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 8
"You're moving out of my night
And there will be no dawn
All that could have been
Remains with me internally lost"
Closer Still – Wolfsheim
~°~
They rode side by side, all day long, without talking or even looking at each other. Once in a while, Gil-galad would risk a sidewise glance at Elrond, but the lord of Imladris pretended not to notice.
Gil was not a fool. After all he had shared with Elrond, he could read him like an open book, and where others thought Elrond to be a mystery, Gil knew all his secrets. Of course Elrond was well aware of what had happened between him and Amaris. And Gil also knew that he had hurt Elrond deeply and would have to approach the other sooner or later about this, but not now, one day's ride from a battle. And what should he tell Elrond, anyway? That he had fallen for somebody else? If that had been the truth, Gil would have been honest about it. But he was confused. Had he been flattered by Amaris' obvious infatuation? Or did he actually feel more for the Mirkwood Elf than he had thought? It went without saying that Elrond deserved honesty, but how could he be honest if he did not know the truth himself?
Gil craned his neck and tried to catch a glimpse of Amaris, who rode out in front, beside Thranduil and Legolas, surrounded by the Mirkwood archers. They wore no armour, despite Gil's urging, claiming that this was the way of their people. The trees whispered to them, wishing them well, the bushes bowed and said their blessings, and there could be no doubt who was king in this forest - certainly not Gil-galad.
They made camp for the night beside a small pond, and while Gil ate his broth, he mused over the situation. So, Amaris seemed to care for him. This was quite a compliment, all things considered. He was, after all, a king without a realm. A warrior. More strong than fair, more courageous than educated. Beside Amaris' flawless beauty and sharp mind, he felt like a peasant. And they had nothing in common! Nothing! What one of them liked the other loathed; they were as different as fire and water. So maybe this was only lust? Burning like a straw fire, quick and hot, but dying down soon?
"I see that you still prefer a light meal before a battle."
Gil looked up, and Elrond sat down beside him, pointing at the bowl in the king's large hands.
"Yes, I do. Full bellies make bad warriors."
Both sat there for a while, one eating, the other staring into the fire. They had done so countless times, the herald staying by his king's side. It had been a different silence back then, though. No words were needed for them to understand each other's thoughts and wishes. In the end, it was Elrond who broke the silence.
"These things happen, Ereinion. It is not pretty, and I would be a liar if I pretended that this situation did not affect me. But we cannot force our hearts to feel as we might wish. And even less the hearts of others."
"We did not..." Gil began, but Elrond shook his head.
"It does not matter what you did or did not. I hold no grudge. I wish you all the happiness you deserve, and I hope that I will find happiness, too, one day. Maybe now that I have set you free, I can be free, too."
Gil stared down at his bowl, and watched as his tears dropped into the hot broth.
"You know that I love you, Elrond, do you not? I always have. All those years..."
Elrond put his hand on Gil's arm, and rubbed it gently with his thumb.
"I know that you love me, Ereinion. I love you, too. But sometimes, love is just not enough. You are the same as you have always been. But I am not. When we first met, you provided me with all I needed: love, comfort, protection. I looked up to you, admired you. Now I am older than you, I have lived a long and painful life. These centuries have changed me. The pain and the losses made me who I am today."
Elrond leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss on Gil's cheek.
"Thank you for all the good times, Ereinion."
They looked at each other, and though both tried to see the lover in the other's face, they only saw the sad look of a good friend. Gil pressed Elrond's hand one last time, then the lord of Imladris got up and walked over to Mauburz, who had watched the scene with increasing worry.
"Nice lord Elrond not looks happy. Can Mauburz help? Maybe throw Mirkwood Elf into pond?"
Elrond managed a smile.
"My dear, loyal friend - no, I do not think that would improve the situation. This aside we will need every warrior available tomorrow."
Mauburz looked disappointed.
"Good, not throwing Amaris in pond then. But if change mind, tell me."
"I will. And now you should go to bed, too, Mauburz - there will be a battle tomorrow which will take all our strength."
She shook her head, and scratched her ear with one of her claws.
"No - Mauburz stays here. You go sleep, I will watch."
"Thank you."
Mauburz looked after Elrond, how he slowly made his way to his bedroll, shoulders drooping. She threw an angry look in the direction of Gil-galad, but the king had already left for his tent.
She did not know much about the way relationships worked among Elves, but she understood one thing: Elrond was unhappy, and he was lonely.
So Mauburz decided that it was about time to find lord Elrond a new lover.
* * *
Eledwen and Elfaël were sleeping, but Elcallon sat on the terrace and stared out into the night. The sky was clouded, neither stars nor moon lighted the scenery, but he saw every detail. The nameless Elf sat on the step in front of him, one of his arms resting on Elcallon's thigh. He brushed his charge’s hair.
"I wish you could speak to me or hear my questions. I have so many of them. Who are you, where do you come from, and are there others like you and me?"
Elcallon felt rather the fool, sitting here and talking to one who was deaf, but he could not share his thoughts and fears with anybody else. Again and again he recalled the conversation with Toban, calculating the chances of the young man's foolish plan succeeding, and he always came to the same conclusion: there were no chances. It was utter folly.
And why should he risk his life and the lives of his friends? Maybe Toban had made the story up? But why? The Elf just could not imagine that anybody would be capable of such an enormous lie. Maybe the young man was ill? Maybe he had hit his head?
Gently he ran the brush through the other Elf's long, silver blond hair. Not that it needed the extra care; Elcallon had already brushed it in the morning, but he found that his touch seemed to calm the nameless Elf who had become increasingly restless these last days.
"Maybe you have a family? Then they will certainly miss you. But no - you do not have a family. None of us has anymore."
He continued his work. After a while, he stretched out his legs, and saw that the fingernails of his charge had left small, half-moon shaped dents in the soft suede of his leggings. Elcallon frowned, then he put the brush down and took a deep breath. The dents had just given him an idea. Quickly, he moved from behind the other Elf and crouched down in front of him, taking his hand.
"You cannot hear, and you cannot speak. But maybe this has not always been the case? Maybe you were able to see once, and learned how to read? In your own language, which I cannot write."
However, Elcallon decided it was worth to give it a try. Carefully, he began to 'write' with his index finger on the strange Elf's palm.
"What is your name?"
A questioning look showed in the nameless Elf's face. He obviously did not understand what Elcallon was trying to do, or maybe he did, but could not understand the language? Elcallon's heart sank, but he tried again, repeating his question over and over again. Finally, when no reaction came from the Elf, he dropped the hand he had been holding, and sighed.
"It was worth a try, my friend. Come now, I shall take you to your chamber."
He wanted to get up, but then he felt the other Elf's hand, touching his arm and trying to find his hand. His hold was firm - he was strong, and Elcallon knelt down again, watching in fascination as the other Elf began to move his index finger over his own palm. It took Elcallon a while to understand, but then his heart skipped a beat when he realized that the other Elf, too, was drawing letters. He concentrated on the movements, and after a few times of repetition, Elcallon was finally able to identify the letters.
"Celeborn? Your name is Celeborn! Yes! You understand me!"
He hugged the Elf, who now had a smile on his face, the first Elcallon had seen since he had been brought here. With trembling hands, he took Celeborn's hand again, and wrote down the question which had tortured him ever since his discussion with Toban.
"How many Elves are still alive?"
Celeborn frowned, as if he doubted that he had understood the question correctly. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he reached out for Elcallon's hand, and drew a number on his palm.
Elcallon stared at him. This could not be possible! Celeborn repeated his answer until the other Elf closed his hands over his and gently squeezed it. But before Elcallon could ask any further questions, there was a knock on the door, and he looked up.
"You may enter," he called from the terrace, and the chief advisor of the king entered the room, keeping a respectful distance and bowing deeply.
"My master wishes to see you, Elcallon," he said without looking at him. The laws were strict, and more than one who had looked at the Elf too long had lost his head in the past. Not under the reign of this king, but the advisor remembered well his king's father. The old king had seen to it that the ownership of the Elf had been respected. And while the advisor would have loved to do much more than just look at the Elf, he preferred to keep his head on his shoulders.
Elcallon was tempted to tell the man that he did not feel like seeing the king, but this would have raised suspicion, and when he thought about it, he needed to see the king. There were some urgent questions which needed to be asked.
"I will follow you in a moment."
The advisor nodded, and retreated to the door, waiting for the Elf. Elcallon helped Celeborn up and led him back to his chamber. After a moment, he emerged from the room, nodded at the man and followed him through the door.
This was going to be a long night.
* * *
"Nobody asked you to come after me! You have no business being here! I am very well capable of looking after myself, I do not need a guardian."
"I have every business being here! What in Elbereth's name got into you, Melpomaen! To come here - you have no idea who or what you are dealing with!"
"I do!" Melpomaen insisted. He folded his arms over his chest and pouted.
"I made a plan, and I calculated in everything. It will work. Lord Celeborn is here, and I will find him."
Orophin rolled his eyes.
"Why did you not talk to us? Why did you just run away?"
Melpomaen looked a little uncomfortable at this question, then he shrugged.
"Nobody ever takes me seriously. I am not Master Erestor. I am just a junior advisor. Lord Elladan would have laughed at me."
"I doubt it. I would have laughed, but not Elladan."
Melpomaen sighed.
"See? That is exactly what I mean."
Feronil decided it was time to interrupt the argument.
"Were we at home, I could enjoy your petty bickering for hours, but I would like to remind you two noble Elves that we are in the city of our enemies. Just in case you should be unaware of what this means: one warrior, one advisor and one Elfling in need of a good spanking against a complete army of Mortals. We have not seen any sign of lord Celeborn. I have been talking to the merchants and the chamber maids; nobody mentioned anything unusual. It seems to be safe to state that lord Celeborn is not here. As everybody else suspects, he is probably held captive in Tíngel forest, and we only make fools of ourselves here, with the additional risk of losing our heads. I promised Master Melpomaen the Know-It-All to accompany him, which I did. I also promised that I would give him one week to find lord Celeborn. The week is over, and we have seen neither hide nor hair of the lord. So I say: let us return home, leave the war to the warriors and await their safe return."
"I will not leave! Lord Celeborn is here, I know it! I think he is locked up in the castle - who else would have the means to keep an Elf imprisoned? I must find a way to get into the castle!"
"Melpomaen - I am at the castle all day long. I did look and listen around, but I heard nothing. Why are you so sure that lord Celeborn is here? Have you heard anything?" Orophin asked, and Melpomaen shuffled his feet. He looked from Feronil's mocking grin to Orophin's stern face, and sighed.
"I have no reason to believe he is here other than my instinct. I know he is here. I hear him calling for me at night, and sometimes I wake up, thinking him near."
"Oh by the Valar, this is priceless!" Feronil howled, slapping his thigh repeatedly. "Our little library mouse here is in love with lord Celeborn! To think that I got myself into this adventure because of an Elfling's first love!"
He laughed and giggled, which caused Melpomaen to cringe and turn as red as a tomato.
"Quiet now!"
Orophin had a voice and a tone that could silence even the most talkative souls instantly, and Feronil knew immediately that this was not a request, so he tried to stifle his laughter in the cushions.
"Melpomaen - please answer me truthfully: is Feronil right? Do you harbour - feelings for lord Celeborn?"
If only there had been a mouse hole somewhere. No matter how tiny, Melpomaen would have crawled into it and never come out again. How embarrassing! How terribly, terribly embarrassing! But it could not be helped; he had to answer.
"I - I like lord Celeborn very much," he murmured, and tears began to pool in his eyes. "Very much."
Orophin thought about it for a moment, then he shrugged.
"A loving heart is a power not to be underestimated. I often know where my husband is without anyone telling me. I just know. So I will not ridicule your claim, Melpomaen. There are many things going on in this castle which I do not like; this kingdom is preparing to attack our people, and I wish to know why."
Melpomaen looked up, shyly, hardly daring to make eye-contact with Orophin. He felt so small and insignificant beside the warrior. Feronil's words had made it painfully clear to him that he was reaching for the stars - how insignificant would he feel beside Celeborn? The lord did not see anything in him. And how could he hope for Orophin's help? He was one of the Galadhrim - to him, Melpomaen must really seem a boring library mouse.
"We will give it two more days," Orophin finally decided, effectively stopping Feronil's chuckling. "Two days, not more. If I do not find any evidence of lord Celeborn's presence here, we will try to return to Imladris."
A smile spread over Melpomaen's face, and he would have hugged Orophin if the other Elf had not looked so terribly stern and intimidating.
"Thank you, my lord," he whispered, while Feronil groaned.
"I must leave now, or they will miss me from my work. You will stay here, both of you, and you will not leave this place until my return. Have I made myself clear?"
Melpomaen nodded enthusiastically, but Feronil shook his head.
"And you think this child here will leave by free will if you do not find lord Celeborn? I think you underestimate the stubbornness of youth, my lord."
Orophin shrugged at Feronil's objection, and cut off Melpomaen, who had just opened his mouth to protest.
"I am no stranger to stubborn youths, Master Feronil. And Master Melpomaen here had better be aware that he will leave Breon either by free will and on a horse, or bound and gagged on a mule. The decision is his alone."
With that, he put on his cloak again, pulling the hood down over his face, and left the small chamber to return to the castle.
Feronil rolled onto his front, propped himself up on his elbows and batted his lashes at Melpomaen.
"Oh please, fair one - when he returns to tell us that he has found no trace of lord Celeborn, put up a fight. Shake your fists, stomp your feet and, if possible, roll on the floor and throw a tantrum. I would so love to see you bound and gagged. Ah, I am delighted by lord Orophin - he is so ... masterful."
Melpomaen glared daggers at the advisor.
"You are evil!" he hissed, but Feronil only giggled.
"Oh no, I am not. Only bored."
The young Elf decided that there was no point in further answering Feronil's teasing, so he looked out of the window. It was not difficult to spot Orophin - he towered a head above the other cloaked figures who tried to find their way on the muddy street without getting too drenched in the rain. Melpomaen watched him, and then he held his breath.
Without saying another word, Melpomaen grabbed his cloak, put on his scarf and rushed out of the door, completely ignoring Feronil's questions.
There could be no doubt: somebody had been following Orophin.
* * *
The king's bedchamber was dark, save for the fire burning in the fireplace. In the flickering light, Elcallon could see the tall, naked figure stretched out on the bed, holding a goblet of deep red liquid, occasionally taking a sip. It was wine, sweet, heavy wine from the south. It always was.
The king was tall for a man, his body covered with the scars of many battles. Elcallon had known him since the cold winter day of his birth. The curious child had become a wild youngster, then a fearless warrior and king, and had finally changed from friend into lover, two winters back. Elcallon enjoyed his company and the intimacy; he felt comfortable in the king's presence. This was what love was all about, after all. Or had he been wrong there?
"You have come, my lovely one - this is a good night then, after all." Elcallon heard the familiar, amused voice, and bowed his head.
"I always answer your call, my king."
"Yes, that is true. And I'm happy about it. Now don't stand there, Elcallon - step into the light so I may enjoy your beauty. I don't have your Elven eyes and can't see in the darkness."
Obediently, Elcallon moved closer, stopping in front of the fire. The king wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the Elf shed his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair. The man smiled, taking in the tall figure, admiring the long, light brown hair which reached halfway down the Elf's back.
"You really are beautiful beyond measure, my lovely one."
Under normal circumstances, this compliment would have delighted the Elf, but now he hesitated a moment before walking over to the large bed and slipping under the covers. Strong arms drew him closer to the warm body of the man, and a gentle kiss was pressed upon his temple.
"You look so serious today, my beautiful. Is anything amiss? Is there something you need? Speak freely, you know that I will give you anything that you long for - including myself."
Elcallon forced a smile, then he cupped the man's face with his hand.
"Indeed, there is something I long for, my king - but I do not know if it is within your power to give it to me."
Surprised, the man frowned, but at the same time, he leaned into the touch. No matter what the temperature outside, the Elf always had warm hands. A treat on a rainy, cold day like this.
"Not within my power? Now I'm curious. What could this possibly be?"
Elcallon ran his tongue over his lips to wet the dry skin, and he worded his plea as careful as possible.
"My king, I know that your people hate my kin. But after all these years, they might understand that neither I nor my friends have done anything wrong. We will always feel guilty for the cowardly deeds of our predecessors - but maybe they could forgive us? I - would like to see the world, my king. I want to see what the other side of the river looks like, I want..."
"Shhh," the king interrupted, putting a finger on the Elf's lips. "My lovely one - as much as I would love to fulfil your wish, it is not possible. The memory of our people has not yet forgotten the treachery of your kinsmen. The very moment people saw you they would get their swords, knives and pitchforks and bring you to a quick death. I will not risk this. You are my dearest possession, and never will I allow any harm to befall you."
Elcallon stiffened in the king's arms.
"I am your possession?"
A quiet laughter rumbled through the chest of the man, and Elcallon felt the strong arms tightening around him even more.
"Ah but yes, my lovely one. Why, have you already forgotten that I was the first one to claim you? Here, in this bed? You are mine, for as long as I live - and I know how to keep my own."
Elcallon felt the touch of the man's hands on his skin. Knowing touches, aimed to please him. He had always been a willing and eager participant in this game, had even convinced himself that he felt love for the man. Maybe he had done so, at one point, but now, he resisted the touch of the king's hands, and when the man tried to kiss him, the Elf turned his head aside.
"I wish to leave."
"Leave? Why do you want to leave? Are you upset with me for denying your wish?"
Elcallon was not a skilled liar. He feared to look into the man's eyes and reveal the truth, so he shaded his eyes with his hand.
"I am not upset. I am merely disappointed. Please forgive me - I feel very tired today."
For a moment, the eyes of the man narrowed, and Elcallon noticed it well when he peeked through his fingers. Then the expression disappeared, and he saw that his lover was worried.
"I knew the weather was too rough to ride out, but you wouldn't listen. But if you are tired, we shall sleep. I will not have you leaving, though, I need you close. Your presence gives me peaceful sleep and powerful dreams."
Knowing that insisting on leaving would arouse the king's suspicion, Elcallon agreed. The man pulled him closer, and nuzzled his neck. Soon enough, his even breathing told Elcallon that the man had fallen asleep.
But the Elf stayed awake all night long, and by daybreak, he had come to a decision.
* * *
Galadriel secretly wondered how long it would take for Mount Doom to erupt. Mount Doom had been standing behind her, spitting fire and smoke ever since the meeting began, and she hoped that Rúmil would speak up soon, otherwise he would probably combust with frustration.
And who could blame him. For three hours already she had listened to the three main leaders of her army who had put forward one insane plan after the other regarding the proposed attack on the enemy in Tíngel forest. Celeborn's sharp mind and battle experience were sorely missed.
Galadriel had to hide a smile. She knew, with all the experience of her age, what to do and which strategy to choose, but it was time for Rúmil to gain his first experience in leadership. All she had to do was to give him a gentle lead, and advise along the way.
And she would have to keep him from strangling her most loyal advisors, of course.
"I say: let us attack in classical formation", one said. "Warriors on horseback up front and on the sides, to protect the flanks. In-between them we have..."
"Nay, nay, nay! That would be all wrong! The warriors on horseback need to ride up front, agreed, but not on the sides! What are you thinking!" another interrupted.
"I had already led armies when you were still an Elfling clutching to your nana's robes. Do not try to teach me how to make a formation."
"Led armies? Yes, I remember! You were the one who got lost in a swamp and had to be rescued by a family of Dwarves! Indeed, just the leader we need!"
"That is a lie! Outrage! I demand an apology! And anyway, they were not Dwarves but Hobbits, and..."
"ENOUGH!"
Rúmil's voice thundered through the room, and the advisors and warriors ceased their argument in the middle of their sentences. They all stared at the warrior who was standing behind a mildly smiling Galadriel, his eyes blazing with anger.
"With all due respect, my lords, you do not have the slightest clue what you are talking about. None of you has ever been to Tíngel. You do not know what or who to expect there. But I have been there, and I know! Warriors on horseback? No horse could make it far enough into the forest to be of any use!"
The eldest of the advisors straightened up, pulled his robe back into place and waved his hand at Rúmil.
"Quiet, you silly Elfling. Have you not learned discipline? You should only speak when you are asked to do so, and even then it would be better if you kept quiet. My lady Galadriel, I do not think that this young Elf is a suitable personal guard for you."
Rúmil opened his mouth, without a doubt to say something very rude, but Galadriel got up, so he shut it again. He wished he had the ability to kick his own backside - of course this had been an unforgivable breach of protocol, and Galadriel could not tolerate it without losing face.
"My dear lords," she began, "I fully agree with you. As a personal guard, this young Elf is not suitable, so I will relieve him of this duty."
She could feel Rúmil's disappointment and anger, it radiated from him like heat from a fireplace. Oh, the young hot-head! Would he ever learn to submit to protocol and rules? Probably not. One more reason to love him.
"To keep such a capable and skilled warrior here by my side would be very selfish of me. So I have decided that Rúmil of Lórien shall lead our troops into battle. Serve him as you would serve me. Trust him with your life, he will not disappoint you."
Had a flea coughed this very moment, one could have heard it. Deadly silence hung over the room, and Rúmil's eyes were almost popping out of their sockets.
"My lady," her chief advisor began, "it is my duty to protest. He is too young! He knows nothing! He has no discipline and has only experienced battle as a plain soldier. What can he know about strategy and leading warriors? Nothing! This is madness, my lady!"
Galadriel listened carefully, then she folded her hands.
"My dear lord. I have heard your arguments, thought about them carefully and decided to ignore them."
She gave him her sweetest smile, then gestured to Rúmil to come forward.
"Now then, Rúmil - let us hear <i>your</i> strategy."
Rúmil, still in a daze, stumbled to the table, suddenly feeling very small under the disapproving looks of the advisors and warriors. But then he thought of Tíngel, of what had happened to Orophin, remembering how his pyre had burned, and when he began to speak, his voice was steady and sure.
"As I mentioned before, we must attack on foot. Furthermore, I recommend that our soldiers do not wear their armour."
Loud protests began, but Rúmil stayed firm in his statement, not willing to argue about it. Galadriel let the voices die down, then she addressed him.
"Rúmil - please explain to us why you wish to send our Elves into battle unguarded. I am not willing to take such a risk for my people without need or reason."
Rúmil looked at her a little uncomfortably, not sure how to explain his reasoning to her. Then he saw the ceremonial suits of armour which were lined up along the back of the council chamber, and quickly walked to them to demonstrate his theory.
"Our armour looks pretty, and has certainly saved many lives. But see this." He pointed at the stomach area. "To ensure the archers can use their weapons, this part of the armour is very weak. It does not take much strength to drive a sword through this thin hide - I have seen many of our archers die because they were attacked at exactly this point. And while the rest of the armour protects, it also limits our ability to move quickly, a skill which can be vital in battle. Over all, I think the disadvantages outweigh the advantages."
Galadriel walked around the table, to his side, and studied the armour. Her fingers touched the metal and the fabric, lingering over the stomach area. By Elbereth - Rúmil was right! She looked up and winked at him, then she turned towards her advisors.
"My dear noble Elves - he is right. So order the troops to wear their normal uniforms, and make sure that those who have served in Tíngel inform their comrades about their experiences and the dangers to expect. I do not wish to lose even one more of our Elves in that cursed forest."
The advisors and generals growled and hissed and ruffled their fur, but as expected, they obeyed Galadriel. And eventually, they would obey Rúmil as well. Heads were bowed, polite words spoken, and then they left the room, probably to spend the rest of the day wondering about Galadriel's sanity.
She smiled. Rúmil had not disappointed her, and when she turned around to the Elf who was now leaning on the wall and wiping cold sweat off his brow, she actually giggled.
"Well done!"
"Well done?" he gasped, shuddering. "Why have you done this? I am nothing but a mere soldier, I cannot lead a whole army!"
Galadriel caressed his cheek.
"You can do so much more than you think, Rúmil."
"You overestimate me."
"You remind me a lot of your father, my love."
Rúmil looked up, surprised.
"You knew him?"
"Ah, you forget that I know every Elf within my realm - and more. Yes, I knew him, very well. So often he feared to be incapable of mastering a task, to be weak and unworthy of his fate. But he never disappointed me."
Galadriel moved to the window, looking out over her beloved Lórien.
"No, he never disappointed me. He hurt me, countless times, and the Valar know he often failed. Following him was like walking blindfolded on the edge of a cliff, but I knew that, even if I should fall, he would be there to catch me."
Rúmil began to feel uncomfortable. He'd had no idea that Galadriel had known his father so well. And something was amiss here.
* * *
"Did you tell him?"
Amaris glanced up briefly from his arrows. He checked every single one - tomorrow they could decide his life or death, and he was not taking any risks.
Gil threw his cloak into a corner and ran both hands through his hair. It was damp from the drizzle and fog outside, and his clothes were covered with a thin layer of moisture as well.
"I did not have to - he already knew. His damned gift of foresight - I felt like an Elfling caught with his hand in the cookie jar."
Amaris continued checking his arrows but arched an eyebrow.
"It was not your hand, Gil - and I would not describe it as a cookie jar, either."
Gil towered in front of Amaris and snorted.
"If there had been a chance to snatch a cookie, at least all the trouble I got myself into would have been worthwhile! But no - it was you who got the cookie."
"Indeed. And you got the cream. So do not complain."
Gil growled, then he dropped down on the bedroll beside Amaris. For quite a while, he just sat there and watched the Mirkwood Elf's nimble fingers adjusting feathers.
"I am not complaining," he finally said, "but you know what it is like in a shop: if you have had your hand in the cookie jar, you have got to buy the cookie."
"And you do not want to buy it, I understand - just take a bite to find out if you like the taste."
Gil scratched his head.
"Oh I like the taste, very much. I ... have never tasted anything better."
Now Amaris dropped the arrow, and he looked at Gil. Once again, the king counted the 21 golden speckles in the Mirkwood Elf's green eyes, and he shook his head.
"Let us stop speaking in metaphors, please. I feel like a fool when you do this."
Amaris reached out and ran the back of his hand over Gil's cheek. The king could smell the scent of the bow wax on Amaris' fingers.
"Say it, Gil," he demanded.
"What?"
"That you want to buy the cookie."
"Would it be acceptable if I said that I love you instead?"
Amaris was now so close that Gil could feel his lips move on his skin when he spoke.
"I guess so. Still want the cookie?"
Gil found it difficult to answer, as Amaris lips were now firmly pressed on his. The kiss was gentle, almost shy in the beginning, but soon both warriors increased the pace and intensity. Gil finally moved his head back a little, gasping for breath.
"Is it wise to have such a meal before a battle? You know that one fights better on an empty stomach."
Amaris began to undo the lacings on Gil's jerkin none too gently, and shrugged.
"I have kept myself in condition, Sire. You can start your diet after the war."
With that, he pressed Gil down on the bedroll and kissed him passionately, his hands running over the strong body and making Gil's skin tingle.
"Agreed," Gil gasped, "and now feed me already, I am starving!"
Amaris straddled his hips, and there was a wicked and hungry gleam in his eyes.
"Now what a coincidence, Sire - so am I."
* * *
Rúmil wore neither a bright cloak nor any other outward sign of his new rank. He was the leader because Galadriel had told the Galadhrim that he was.
He sat on the same horse he had ridden on many patrols through the Golden Woods, his sword was the same, and now he was expected to give a speech to encourage his warriors. He sighed - if anybody here needed encouragement it was him. But there were hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at him, some doubtful, others hopeful. This was his duty, and he had to do it, so he straightened up on his horse and addressed the troops.
"My fellow Galadhrim! I should probably make one of those motivating speeches I have heard so often in my life. I should tell you that you are expected to go out and fight and die for the Golden Wood, honour or duty. However, this is not what I will tell you."
Rúmil felt Galadriel's eyes on him, and her presence in his mind. He had no idea if she would approve of his words or not. He would find out soon enough.
"My kinsmen – I do not want you to die for anything. Life is much too precious, as I have learned, and it was a painful lesson. There is no glory in spending millennia in the Halls of Waiting while your family cries and mourns your death. So I say: let us ride to Tíngel. Let us free our good lord Celeborn and lord Glorfindel and make sure that the evil which is lurking in this forest will not cause our realm any further harm. I also say: try not to get killed in the process. Ehr… yes, I guess that was it then."
He scratched his head, then ran his hand through his hair. Despite the many warriors, there was silence. It would likely be only a matter of moments before somebody threw a rotten apple, and he swallowed hard.
It was one of the captains from the southern forest, Rúmil would remember later on. The Elf had walked slowly towards Rúmil, looking him up and down. Upon his arrival by the horse, he knelt down by Rúmil's side and lifted his bow up, presenting it to him.
"You lead us, and we will follow", he simply said, and bowed his head.
Rúmil, completely surprised and confused, bowed his head in acknowledgement. Then he looked up and almost fell off his horse.
In fact <i>all</i> of the Galadhrim were kneeling and presenting their bows to him.
* * *
The faint grey of the very early morning hours crept into the tent, and Gil woke up. It took him a while to come to full awareness, but when he did, he noticed that he lay in Amaris' arms. He had to grin - not only because it felt really, really good to wake up next to the Mirkwood Elf, but also because it was usually him doing the holding. The reversed roles were definitely a good thing.
Ouch.
Gil winced when he shifted his weight.
As far as his backside was concerned, the good thing had its bad sides, too.
"Stop squirming. You did enough of that last night," a sleepy voice could be heard.
"Ah, you are among the living again."
"Surprisingly enough, yes. I do feel like I have been trampled by a Mumakil."
"You have such an unique way of complimenting me."
Amaris snorted, then he looked down at his lover.
"So, how are you feeling on this beautiful morning, Sire?"
Gil yawned, then he folded his arms over Amaris' chest, resting his chin on his hands.
"Now let me see - in a few hours, we will be engaged in a deadly fight with a Vala. Needless to say, our chances of survival are slim. I have broken the heart of somebody who is very dear to me, and cannot decide yet if I feel like a bastard because I did so or because I do not regret my decision. And on top of all that, I will have to <i>walk</i> into battle, because thanks to your surprising talents I will not be able to sit down for at least three days. You know - better ask me again tomorrow."
Amaris laughed, and he caressed Gil's shoulders, his fingers dancing over his spine.
"It might be the wrong place and time to say this, but I am happy," he admitted, never interrupting his caresses. "I am happy because I am here with you, finally, and I am allowed to touch you the way I do.
"Why did you never say anything? All those years - I had no idea."
Amaris considered the question a moment, then he shrugged.
"These things happen when they are supposed to, not when we want them to. Maybe the time was not right. Now it is."
Gil tried to imagine what it must have been like for Amaris, to hide his feelings for so many years, and he shied away from it. This train of thought was leading him into a dark place, a place of pain and many secretly shed tears, and he did not yet feel able to deal with it. So he pressed a gentle kiss on Amaris’ shoulder, then he followed the runes and signs on Amaris' chest with his finger.
"Will you tell me one day what these signs mean? I hope they remind you of some heroic battles and valiant deeds, not past lovers."
Again, the light laughter of the Mirkwood Elf was heard.
"Do not tell me you are jealous - have you forgotten that it was I who wrote 'Mirkwood Love Secrets'? I hope you did not expect me to be inexperienced, my king. But yes, I will tell you one day the meaning of the signs. I will also have to ask the healer to add a new one."
"A rune for the upcoming battle?"
Amaris grinned when he saw Gil's questioning expression.
"No. I thought of an arrow, pointing from my navel to my groin, as a reminder of the glorious night when I conquered the former High King of the Noldo."
"Oh, so you see this as a battle, then?" Gil snarled in faked outrage. "You might have won a battle, Amaris, but the war is not lost for me yet!"
Before Gil realized what was happening, Amaris had rolled him onto his back and was pinning him down on the bedroll. A mischievous smile played around his lips.
"Are you certain about that, <i>Sire</i>? Do you not know that every relationship is a never ending battle?"
"That is not how I see it," Gil protested, trying to free himself, but the Mirkwood Elf was surprisingly strong and would have none of it. "I see a partnership as a matter between equals."
Amaris nuzzled his neck and kissed his jaw, making the king squirm.
"Oh, there I agree with you. Equal is good. Equal is very good. But," he purred, his lips now very close to Gil's ear, "do you not think it would be more fun if you would submit to me? At least sometimes?"
Gil stopped struggling and looked up into those amazing eyes which were the first thing about Amaris that had captured him.
"One day you will be the death of me, you wicked creature."
Amaris grinned.
"I promise it will be a joyful death, my beloved."
"You know, this is the first time you have called me that."
"What?"
"'Beloved'."
"Do you not like it?"
Amaris let go of Gil and looked at him, a little worried, but the king smiled.
"Oh, I do. Very much, actually. I think I could get used to it."
"Beloved."
It was not only a word. There was so much more to it - and for the first time, Gil really, truly understood the meaning of it. He stroked Amaris' hair, then he cupped his face between his large hands.
"Amaris - today, we will go to battle. We know that our chances are very poor, it would be foolish to believe otherwise. I want you to... I... Amaris, should anything happen to you, I want you to know that I will follow you."
"And I will follow you - beloved," the Mirkwood Elf replied, then he rested his head on Gil's chest. So the two lay for a long while, Gil stroking Amaris' head, Amaris occasionally pressing a gentle kiss on his lover's skin, till the sound of a horn told them that it was time to prepare for battle.
* * *
Tarmon was the master of the smiths, and when the guard took him aside to ask for a certain favour, he was more than willing to oblige. He didn't care much for scruples or morals as long as he was paid well, and at the moment, he would have paid many pieces of silver to get rid of Alandel the Skilled. No doubt, the man deserved his title. Alandel's swords were the best; he was strong and seemed tireless, and so, within a week, he had become the most productive of all the weapon smiths.
This was not good - already, the master of the guards had taken notice of the skilled smith, and Tarmon had no wish to see somebody else take his place. And Alandel was annoying on many levels. He didn't join in their drinking or gambling, and when one of the smiths had tried to hit the water boy with the ladle, Alandel had held the man's arm back with such force that the bone broke.
Tarmon shook his head. There was so much work to be done, and Alandel had injured one of his own guild over a mere water boy! They came twelve a dozen, these orphans, and he only had to pay the orphanage a few copper pieces for one. Sometimes a boy got ill and died, and had to be replaced, but mostly, they were good workers and didn't demand much attention beside a kick or a good hiding.
But now Alandel always seemed to be where the water boy was, and he was too tall and too strong to mess with, so this last week had been one of the most painless and pleasant in the child's life.
Tarmon scratched his head. He had already considered arranging a little accident to get rid of Alandel, but now a much better opportunity had arisen, and one he even got paid for.
The man bit down on the piece of silver to check its validity and grinned. This was the type of business he liked!
* * *
For the umpteenth time, Elrohir ran his shoulder against the massive oak door. It had not moved an inch, and now he really felt like he would cry any moment.
This one had to see to believe - locked up in a padded room for no other reason than telling the truth! By his own brother! Elrohir slid down the wall and on the floor, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. Why did nobody believe him? Could they not see that he was perfectly fine and sane?
The door was unbolted, and when Elrohir looked up, ready to tell Celeron to take his tray of food and place it where the sun did not shine, he saw Námo slipping into the room. The Vala pulled the door closed behind him, and looked Elrohir curiously up and down.
For the first time, Elrohir could really see Námo. He had picked up the fact that he was supposed to be a Plains Elf from a discussion between Celeron and one of his assistants, and some rather scary details about the Elf's gender had been revealed. So far, Elrohir had never really thought about the differences between the Plains Elves and all others. Yes, they could bear children, but the mechanics of this process had never held any interest for Elrohir.
He was very tall, and very lean. The arms ended in long, narrow hands. Fingers with almost claw-like nails. Black, unkempt and unbraided hair. The face had a wild beauty. The movements of the body like those of a wild cat. The soft, brown eyes were a surprise - he would have expected the odd yellow green that could be seen in Rabbit's eyes.
Námo wore clothes which Elrohir identified as Erestor’s old hunting gear. The advisor was almost the only one to wear black garb, and while the breeches were a little short and too loose around the hips, Elrohir was still reminded of the vision he had had of Námo on that fateful day when Námo had come to demand the return of Orophin, Gil-galad and Amaris.
The Vala smiled, revealing sharp, pearly white teeth. Elrohir did not know if this smile was supposed to be reassuring or frightening. He only knew that this was a situation not even the weirdest dream could have provided.
"Why do you torture me so?" he asked, "I have never caused you any harm, and yet it seems you will not be satisfied until my life is destroyed."
Námo's eyes grew wide, and he quickly crossed the room to sit opposite Elrohir's.
"But I do not wish you any harm, child. Would I be here if it was my intention to hurt you?"
Elrohir tried to shift out of the Vala's reach.
"I know nothing about your intentions, lord Námo. I only know that, since you decided to show yourself to me, my friends and family consider me insane. I have lost my lover, and now I have even lost my liberty, and all because of you."
Námo looked genuinely unhappy.
"I am most sorry, Elrohir - I would not have thought your kin to be so suspicious and fearful."
"Be assured that I myself am far from pleased with the treatment I have experienced within the last days! And this is your fault entirely! Why are you here now?"
Námo considered the question for a moment.
"Even we have to respect Eru's law, lest chaos ensue, my child. I ignored this fundamental rule, and so I was punished."
"What did you do? And how were you punished?" Elrohir asked, his natural curiosity winning out over his anger.
"What I have done is none of your concern, child. And my punishment is being here."
"Here? But you were here before."
Once again, the Vala seemed to talk in riddles, and Elrohir felt a headache coming on.
"I was banished from my realm, cursed to live here among you, as one of your kin."
It took Elrohir a moment to process this information.
"Are you trying to tell me that you are alive?"
Námo looked at his hand and wiggled his fingers, then he shrugged.
"Alive - yes, I suppose that is the proper term for my state. I never thought it would feel so strange. It is a very restricted state."
Such a thought had never crossed Elrohir's mind, and at first, he could not make any sense of the Vala's remark. But then it dawned on him that the Valar were spirits - free to be whoever and whatever they wanted. Being forced to take up one form and keep it must be very restricting, indeed.
"You - you said you were one of my kin. But - you are of Rabbit's kin."
For a brief moment, Elrohir imagined he saw an expression of hurt in Námo's brown eyes. Had he said something wrong? Had he hurt the Vala?
"I used to be the one to bear the gift of life, then I became the one to take it back. And is that not what this race does? They take life, they give it. They represent the circle of life. I would not have chosen this particular form, but Manwë does nothing without reason. Do you find me repulsive?"
"Repulsive?"
Elrohir was taken aback at this question. Repulsive? He remembered the conversation he had overheard, and Celeron had indeed sounded very repulsed. 'Abnormalities' he had called Rabbit and Master Erestor. From conversations he had held with Elladan and his father, he understood that the Plains Elves might look male, but were not. Or not fully. They were not female, either. Actually, Elrohir had not the slightest idea what they really were. He only knew that he admired Rabbit, loved Master Erestor and - Námo? What were his feelings regarding the Vala? He was in awe, frightened, impressed, annoyed, angry, all this and much more, but repulsed?
"No. No I do not. You scare me. But I am not repulsed."
Again, Námo looked down at his hands, then he touched his face and held a strand of his black hair in front of his eyes.
"I scare you. I know, for I can smell your fear. But may I still ask you a favour?"
Plains Elf or not, this was still the Vala of Death, and Elrohir was not one to take any risks, so he nodded, though hesitatingly. Námo smiled, knowing well what thoughts were racing through the young Elf's head.
"Can I touch you? Now that I am alive and can feel, I would very much like to know what it is like to touch another living being."
"Are you sure I will not drop dead on the spot if you touch me?" Elrohir asked, a little suspicious. For a brief moment, the thought that this might be a trick of Námo’s to lure him into the Halls of Waiting crossed his mind.
"I am. I will not hurt you, I am just - curious."
Elrohir decided that, so far, the Vala had been very annoying and confusing, but had never caused him any harm. So he nodded.
Námo smiled, then his hand gingerly touched Elrohir's arm. Immediately he pulled the hand away again, gasping in surprise.
"This is incredible!"
Again he reached out to the young Elf, and this time, his hand remained on Elrohir's arm.
Elrohir did not dare to move; he stared down at the sharp finger nails of the other like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake.
"You are so warm to touch - and so soft."
Something about the way Námo talked reminded Elrohir of a child. Like an Elfling exploring the world for the first time, Námo was now experiencing the miracle of life. Elrohir wondered what it must be like for the Vala, to stay here, on Arda, restricted to the confines of a body, all alone.
"I remember that you held me once," he finally said, while Námo ran his hand up and down Elrohir's arm. "I felt - safe."
Námo stopped his movements.
"You remember?"
"How could I forget?"
"Was it warm and soft, too?"
Elrohir had to smile.
"I remember warmth and velvet, yes."
"Will I understand one day?"
Again, it was the question of a child, and maybe this was the reason Elrohir moved forward, gently put his arms around Námo and pulled him close. He held him now as Námo had held him, back then, and after a while Námo relaxed in the embrace and snuggled up to Elrohir, who tightened his hold. Námo was just the right size and weight to fit perfectly into Elrohir's arms, and there was a scent of nutmeg around him which Elrohir found most pleasing. The Vala's head came to rest on his shoulder, and he felt Námo's breath on his neck.
"This is why you live in pairs, is it not?"
The question surprised Elrohir, but he did not loosen his hold.
"It is one of the reasons. There is more to being a couple than keeping each other warm in winter."
"That was not what I meant." Námo looked up at Elrohir, his brown eyes full of trust.
"I do not know what you are talking about then," Elrohir said.
Námo rubbed his cheek on the soft suede of Elrohir's jerkin and closed his eyes. Silently, he smiled, for he knew that this was a blatant lie.
* * *
It had been a foolish plan, and Elcallon knew it - knew it the very moment the guards caught up with him and brought him back to the castle. Toban had looked at him with sad eyes, then disappeared into his chambers to cry. Why had the foolish Elf not listened to him?
Elcallon had considered following Toban's plan, but he had worried that, if it should fail, his friends would suffer. And he would have had to leave the Elf who called himself Celeborn behind - blind and deaf as he was, he would not have stood a chance of escaping.
So Elcallon had tried to flee during his weekly ride to the river. The horse, sensing his rider's fear, had shied, and so it had not taken the guards long to catch up with him. And now he was in the dungeon, chained to the wall like a dog, and his king and lover was standing in front of him, very angry and disappointed.
"You have been most ungrateful. I and my family have protected your life and the lives of your friends for many centuries, we have made great sacrifices and given you everything you wanted and needed."
"That is not true," Elcallon protested, "I am very grateful. But you have lied to us, kept us prisoner, locked us up and robbed us of our liberty!"
The king shook his head.
"It was all in your own interest. You don't know what the world is like out there, but I do. Here you are safe, nobody will hurt you, and nobody will hunt you. I need you, here with me. I can't allow that you leave me, to go to a place where I can't follow. So you will stay here and consider your situation. Give me your word that you will not try to run away again, and you will be allowed to live in your old home, and I shall forgive you."
"My king, please..." Elcallon begged, hoping against better knowledge that the man would finally see some sense, but he was cut off.
"I will hear no more of this. The decision is yours now."
The king and the advisor left the prison cell, leaving the distraught Elf behind.
Outside, the king took his servant aside.
"Make sure he gets all he needs. Remove the chains tomorrow, I don't want to see him hurt. Nobody is allowed to see him or to talk to him, you are responsible with your head for this."
"Of course, my king," the advisor replied, bowing deeply, "a most unpleasant situation."
"Indeed. While I care greatly for him, I must see that my law is obeyed, and any disrespect must be punished."
With that, he left, and the advisor waited a moment before returning to the prison cell. He stepped closer to Elcallon, who tried to move away, but the chain was too short; he couldn't escape.
"For well nigh 30 years I have waited for a chance to finally look at you, Elf. And I see why my king is so besotted with you."
The man ran his hands through Elcallon's hair, ignoring the disgusted expression on the Elf's face.
"I have not given you permission to touch me!"
The advisor grinned.
"Permission? Oh please - you can't be that naïve, can you? You are a prisoner. It's up to the king's mercy whether you will keep your head or not. So you had better be a little more friendly towards me and more generous with your affection, otherwise your stay here might become rather uncomfortable."
Again he reached out, this time trying to touch the Elf's face, but before his fingers touched the soft skin, Elcallon's teeth bit deep into the advisor's hand, drawing blood. The man yelped, cradling his hand, then he backhanded the Elf, leaving an angry red welt on his face.
"Whatever happens to you now, Elf - you are responsible and deserve it. My king wants to see the laws respected, and that's what I will do now!"
The angry man rushed out of the door, and Elcallon heard the key turn in the lock.
It was dark, cold; he was alone and hurt. Never in his life had he felt so lost, and as there was nobody to see it, he allowed himself the comfort of crying.
* * *
For a while, Erestor had tried to reason with Glorfindel. He had talked to him about their life, about their child, about their love. He had silently begged the Valar for some mercy, but none of his efforts showed any success - Glorfindel continued to curse him and to stare at him with hatred in his eyes.
Finally, Nonfindel could stand it no more, and had gagged his brother. Erestor protested, but Nonfindel was not willing to take any more abuse from Fin, under a spell or not. He was very concerned for the advisor's well-being. The situation was taking its toll, and he had noticed how Erestor touched his stomach and winced when he thought he was unwatched. If only they could make it to the camp of the Lórien Elves sooner - as he had to share the horse with Fin, who did his best to slow them down even more with his constant struggling, their journey back took much longer, and he feared that something would happen to the advisor or the little one. The wound on Erestor's shoulder was healing nicely, but the wound in his heart, so Nonfindel reckoned, was still raw, open and bleeding.
Not once had Erestor raised his voice or become angry with his husband. It was obvious to see that Fin's behaviour went beyond Erestor's understanding, and as the advisor bared his soul in his helpless attempt to awaken Fin's memory, the warrior had a wide choice of weak spots to attack.
"Fin, please remember - we have a son, Estorel. You helped to bring him into this world! How can you have forgotten him?"
"I had only one son, and you murdered him," Fin screamed.
"No, no, Fin, this is all wrong. Please remember, beloved - yes, you had a son, Luinil, and he died in a battle many centuries ago. But he was reborn, in our son, Estorel. You must know this, Fin, have you never seen it in his eyes?"
"Liar! How perverted can you be, using my dead son to try to fool me! Give me a sword, you coward, and I will help your memory."
Erestor closed his eyes for a moment. If only he wouldn't cry - not here, not now! Hearing Fin laugh at his tears would be the final blow, one he could not take. So he only shook his head sadly, and returned to his bedroll. His back hurt, and he had a splitting headache, but the worst was the pain in his heart. This Elf looked like Fin, and he smelled like Fin; without a doubt, he also felt like Fin - but never had he expected to hear such cruel remarks from his husband!
A sharp pain in his lower body made him gasp, and he sat down gingerly on the bedroll. If only the little one was healthy!
"Here, have some Lembas, Erestor."
Nonfindel sat down beside the advisor, and offered him the bread and some strips of dried meat. But Erestor refused.
"I am not hungry, Nonfindel. Give it to Fin, he has not eaten anything all day long."
"That would be a waste, Erestor. He will not eat anything we offer him, because he fears we wish to poison his magnificent body. So I am most afraid, dear brother in law: this is yours, eat it."
Erestor sighed, then he thought of the little one and managed to eat a few bites of Lembas for the child's sake. Nonfindel watched him carefully, and when he was satisfied with Erestor's food intake, he moved a little closer.
"It might be a personal question, Master Erestor, but I am curious and I hope you will forgive me: is it true? Has the fëa of Luinil been reborn in Estorel?"
Erestor nodded. He broke off a piece of meat and offered it to Glorfinkle, who greedily pecked at it.
"It is true."
"Do you think... would you allow me to visit you one day to see your son? I loved my nephew very much, and I did not see him before he died."
"Of course. You are his uncle, after all. Had I known of your existence..."
Nonfindel rolled his eyes.
"Oh yes, how could I forget. Glorfindel probably wanted to spare you the pain of making my acquaintance."
Erestor took another bite of the Lembas.
"Why have you become estranged? I am very surprised to learn Glorfindel holds such resentment towards his family."
Nonfindel shrugged.
"I am not a warrior. I have never had any interest in warfare. I preferred paint or clay to bow and sword. A stance difficult to defend if you are born into a family of heroes who slay a cave troll for lunch and two goblins for dinner. He thought I would not do his house much honour, and never failed to remind me that I was not a "true Elf" and rather useless to our people. He had nothing but mockery for the arts and literature, so I was more than a little surprised when I learned that he married you."
"That does not sound like Fin at all," Erestor murmured. He put the Lembas aside. He was not hungry anymore.
"Maybe not like the Fin you know, but certainly like the Fin <i>I</i> knew, Erestor. But we should not discuss this now, those times are over. Rest, Erestor - you are tired, both of you."
Obediently, Erestor lay down, and Nonfindel pulled an extra cover over the advisor. He was very worried - Erestor did not look well at all, and his strength was failing. When he was sure that the other Elf had fallen asleep, he walked over to the tree he had tied Fin to, and crouched down in front of the warrior.
"You have been a miserable brother, Glorfindel. You have been a pain in the backside all of your life, and the only reason for me to help your husband is that I really like him. So, you had better keep this filthy mouth of yours closed in future, or I will gag you for the rest of the journey."
Glorfindel snorted.
"Do you think me scared? Gag me if you want, but it will not change my opinion. I curse you and the spawn from Mordor you have with you. How stupid can you be, trying to make me believe he is a female with child! Do you think me blind?"
"No, dear brother, I do not think you blind. I think you an idiot. And no, your husband is not a female. I have no idea what he is, but he carries your child. And I will not allow you to harm either of them. You know - I think I will gag you anyway. It is so wonderful to shut you up."
With that, he fixed the gag in Glorfindel's mouth again and went to a large oak. Quickly, he climbed the tree and settled himself down comfortably on a branch.
Tonight, he would keep watch.
* * *
It was clear that the advisor was enjoying the situation, and would stretch it out for as long as possible. First he had shown Elcallon the iron.
"Do you see this? This is the emblem of Breon, the eagle. In days of old, we used it to mark our property - horses, cows, slaves. Unfortunately, it has gone out of fashion. In your case, however, I think a constant reminder of whose property you are is in order, and I'm sure my king will agree with me."
Elcallon had stared down at the iron, not really understanding what it all meant until the smith began to heat it in the fire. He began to panic and struggle in his chains, but the prison guards had made sure that there was no way for him to escape.
"It will be a painful lesson, no doubt, but one you will never forget. It's all in your own interest, you see." Turning to the smith, he asked: "How long?"
The other shrugged. "One minute, then it's hot enough."
"Good. We don't want to leave our guest here waiting."
The advisor walked over to the Elf, and began to unlace his breeches.
"I wish I could do this under more pleasurable circumstances, but I guess I can't be choosy," he snickered, running his hand over the Elf's now exposed hip. "Are you ready, smith?"
"Yes," the man replied, "hold him still, or we’ll have to do this twice."
The red-hot iron came closer, and Elcallon screamed like he had never screamed before.
* * *
"Bloody hell - what's going on in there?" the advisor's servant asked the guard on duty, "Are they slaughtering a pig?"
The guard grinned.
"Naw - they're having a little fun with the king's Elf."
The servant looked puzzled.
"The Elf is in there? But why was I asked to bring a smith along? This is a secret, passed on from family to family! He's neither a guard nor a noble!"
"How do I know," the guard shrugged, "I guess once it's done..." He broke off and made a "cut-throat" gesture.
"Oh. I see. Yes, I guess that's the best way to keep a secret."
Again, the guard grinned, and he slapped the servant's back.
"Good thinking, friend! Dead men don't talk."
A terrible scream of pain could be heard, and even the guard, who had seen a lot and couldn't be shocked by many things, paled.
"Are you sure you will have to dispose of only one body?" the servant finally asked, staring at the door of the prison cell with big eyes.
* * *
Elcallon was convinced that he would lose his mind any moment. It was horrible, nothing he could ever have imagined. It was too much for him to process, and he wished he could lose consciousness and escape reality, but there was no such mercy.
It had been quick, but certainly very painful. The advisor didn't expect it, so his face still wore a rather surprised expression. As he lay there, now pinned to the ground by the iron which had been rammed right through his middle, he looked like one of the butterflies Toban had collected as a child. The smith looked down at the dead man, and if there was any expression at all on his face, it was satisfaction.
Finally, Elcallon found his voice again.
"Why have you done this?"
The smith stepped over the body without wasting another glance, and crouched down beside his bag, rummaging through it for some tools.
"Because he deserved it," was the short, dry answer. The man found what he had been looking for and began to work on Elcallon's chains. In short time, the shackles fell to the ground, and the Elf leaned on the wall for support. His legs suddenly felt weak, and he rubbed his sore wrists.
The smith cupped Elcallon's chin, and looked at him.
"What is your name, my friend?" he asked in Elcallon's mother tongue, and the Elf's eyes widened.
"You speak my tongue?"
"Yes. But you do not seem to speak it very well," the smith replied in Westron.
"No. No. I only remember a little - my name is Elcallon. Who are you? Why are you here?"
The smith smiled, and his stern face immediately became very fair. He reached up to his head and took off the hat. Short hair of the same colour as Celeborn's was revealed, and Elcallon gasped when he saw the two elegantly pointed ears.
"My name is Orophin. And I am here to take you home."
* * *
"Cut his bonds."
Nonfindel spun around, staring at the advisor in disbelief.
"But..."
"I said: cut his bonds."
Erestor's voice was tired, but one look at the dark-haired Elf and Nonfindel knew that there was no option but to obey. So he crouched down behind his brother, and took his knife out of its sheath.
"If you think that I will fall for this trick, you are mistaken," Glorfindel spat, glaring at Erestor with obvious hate. "You think I will trust you, believe that you are a friend. But I will not! The moment I am free, I will kill you, Erestor. I hate you, more than words could tell. I hate you! Hate you!"
Nonfindel, the knife in his hand, hesitated. What should he do if Glorfindel attacked Erestor? He could not just stand by and see his brother in his madness slaughter his husband and unborn child! But on the other hand, he knew Glorfindel well enough to see that the only way to stop the Balrog-slayer was to kill him. And this he would not do - no matter what the circumstances.
"Do it."
It was a command, and with a deep sigh, Nonfindel obeyed.
Two cuts, and Glorfindel was free. He glared at Erestor while he rubbed his sore wrists.
"Get up." Erestor ordered, and after a moment of consideration, Glorfindel got to his feet. He was confused - he did not know what to expect, that much was obvious, and Nonfindel prayed to every Vala and Forest Spirit to keep his brother from doing something really stupid.
Erestor looked at Glorfindel for a while without speaking. Never in his long life had Nonfindel seen such sadness as was now visible on the advisor's face. And such love. In that moment he understood how deeply Erestor really cared for Glorfindel, and his heart contracted painfully. Not only because he hurt for and with Erestor, but also because he felt jealous - yes, Erestor's pain must have been terrible, but how blessed was he to know such love. Unlike him.
The advisor drew his sword, looked down at it for a moment, then turned it around and offered it, hilt first, to Glorfindel.
"It was your wish to see me dead, Glorfindel. And it is my wish now, too, for I cannot continue to live this way. You have been my night, my day, my heart and soul - without you, I am nothing. So end this, now. You have my permission, and nobody shall ever hold you responsible for your deed."
Glorfindel hesitated for a moment, then he reached for the sword. Nonfindel watched the scene, unable to move - it was as if magic had removed his ability to react. All he could do was stare in terror.
The blade slipped through Erestor's hand, slicing the palm open in the process. It was a deep cut, but the advisor did not seem to notice. Glorfindel took a firm grip on the hilt.
"You are so predictable, Erestor. Why, did you think I would be impressed by this performance? You should know better."
Erestor let his cloak slip from his shoulders, then he removed his belt. It fell onto the grass, followed by Erestor's twin knives. The advisor was now unarmed.
"Make an end, Glorfindel. Please."
The late afternoon sun reflected from the blade when Glorfindel raised the sword high over his head. Nonfindel cried out and Erestor closed his eyes.
With a scream, Glorfindel swung the blade and attacked.
* * *
Author's notes: do I know anything about the battle techniques of the Elves? Nope. The strategies suggested by Galadriel's advisors are actually snatched from the Romans. Also, I know zilch about Elven armour. Here the knowledge of Naergilien and Kharessa very most helpful.
* * *
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