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.
Author's notes: my dear readers, please do not get over-excited upon seeing the "R" rating. There are no steamy love scenes in this chapter, but more details on Master Erestor's anatomy than you ever wanted to know. I hope you will forgive me the lack of "velvety lengths" and "excited elfhoods". I cannot help it - I am boring. My apologies also for the shorter-than-usual-chapter - it was very difficult to write, and instead of keeping you waiting, I decided to split the chapter in two and post one part now.
Beta read by Eveiya, who was at least spared diagrams and charts. Special thanks to Rattie and Kharessa for their input.
Eveiya: And who says I’d object to diagrams and charts?
CHAPTER 10
In the last chapter(s), we left
... Celeborn hopeful
... Melpomaen chasing after a person shadowing Orophin
... the king's advisor dead
... Orophin and Elcallon in prison
... Feronil frustrated
... Glorfindel very confused
... Nonfindel with a sore hand
... Erestor injured
... Rúmil in charge and Galadriel in love
... Amaris and Gil-galad happy
... Elrond heartbroken
... Mauburz angry
... Elrohir and Námo kissing
... Celeron the healer disgusted
... Elladan shocked
... Eldanar amused
* * *
Melpomaen followed the boy through streets and alleys, and it was only thanks to his Elven skills that he managed not to knock anybody down or bump into a cart. He wondered briefly how this must appear to an onlooker: the boy following the tall smith, and the woman following the boy. But there were no onlookers. The people of Breon's first care was for themselves, and as far as Melpomaen was concerned, this was a blessing.
Many streets and turnings later, the boy suddenly stopped and hid behind a cart laden with potatoes. Melpomaen halted his steps as well, and pressed his body close to a pillar in front of a bakery. They were now close to the castle, and the boy watched Orophin pass through the side entrance.
Melpomaen shook his head. This made no sense. Why was a child following Orophin? Had he been ordered to do so? If yes – by whom? Cold fear came over Melpomaen. Had they been found out? But if so, why were they still free? Certainly they would have been arrested immediately.
There was only one way to find out, and so Melpomaen waited, never taking his eyes off the boy. Minute after minute passed, but nothing happened. The owner of the shop had been watching Melpomaen for quite a while already, with growing suspicion. The Elf prayed to the Valar that the man would not address him, for Melpomaen didn't speak a single word of the common tongue and understood less than ten, and he doubted that the "poor mute little woman" trick would work again. It had been a stupid idea in the first place, Feronil was right. Not that he would ever tell him so, of course. The advisor would be unbearable if...
Melpomaen perked up when he saw Orophin leave the castle. He carried a large bag, his tools, Melpomaen guessed, and he was accompanied by a man, clad in a blue velvet cloak, so Melpomaen surmised that the other was a noble. The boy got very excited, and made to follow the pair, Melpomaen on his tracks. This time, there was not so far to go, as the two were obviously heading for the prison, which was next to the castle. From Feronil's tales, Melpomaen knew about the dungeons and the underground corridors between the castle and the prison, and this knowledge did not exactly reassure him. Why was Orophin going there?
He saw the boy crouching behind a bush, and decided that this was the moment to act, before the young one took flight. Without a sound, he sneaked up on the child and grabbed him by the arm.
The boy gasped, and stared at the "woman" with terrified eyes. He struggled and put up a wild fight, kicking and biting, but Melpomaen did not let go of him. Finally, the boy reached up and tore at Melpomaen's headscarf, which slipped from his head and landed in the grass. Melpomaen immediately let go of the child and tried to cover his head and, more importantly, his ears, but it was already too late. The boy stared at him open-mouthed, and it was obvious that Melpomaen's disguise had just been busted.
'He will run back to his parents now and tell them that a baby-eating, harvest-poisoning Elf is in town, dressed up as a woman, and there is nothing I can do about it,' Melpomaen thought, 'for I could never harm a child. So knocking him out is out of question.'
To the Elf's great surprise the boy didn't run. The child reached out, and Melpomaen saw how pitifully thin his hand was. He didn't move when the small fingers touched his ear, though he winced when the child pinched the tip. Then a flood of words broke over Melpomaen, the child talked a lot and very fast, with many gestures towards the prison, and there could be no doubt that he was trying to tell Melpomaen something of great importance. But Melpomaen didn't understand a word. He knelt down before the boy and shook his head.
"I do not understand you, penneth. Not understand. Do you understand? No? Well, we have the same problem then."
Melpomaen could see that the boy was frustrated and close to tears. For a moment both were silent in their helplessness. Then the boy’s face took on a determined expression and he pointed at Melpomaen's ear, at the prison and then at Melpomaen again, repeating two words over and over.
Melpomaen paled, for the two words were among the ten he knew of the common tongue: "Elf" and "dead". He had been entirely wrong about the boy's motivation: he did not want to harm Orophin - he wished to help him!
"Orophin is in danger, is that what you are telling me?"
The boy didn't understand, simply repeating his warning over and over again. Melpomaen's mind was working feverishly on a plan to rescue Orophin. It would have been a great help if he had known what kind of danger it was, and who the enemies were. For the umpteenth time on this adventure, Melpomaen could have kicked himself for his laziness. If only he had taken the time to study the common tongue, instead of burying his nose in history books! All his knowledge about battles and great warriors was of no use now. By the Valar, he could not even wield a sword!
A thought crossed Melpomaen's mind: maybe this was not about Orophin? Maybe - maybe this was where Glorfindel and Celeborn were held prisoner? The young Elf’s heart skipped a beat. Was it possible that this boy had led him to his beloved lord?
There was only one thing he could do: he had to take the boy back to the tavern. Feronil would be able to understand him, and then they could make a plan. He only hoped the prisoners would remain alive long enough to profit from this plan.
'I know that you are here, and I will not leave this city without you, my lord,' Melpomaen thought, 'I promised I would go to Mordor and back for you, so a mere prison will not deter me.'
That the prison in question was guarded by heavily armed soldiers while he couldn't even lift a sword did not discourage Melpomaen. He was a very determined Elf.
"Hold on, Celeborn," he whispered, then he picked the boy up and hastened back to the tavern.
* * *
'Where has my guardian gone?'
This was the question Celeborn asked himself over and over again. There were so many things he wished to ask the other elf, now that communication was possible. Who was the other? And where were they? Why had he been taken prisoner? What had happened to him? But the other had gone, and so far had not returned. Currently, Celeborn sat in the garden, and the female he referred to as "Lemon" fed him dinner. It was humiliating. Fruits he could eat himself, it was not too difficult to bite into an apple, even if one was blind, but eating steamed vegetables from a plate was as yet impossible for Celeborn. He had tried, but only made a terrible mess. So he was now spoon-fed like an Elfling, and he could hardly think of anything less becoming an Elven lord.
While he chewed on the spinach leaves - spinach, for crying out loud, the only vegetable he loathed with a vengeance! - his thoughts wandered back to the very peculiar question the other Elf had asked: "How many Elves are still alive?"
What sort of Elf would ask such a question? Not a normal one, that was a given. Maybe he was very young, or maybe - yes, maybe he had lived in captivity for a very long time, all his life, even. Was this what he could expect now as well? To stay here for all eternity, deprived of light and song?
Celeborn's hand fisted in the fabric of his robe. This was not an end he was willing to accept. Slain by a Balrog - acceptable. Murdered by a jealous husband - annoying, but 'no risk, no fun'. Fading from boredom after being spoon-fed spinach for the next two ages? No way.
"Hold on, Celeborn".
The Elven lord started. He had clearly heard a voice, but how could that be? He was still deaf! Celeborn jumped to his feet in his excitement and took a few tentative steps. 'Calm down and concentrate,' he ordered himself, 'maybe Galadriel just tried to far speak you.'
But no, it had not been a female voice. He still felt the echo of the voice in his mind, and he ignored the female pulling on his sleeve. When she didn't give up, he even pushed her away. This was too important, he could not allow anybody to distract him from his task.
Celeborn concentrated and tried to find the source. He was prepared for a long, exhausting search, but it took him only a few seconds to locate the one who had spoken to him, and entering this Elf's mind was like stepping into bright sunshine from a dark, cold room. There was warmth and love all around him, things he had missed so very much these last days, and Celeborn had no objection when he realized whose determination and love had been strong enough to find him.
No objection at all.
* * *
"The Orc is watching me," Amaris whispered, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"Of course she is," Gil whispered back, "I expect she has to estimate how strong the spit needs to be to hold your weight."
"Spit?" Amaris stopped dead in his tracks, staring at his lover in terror. "You mean she wants to eat me?"
Gil nodded, looking completely unconcerned.
"Very likely, and who could blame her? I can confirm that you are most tasty, dear Amaris. Your flesh is tender and delicious, please remind me to bring some mint sauce along for the next meal."
"You are making fun of me," Amaris growled, and Gil grinned.
"My dear Amaris, Mauburz is the only vegetarian Orc in Middle-earth. So you can concentrate on your front rather than your back - I will look after it, in any way necessary. You must understand: from what I heard, the Orc worships the ground Elrond walks on, so naturally, you and I are probably as popular with her as a platter of raw liver." He sighed. "I wish life was not so terribly complicated all the time."
"And I wish we would finally meet the enemy. I know we are watched, but we have not been attacked so far. What are they waiting for?"
Gil shrugged. "I suppose they want to make us nervous. And I admit that this tactic is not without success. Just keep your eyes open and stay alert."
Mauburz, who was indeed riding behind them, grumbled Orcish curses in her helmet. Stupid Elves! Did they really think she could not hear their words? Her dislike of Amaris had increased proportionally to the lines of sorrow in Elrond's face. She could not understand how anybody who had been graced by the Valar with the precious gift of Elrond's love could cast the Half-elf aside for someone like Amaris. Or anybody, for that matter.
Mauburz, despite all the goodness of her heart, was a simple soul in many ways, which was not necessarily a bad thing. She always took the shortest way from A to B, ignoring any obstacles in her way: what did not move of its own accord was moved. The Orc could not understand why two people who were in love would separate. From her point of view, you met, you fell in love, stayed together and had a couple of Elflings – how difficult could that be? Well, maybe not the Elfling part, when it came to Elrond and Gil-galad.
So, while Mauburz glared daggers at the backs of Gil-galad and Amaris, only occasionally interrupting her silent protest to turn around and see if Elrond was still riding behind her, she began to consider possible mates for her beloved lord. Her favourite candidates would have been Orophin, Erestor or Glorfindel, but they were already married. Lindir? He had a nice singing voice and would certainly cheer Elrond up, but that might not be enough for a long-lasting relationship. Feronil? Mauburz shuddered. The day the advisor should try to court Elrond, Mauburz would stick him on the top of the flagpole in the market square. Melpomaen – well, he was worth a closer examination. Mauburz liked him, he was always cheerful, friendly and generous. He talked too much, but then the Lady Celebrían had not exactly been the silent kind, either, from all the Orc had heard. Ah, the sweet lady. Mauburz sniffled, it always made her sad that she had never met the wife of Lord Elrond.
No. There was no suitable candidate among the Elves here. Maybe a nice female from Lothlórien? Again, Mauburz shook her head. No, they were too boring. She couldn't imagine Elrond being happy with somebody who spent her days crocheting doilies or picking flowers.
Mauburz halted her horse and sniffed.
"Is anything wrong, Mistress Mauburz?" Elrond asked, and Gil-galad stopped his horse as well. He turned around and looked at the Orc questioningly.
"It stinks, nice lord Elrond, very much. Orcs, many. And men. Men and Orcs not have washed for weeks. Easy to find them. Stoopid."
"Into the trees, all of you. Lead the horses into the undergrowth and prepare for battle," Thranduil commanded, and his Elves immediately followed his order.
"Thranduil, I thought we agreed that I am the one leading this army."
The king of Mirkwood arched an eyebrow at Gil-galad, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Then stop making moo-eyes at my brother and do your duty," he snarled, and before Gil could give a suitable reply, the king had climbed a tree quick as a squirrel. Gil glared after him, and Legolas grinned. When he caught Gil's murderous glance, he hurried to follow his ada.
"Moo," somebody said, and Gil opened his mouth to reprimand the Elf who had done so. However, when he realized that it had been Amaris, he closed his mouth again.
"Into the trees, warriors and bovines!" he barked.
* * *
It was drizzling outside, and Galadriel frowned. Lothlórien obviously didn't even deem her worthy of a proper rain shower. The night air was cold, so she pulled the silken cover up to her nose, only to push it away within the next minute. She turned to the left, then turned to the right, and after a while of even more tossing and turning she gave in, stood up and slipped into her light morning robe. A glass of warm milk, that was what she needed, maybe then she would fall asleep. Should this remedy fail, there was always Celeborn's stock of Dwarven Brandy.
The guards in front of her door snapped to attention, but Galadriel didn't even look up. The patter of her bare feet on the long flight of stairs down to the kitchen echoed through the night, and the drizzle covered her hair and clothing with a fine layer of moisture. She hoped that everybody had already gone to bed so that she could rummage in the kitchen without having to put on a brave face before curious eyes, but her hopes were disappointed.
"Is it not a little bit late for a walk, child?"
Galadriel muttered something unfriendly about being addressed a 'child', and shuffled past Tindalinde, who sat at one of the long tables sipping a mug of hot herbal tea.
"My, are we in a sunny mood today. Did your excellence have a bad dream? Or have you just decided that your old nanny is not worthy of a proper greeting anymore?"
Galadriel sighed, then she turned around.
"My apologies. Mae govannen, Tindalinde. I did not mean to be impolite."
The older Elf nodded and accepted the apology. She had been the best friend of the lady Eärwen, Galadriel's mother, and had looked after the little maid since the day of her birth. Wherever Galadriel went, Tindalinde went, too. She had extended her love for her charge to the daughter, Celebrían, and had stayed in Lothlórien all through the ages, a loyal, reliable friend. When curious folk asked her why she had never left for the Undying Lands, she used to say that it was much more fun to annoy Lord Celeborn on a daily basis, but everybody knew that it was her love for Galadriel and her family that kept her here.
Her parents had given her the name "Tindalinde" in the hope that she would become a famous singer like her mother, but unfortunately she had shown early on in life that she had a voice as pleasant as one of Cirdan's foghorns. This proved extremely useful later, during her many vocal disagreements with Lord Celeborn, whom she told repeatedly that he had the common sense of a monkey and about the same social skills. This was, of course, her way of expressing her affection for Celeborn. She had been devastated when she heard of his abduction.
Of all the Elves in Lothlórien, she was the last one Galadriel wanted to see at that moment, because her maternal friend tended to radiate disapproval whenever Rúmil was near, and right now, she did not need a lecture on the proper behaviour of a lady.
Tindalinde looked up. Her hair was combed back and tied firmly in a single braid; so firmly in fact that the skin of her face was stretched tight, giving her a very alert and wide-awake expression, even at this late hour.
"Is it worry over your drunkard of a husband that keeps you from sleeping? There is no need, I have not managed to get rid of him in many millennia, I doubt that even a Vala will be able to silence him."
Galadriel stared at her open mouthed. "How can you know ...?" she began, but Tindalinde only rolled her eyes and cut her off.
"My dear Galadriel - nothing happens in this talan without me knowing it."
Galadriel sighed, then she sat down beside her friend, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.
"Celeborn is not my husband any more, Tindalinde. But I hope you are right and that he will be returned to his home safely."
The other Elf snorted.
"Not your husband anymore? A fine mess our society has come to! The young ones lie with each other without being married, husbands cheat on their wives, and silly wives who should know better let even sillier young Elves warm their beds. When I was a young maiden, we chose one and stood by him."
Galadriel blushed, hearing well the underlying rebuke, and she felt anger rise.
"I cannot remember a time when I did not stand by Celeborn," she said firmly. "I can, however, remember many times where he stayed somewhere else. Our marriage might be over now, but this does not mean I do not love him anymore, or that I am not deeply worried about his well-being. However - it is not in your place to criticize the way I lead my life."
Tindalinde snorted.
"And what kind of life is it that you lead, my child? If your young lover climbs up the vine to access your chamber through the window in the dead of night, this certainly makes him look like a true romantic. But this is not seemly for the lady of the Golden Wood, and it is high time you put an end to this nonsense."
Galadriel sighed. Of course her old nanny was right. People were talking behind her back, and Rúmil, too, though he never mentioned it, was exposed to gossip and snide remarks. This affair was unbecoming for the lady of the Golden Wood.
She got up and straightened her morning robe.
"You might be surprised to hear this, dear friend, but I agree with you. It is high time to put an end to this nonsense. And I shall do so."
Tindalinde smiled, and patted Galadriel's arm.
"There, that is my Galadriel as I know and love her. I knew you would come to your senses. But be gentle when you drop him, child."
Galadriel arched an eyebrow.
"Drop him? Rúmil?"
"Of course."
Galadriel laughed. She laughed as she bid Tindalinde a good night, she laughed as she walked up the stairs.
'I am glad she is not taking this too hard,' the older Elf thought.
And then she heard Galadriel giggle.
* * *
"Here, take my cloak and pull the hood down over your face," Orophin instructed Elcallon. The Elf with the light brown hair obeyed, but he never took his eyes off Orophin.
"You are an Elf," he stated, "you really are an Elf!"
Orophin, who was kneeling on the floor and packing up his bag, glanced up briefly.
"Of course I am an Elf. What is so surprising about that?"
Elcallon shook his head.
"I thought all Elves were dead?"
"Dead?" Orophin paused in his work for a moment. "What gave you that silly idea?"
Elcallon fiddled with the clasp on the cloak.
"I have been told so, all my life. The Elves were very selfish and did not help the people of Breon when the Dark Lord attacked, and finally, they killed each other in war. I thought that my two friends and I were the only ones left. Oh, and then there is Celeborn, of course."
"Celeborn?"
Orophin jumped up and grabbed Elcallon's shoulders.
"You know lord Celeborn? Where is he? Is he in good health? And how about Glorfindel? Is he injured?"
Elcallon, overwhelmed by the questions, took a step back.
"I do not know of one called Glorfindel. But I know Celeborn. I looked after him. He is in the castle, with my friends."
Incredible, but true: Melpomaen had been right. Orophin considered the options. Somebody had to inform Estel of this, for Gondor was the closest neighbour of Breon. There was no way that they could save Celeborn and Elcallon's friends themselves. An army was needed, quickly.
"Do you know the tavern by the market square?" Orophin asked, and his heart sank when Elcallon shook his head.
"I was never allowed into town."
"Now listen: I will explain to you how to find this tavern. You will leave here wearing my cloak and carrying my bag. We are of about the same height and build, I doubt that the guards will notice the difference, especially if you keep the hood up. Once you arrive at the tavern, you will ask for Elit the merchant or his wife, Blossom. Can you remember these names?"
"Elit and Blossom. Yes, I will remember," Elcallon answered, nodding his head.
"Good. They are friends of mine, Elves like you and me. Tell them what you told me, and give them my message to inform Estel. He is the King of Gondor. They will know what to do."
Again, Elcallon nodded.
"But what will happen to you?" he then asked. So far, Orophin had not mentioned how he intended to leave the prison.
Orophin shrugged.
"Do not worry. I will find a way."
He gave Elcallon directions to the tavern, and the other Elf listened carefully.
"Now leave, before anybody notices that something is wrong here."
Elcallon picked up the bag. It felt heavy in his hand, but this was nothing compared to the weight on his heart. He knew that the life he had known for so many centuries was over. His greatest wish was granted, to see the world. This was wonderful, but also very frightening. Would he cope? Would he be welcomed?
"Should you meet a noble Elf called Elladan, then please tell him ... tell him that he is always in my thoughts and my heart. Will you do this for me?"
Elcallon nodded one last time at Orophin, then, acting on impulse, he hugged him. It felt right, and for some odd reason, as if he had done this before.
Which was nonsense, of course.
* * *
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