or in the wine cellar…"
Elladan, who was by now half lying on the table, chuckled.
"Are you trying to tell me something, Orophin?" he asked, batting his lashes. Orophin, who was playing with the top-fastening of Elladan's robe, nibbled on his husband's ear.
"Oh, I just think a warrior should take a nice memory into battle… you sprawled out naked on the hay in the stable would certainly be a nice picture to remember…"
Elladan started up.
"Into battle? What do you mean by that?"
Orophin, surprised by this sudden change of mood, looked puzzled.
"What is wrong, Elladan? I am a captain of the guards, of course I will join my warriors in battle. Your father even said so during the meeting."
Elladan quickly got up.
"I did not hear that, and it does not matter. You will not leave."
Orophin cocked an eyebrow.
"Not leave? But Elladan – this is my duty! It is what I have to do!"
"No, you have not!" Elladan snapped, and began to pace the room. "I do not allow it. I need you by my side. I have already lost you once, I do not, for anything in the world, wish to relive that experience. Be the captain of the forces here in Rivendell if you must, but I will not allow you to go to Tíngel Forest."
For a moment, there was silence, then Orophin stepped to Elladan's side, putting an arm around his shoulders.
"Beloved – I understand you. I know how much you suffered while I was… gone, and I wish I could have spared you the pain. But I cannot send my men to war and sit at home, twiddling my thumbs. I just cannot."
Elladan tore himself free, and glared at Orophin.
"Yes, you can! Nobody is forcing you! There is nothing dishonourable in staying behind, or are you calling me a coward?"
"Elladan, please…"
"No more! I am the Lord of Imladris now, am I not? I hereby order you to stay!"
Orophin stared at his husband, and he wondered if this was still the same Elf he had married.
"You… order me to stay here? Is this what I am to you? A servant? A minion? To be ordered around at your beck and call?"
Elladan swallowed hard. He knew that he had just spoken more than one wrong word, but he could not take them back now, his stubborn head and his fear for Orophin's life would not allow it.
"You are not my servant. You are my husband, and I love you. You are mine, and yes, if I have to, I will order you to obey."
For a long while, the two Elves stared at each other. Then Orophin stepped close to Elladan, so close that the two large Elves were almost touching. Orophin's green eyes blazed, and his voice was cold and calm.
"I will obey. But listen well, Elladan: I am not yours. Nobody owns me, and nobody will own me, ever again. If it was a slave you wanted, my lord, you chose the wrong Elf. I am not your property. Neither yours, nor anybody else's."
Then he walked towards the door, turning around, hand on the handle.
"With your permission, I shall now go and see how your brother fares. I hope you have no objections - master."
With that, he left, slamming the door shut so hard that the glasses on the tables jumped. Elladan swallowed hard, and for a moment, he almost followed his first impulse to run after his husband and apologize. But then he straightened up, jaw clenching. No, he would not give in – if anybody had to apologize, it was Orophin. Maybe his husband didn't know what was good for him – but Elladan certainly knew.
* * *
Erestor needed neither map nor scout to know where he would find Glorfindel, and nor did his horse. Manadh literally flew over stones and tree trunks and did not demand any rest, for he felt that his master didn't allow himself rest either, and maybe he knew how much depended on him. Glorfinkle, who had followed horse and rider since their departure from Rivendell, flew high above them, screeching warnings when he saw danger.
It was not Elrond's chief advisor who rode towards Tíngel - it was Erestor the warrior. The hands that had written words of advice, carried scrolls for centuries and changed Estorel's nappies still knew how to handle the twin hunting knives now strapped to Erestor's back, and the cold rage in his eyes would have scared away most. The ornamental bangs he usually wore were replaced by firm warrior braids, and gone were the robes. Erestor was in hunter's gear, and he was on a hunt – he sniffed the air for the faintest trace of the unique scent that was Glorfindel and followed his instinct. He knew Glorfindel was in Tíngel, and he would find the Balrog-slayer.
There would be no mercy for those who had taken his beloved away from him.
* * *
Of course everybody was very worried that enemies had managed to get so close to the Last Homely House without being noticed.
Of course everybody was extra careful and alert.
Of course Eldanar had to promise his new adas that he would not, under any circumstances, leave the Last Homely House to play in the woods.
Of course he had nodded and promised not to.
And of course he had forgotten all about it the very moment Bramble asked him if he would like to play hide and seek. So it happened that the two children were playing and giggling, moving further and further away from the safety of their home, and they didn't even notice.
Bramble sat in a bush and tried to keep her breathing as flat as possible so as not to alert Eldanar, who was poking in bushes and piles of leaves to find her. She was certainly a true daughter of her Sia - for hours she could sit still, unnoticed, like a wild animal, and just as quick as a rabbit, she would dash out from the most unexpected places, and Eldanar, who was only now beginning to learn the way of the Elves, was at a disadvantage in this game. Bramble, however, made sure he found her often enough that he did not feel unskilled, for she liked the little peredhel very much.
Today, however, their game came to an abrupt halt when an angry growl behind Bramble made her start. She jumped up, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell of the pack of Wargs behind her, and seeing the large fangs she suddenly realized that she was all alone here, without her Sia or ada to help her - alone with six obviously very hungry Wargs.
Bramble felt like crying, and though every instinct told her to flee, she felt as if her naked feet had grown roots all of a sudden, keeping her on the spot where she stood. In her despair, she cried for her Sia and her ada, high-pitched screams which made the animals shift uncomfortably, and made the guards on the other side of the valley shudder and search the sky fearfully for Nâzgul.
The animals overcame their confusion quickly, and began to move closer - slowly and carefully, very carefully. This young one looked like easy prey, but they knew that the mother might be close.
"Go away, you ugly beasts!" Eldanar screamed, and jumped between Bramble and the Wargs, waving the small, wooden sword Orophin had carved for him and glaring fearlessly at the creatures, every inch the true son of a warrior.
Unfortunately, bravery doesn't count for much if you're a small Elfling confronted by six hungry Wargs, but it must be mentioned that Eldanar clutched his sword and didn't move an inch when the first of the animals leapt at him. The child cried, but before the razor-sharp claws could dig into his flesh, a loud, angry growl was heard, and something attacked the Warg from the side, making him roll over.
Both Elflings stood rooted to the spot, staring with eyes like saucers at the wild fight which ensued. There was growling and hissing, fangs glinting in the sunlight, then a howl when the jaws of the attacker sank deep into the neck of the animal.
"Sia!" Bramble screamed and now Eldanar, too, saw that the one who had come to their rescue was Rabbit. Blood was running down his chest, but it was impossible for the Elflings to tell if it was his own or the animal’s.
"Ada Orophin! Ada Elladan!" Eldanar screamed as loud as he could, "Help! Help! The Warg wants to eat Rabbit!"
But of course, none of the Elves heard the Elfling's cries, and when the Wargs decided that the two children were no threat to them, they approached again, while Rabbit fought for his life. Eldanar hugged Bramble so hard that the little girl almost couldn't breathe anymore, and they both had their eyes squeezed tight shut - maybe, if they weren't looking, the Wargs would go away?
The Warg never knew what hit him - he was attacked, and before he could even see his enemy, strong hands grasped his head in an iron clasp and snapped his neck with one swift movement. A growl, then a howl, and the next Warg fell, brought down by sharp teeth and claws which tore his chest open. The rest of the pack decided that now was the right moment to leave, but Rabbit's unexpected helper had other plans. He leaped at one of the fleeing animals, biting and scratching. The beast roared and shook his head, throwing off the attacker, and with a powerful blow from his paw, he sent him flying. Then the pack fled into the woods, leaving behind two terrified Elflings.
Rabbit had finally managed to kill his Warg, and was now standing up. He ran over to the children, his face full of fear.
"Are you hurt, Bramble?" he gasped, hugging his daughter close.
"No, Sia, Eldanar told the Warg to go away!" she said, and pointed at the Elfling who trembled with fright. Rabbit drew him close, and hugged both children. Later, he would tell them off for running away, but for now, he was just glad that they were unharmed.
"Sia - I think the Elf who helped us is hurt," Bramble finally said, so Rabbit turned around, then he cocked his head and sniffed. He sniffed again, and began to walk cautiously towards the place where the body had been thrown by the Warg. Eldanar followed him, fists clutched tightly around the wooden sword, ready to fight any Warg that might still be around.
Rabbit knelt down by the fallen Elf, and turned him on his back, and his eyes widened with surprise.
"Surely this cannot be!" he gasped.
"What? What? What? What cannot be?" Eldanar asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger over Rabbit's shoulder. "Is he dead?"
The Plains Elf reached out and felt the pulse, then shook his head.
"No, he lives, but we need to take him to the Healing House. Eldanar - take Bramble by the hand and walk ahead."
Eldanar did as he was told, and so they made their way back to the last Homely House - Eldanar, Bramble, and the last two Mordorian Plains Elves.
* * *
As Elladan had reported, Elrohir was awake when Orophin entered his chamber in the Healing House. He looked exhausted, and his paleness was accentuated by the dark circles under his eyes, but all in all, he looked much better than the day before. He smiled when he saw Orophin.
"Phin, it was nice to be dead," he said, a dreamy smile on his face. Orophin started, and stared at his husband's twin in disbelief.
"Dead? Oh no, you were not dead, little one – almost, yes, but thank the Valar, you will spend many millennia among us," he said, carefully stroking the dark hair which flowed over the pillow.
"Nice," Elrohir murmured.
"What, little one? What is nice?"
Elrohir smiled again, the same odd, dreamy smile he had on his face ever since he had woken up.
"What you do. It is nice, you stroking my hair."
Orophin returned the smile, and knelt down, coming face to face with Elrohir, and he continued to run his hand over the long, dark hair. It was the same colour as Elladan's, but that was where the similarity ended. Elladan's hair was thick and strong, Elrohir's like silk. Twins, and yet so different. It almost looked as if Elladan had all of the mortal heritage, and Elrohir none. Slender, almost delicate looking, no rough edges, no hard muscles, just softness and beauty – which was, of course, an illusion, because Elrohir was as much a skilled warrior as his brother, though it was difficult to tell, as his beauty distracted from his skills.
Elrohir reached out and touched one of Orophin's braids, letting it run through his fingers, smiling again. His fingers ghosted over the other Elf's face, and before Orophin knew what was happening, Elrohir's hand came to rest on his neck, and he drew Orophin closer and kissed him.
It was a sweet kiss. Unlike Elladan, whose inexperience had shown in the beginning, Elrohir had obviously done this many times before. His tongue was toying with Orophin's just the way he liked best, and his fingertips teased exactly that specific spot behind Orophin's ear which drove him crazy.
Finally, they broke apart, and Orophin stared at Elrohir with a mixture of horror and delight.
"Why did you do that?" he whispered, and Elrohir ran his fingers over Orophin's face, caressing the high cheekbones and finally touching the narrow lips.
"It was what I regretted most when I died - that I never kissed you," Elrohir answered, and there it was again, that strange smile, but before Orophin could say anything, the young Elf had fallen asleep again.
* * *
Melpomaen stood in his small chamber and watched the rescue party leaving Rivendell. To say that he was upset would have been an understatement – Melpomaen was fuming, and if looks could kill, Haldir would have fallen dead from his horse. But as the looks of even the most angry advisor couldn't do much harm, Haldir luckily escaped an untimely end.
"'The nerve!" Melpomaen muttered, and kicked the leg of the chair which stood by the window, but as the piece of furniture was solid Lórien work, all he achieved was a stubbed toe, which did not do much to brighten up his mood.
While his gaze followed the small group until they disappeared behind the first trees, the young advisor considered his options. For sure, he could do as he had been told: stay here, look after Master Erestor's library and wait for the heroes to bring Glorfindel and Celeborn home, hopefully unharmed. Though he was very angry with Haldir for his thoughtless remark, he had to admit that the Galadhrim hadn't been completely wrong. A look in the floor-length mirror (a left-over from the handmaid who had previously occupied these quarters) proved Haldir much too right for Melpomaen's liking: he was no warrior. Not even with millennia of training would he become one. This was not so much a matter of the body – there were many warriors who were slight and small – but of the spirit: Melpomaen did not have a warrior's heart.
'I am a sparrow', Melpomaen thought, 'and Lord Celeborn is an eagle. I am nothing to him. I look plain, there is nothing special about me, and most of the time he barely notices that I exist.' Melpomaen shook his head – he even called Celeborn 'Lord' in his thoughts, for Elbereth's sake!
Indeed, Melpomaen was a friendly, well-liked Elf - no different from thousands of others. He was fair to look at, but so were all Elves. A sparrow – but a sparrow in love, though the young advisor probably was not aware that his feelings for the former lord of the Golden Woods went far beyond the crush, blush and admiration stage by now.
He had sworn to himself that he would follow Celeborn to Mordor if he had to, and carry him back. And now they expected him to sit here and dust books? Melpomaen could not tell why he felt the way he did - but he was convinced that Celeborn was NOT in Tíngel. The young advisor had spent hours imagining the most horrible scenarios - Celeborn hurt in a dungeon, chained to the wall, all alone and helpless. And he should stay here?
Melpomaen knew very little about Breon and its people, and he decided that it was high time to fill this gap. There were books in the library, and there was Orophin, of course. He had grown up in Breon. Maybe he would have an idea where Celeborn could be held prisoner?
The young Elf quickly threw a cloak over his shoulders, then he hurried down the stairs of the Last Homely House, in search of knowledge. He would prove his value - or die trying.
* * *
The rain was falling heavily, covering the landscape like a grey, wet blanket, and the guards at the gates of Balor, Breon's capital, had the hoods of their cloaks pulled down over their faces. Though the year had already progressed well into spring, it was cold, and their breath emerged in white clouds. From time to time, they would clap their hands to warm them up.
Both men looked rather sour when the merchant's cart approached, for this meant they had to leave the shelter of the guard's hut and step out into the wet, cold open.
"Hooo," the merchant called, bringing the horse to a halt. He, too, was wrapped in a warm cloak, though it was obvious that the cloak had seen better times, judging by the patches in various colours which covered it.
"Who are you, and what is your business in our town? Speak, we don't have all night!" the guard barked when the man didn't react immediately, and the merchant bowed his head submissively.
"I'm sorry, sir, it's the rain, rushes so loud I can hardly hear a darn thing. I'm Elit the merchant, from Baral, just a day's ride from here, and I'm here to stock up on some goods for my shop."
The guard stepped closer. He looked the woman who sat beside the merchant up and down, and grinned.
"And who is this lovely dove, Elit? A souvenir from Gondor?" He pointed at the typical Gondorian headdress the woman wore, and winked at her, which made her blush. She stared at him with big eyes, and pressed closer to Elit, who laughed.
"Almost – this is my wife! We only got married last week, and are on our way back home. Thought I might as well combine pleasure with business and come to Balor's market."
"My, a beautiful wife you have – they might be a disgrace to mankind, but their women are nice to look at. One wonders why their king had to marry an Elf witch, with such treasures in his kingdom." With that, the guard spit on the ground, then he nodded at the woman.
"And what is your name, Gondorian flower?"
The woman didn't answer, just stared at the guard, then she clutched to her husband's arm and made some gestures.
"Beautiful she is, that is true, that's why I married her, after all. I call her Blossom, which is as good a name as any other. She's an orphan, you know, and mute, too." He leant forward and whispered to the guard: "She's a little weird in the head, you see…"
The guard nodded in sympathy, then he slapped Elit's shoulder.
"Still – you're a lucky man. Such a beautiful wife to warm your bed, and no nagging tongue to go with it! I envy you!"
Both men laughed, and the second guard threw in: "If you ever want to trade her for my wife, let me know! I don't care for beauty, if only she doesn't nag!"
Now all three howled with laughter, Elit grabbed his wife rather roughly around the middle, and kissed her soundly on the lips. She blushed again, this time a dark crimson, and hid her face in her husband's cloak.
Amidst loud laughter, the guard stepped aside and gave way to the two passengers. The merchant waved his farewell, then the little cart rolled through the city gates. As soon as the guards had been left behind and were out of sight, the woman elbowed her husband so hard in the side that he yelped and almost fell off the cart.
"Have you gone mad? What was that for? It was only a harmless kiss – did you want them to become suspicious? And whose insane idea was this, anyway?" he grumbled, rubbing his side.
"Now listen: you can kiss me. You can tell people that I am mute. I do not mind that you made me an orphan though both my parents are in best of health. I can even live with the fact that you pinched my bottom in that Tavern yesterday. But," and now the voice lowered to a hiss, "do not ever dare to call me 'Blossom' again, Feronil!"
* * *
Author's notes: For a chapter of "The Knave" I needed one week, for a chapter of "Finding Námo" I need two. It's a rather complex tale, and I try hard not to fall into my own plot holes. Thanks for your patience.
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