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 12
In the last chapter(s), we left
... Celeborn enlightened
... Melpomaen and Feronil in shock
... the king enthusiastic
... Orophin in trouble
... Firinwë tempted
... Elcallon taking his first steps in the real world
... Glorfindel very confused
... Nonfindel sarcastic
... Erestor scared
... Rúmil in charge
... Galadriel determined
... Amaris, Gil-galad, Elrond, Thranduil, Legolas and their respective armies on trees
... Mauburz matchmaking
... Elladan and Elrohir flabbergasted
... Eldanar and Námo discussing pyjamas
* * *
The king was pleased to find everything as he had ordered. The heavy curtains were drawn to shut out the light of the moon, and the only thing to penetrate the darkness in his bedchamber was the flame of a large candle next to the bed. Its soft, flickering light barely outlined the figure spread out on the bed. When the man's eyes got used to the darkness, he could see the Elf. As instructed, the king's servants had bound his hands to the headboard, his naked form only covered by a thin silken sheet.
The king's heart jumped - for a brief moment, he thought to see Elcallon, but of course, this was just an illusion. Well, his Elf would be back with him in no time; he'd punish him, of course, but eventually, he would forgive him. By now Elcallon certainly had realized that he was lost in the outside world, and that his place was here, with his king.
For now, however, somebody else was here, and the king was not one to neglect his duties as a host. Without hurry, he took off belt and his jerkin, and walked over to the bed.
"I hope you were treated with all due respect," he addressed Orophin, filling a goblet of wine from the carafe which stood on the side table. "Were you served food and drink? If not, I can order something."
Orophin smiled, which was a little confusing.
"I have been well cared for, my king. Thank you."
The king took a gulp of the wine, then put the cup down and sat on the bed, beside the Elf, one foot still on the ground.
"So polite all of a sudden? I admit I'm surprised."
Orophin shrugged, as far as it was possible with his hands bound above his head.
"I am no fool. I know when it makes sense to fight, and when it is better to... cooperate."
The last word was accompanied with batting of lashes, and the king felt a familiar warmth and a pleasant, tickling sensation spread through his body. He reached out to touch the leaf-shaped ear, then he ran his hand down the Elf's cheek, over his neck and down his chest, coming to rest on Orophin's stomach. The Elf didn't flinch, but simply watched him.
"You are a warrior," the king stated. "You look very different from my Elf."
"So you have you own Elf then," Orophin replied, "I thought slavery was banned in this kingdom centuries ago?"
"I would not call it slavery," the king answered, not moving his hand from the Elf's body. "I see it as protection. My three flawless jewels have never seen the outside world, and they wouldn't survive there. It's an ugly world, and I don't like to see pure things marred. You, however, are a diamond in the rough. Tell me - how come you speak our language as if it was your own? And why is the blond Elf of such interest to you?"
Orophin smirked.
"Do you always talk so much in your bedchamber? I suggest we get the things you had in mind when you entered over and done with, and save the interrogation for later. My arms are getting tired, and I can tell that you are eager to sample your loot. So what are you waiting for?"
The king removed his hand, and stared down at the Elf in surprise.
"You are indeed not at all like one of my jewels. Why do you offer yourself so freely?"
Orophin rolled his eyes.
"As you stated yourself, I am a warrior. I do not know what your warriors are like, but as far as I am concerned, I prefer to stay alive under all circumstances. If it takes some cooperation on my part to achieve this, so be it. I have done worse in my life."
The Elf bent one leg, and the silk sheet slipped down his body, pooling in his lap and revealing more skin to the king's view. He liked what he saw.
"If you offer, I will gladly accept. I would not have forced myself on you, as I prefer willing bed partners."
The man moved closer, and kissed the Elf. Nice, very nice. Though Elcallon's kisses had been different. Something was amiss, but now was not the time for pondering the differing quality of Elven kisses.
"Ah – I like the way you taste," the king stated, "I like the way you look, and I have no doubt that I will like the way you feel to my touch as well."
Another kiss, more heated this time. The sensual movements of the strong body under him and the taste of the Elf overwhelmed the king's mind. What was it about Elves – holding one was like standing in a meadow in spring, when colours and scents of the flowers indulged ones senses. He ran his hands up and down Orophin's chest, then paused, gazing down at the Elf, who smiled again.
"Forgive me if I keep you restrained for now. Once I'm sure I can trust you, there will be no need for ties - unless you like them, of course. I only want to ensure that you are not overwhelmed by a sudden urge to strangle me."
Orophin laughed, and the king could feel the tremor of his laughter through the thin layer of silk.
"My king - what nonsense. Never would I strangle you."
Orophin batted his lashes and bucked sensuously, causing the king to gasp. Quickly, he straddled the Elf, and closed his eyes. Such heat, such burning, delicious heat!
Within the fraction of a moment, the man was held in an iron grip, and the cold steel of a blade was at his throat. He tried to concentrate. How had the Elf manage to get free? Where had the blade come from? He swallowed hard and felt the metal cut into his skin.
Orophin growled, a dangerous, archaic sound, and the king realized that he had greatly underestimated his prisoner.
"As I said, Man - I would never strangle you," Orophin hissed, increasing the pressure of the blade, "but I would be more than happy to cut your throat!"
* * *
"Orcs," Mauburz hissed, digging her claws into Legolas' arm. The young Elf stared out into the darkness, but he could not see anything. However, if Mauburz said that there were Orcs, there were Orcs. Legolas made a sound like a cricket's chirp. Amaris, who sat hidden in the next tree, understood the signal, and elbowed a dozing Gil in the side.
"They are coming. Be prepared."
Gil stifled a yawn, then he stretched, as far as this was possible in his uncomfortable position.
"About time," he whispered, "I had already begun to feel very silly sitting in a tree like a squirrel."
Amaris arched an eyebrow.
"Call our strategies silly one more time, and there will be one sad squirrel here weeping over his lost nuts," he hissed, and Gil winced.
"I did not say anything," he quickly protested, "but I am an Elf of action rather than of lurking. I…"
The sharp call of an angry squirrel could be heard, and Gil snickered.
"Mention 'nuts', and all squirrels wake up…"
Amaris shook his head.
"This was not a squirrel. It was my brother, making it known that you should kindly keep quiet so not to alert the enemy."
Gil moved a little closer.
"In other words, he told me to shut up, is that correct?"
Amaris preferred not to answer. He continued to stare out into the darkness, and he started when the Elf beside him suddenly made a very odd noise.
"What in the name of the Forest Spirits was that supposed to be?" he hissed, and Gil shrugged.
"I do not know. But I hope it was something rude."
Amaris groaned.
"Indeed. It was the call of a female porcupine on heat, searching for a mate. You have probably traumatized the Orcs for years to come."
Gil grinned.
"Did I? Splendid! I have always been an advocate of psychological warfare. If you cannot beat them, at least make sure they get a persecution complex."
* * *
Elladan tried to make sense of the situation, but he failed.
"Quiet!" he thundered, and immediately, Eldanar, Celeron and Elrohir stopped their agitated discussion mid-sentence. Námo had not said anything, had just stood there, watching seemingly unperturbed the chaos his presence had caused.
"My lord Námo," Elladan began, pinching the bridge of his nose to hold off the mother of all headaches, "I would like to repeat my question. If you are not the enemy my father and our friends have gone to fight, who is he then?"
Námo, who had not taken his eyes off Elrohir, folded his hands. He was a picture of tranquillity, and Elladan felt a sudden urge to strangle him.
"All shall be revealed in time," the Vala answered, then he stretched his long body. "I have been inside too long. I will go for a walk."
He made to leave, but Elladan blocked his way.
"With all due respect, my lord, you will not leave. Vala or not, I will not leave my father and my friends in danger if it can be helped."
Námo looked at the young Elf thoughtfully.
"You are brave, and your heart is pure," he finally said, "but you have no part in the battle." He paused for a moment, looking at Elrohir, then added: "At least, not in this one."
With that, he was gone before any of the puzzled Elves even noticed that he had moved.
Elladan stared after him, then turned to his brother.
"Elrohir! What madness is this? What in the name of the Val-, I mean, what were you thinking? You cannot go kissing a Vala! Have you gone insane?"
Elrohir felt anger rise in his heart, hot anger, and yet cold as ice. He closed his hands into fists and took a step towards his brother.
"Why do you think that this is my fault?" he hissed.
Elladan's narrowed his eyes.
"Because you have batted your lashes at every fair creature to pass your way ever since we came of age. Does it not suffice that you have half of Imladris and Lothlórien grovelling at your feet? Do you now need a Vala to prove that you are fair beyond measure of Man or Elf?"
Elladan's words hurt Elrohir deeply, and all he wanted was to make his brother feel pain, too. He grabbed Elladan by the collar and pulled him close, coming face to face with his twin. He ignored the fearful cries of Eldanar, and did not heed Celeron's attempts to separate them, either.
"Oh yes, I have them all grovel at my feet, Elladan. All of them! Including your husband!" he hissed.
Elladan shook his head in disbelief.
"I do not know what has come over you, Elrohir. How can you believe that I would ever doubt Orophin? We will talk about this later; right now, we have more important matters to discuss."
"Oh I see – you would never doubt Orophin, but you doubt me, yes? Great! Who needs enemies with friends like that!" Elrohir cried, and stomped his foot.
Elladan crossed his arms over his chest, looking for an instant very much like their father, eyebrows and all. A scary sight.
"As you have obviously decided to behave like a petulant child, I deem it best that you leave now and go to your room. I will see if I can find a way to warn ada, and once you have come to your senses again, you may wish to help me."
Elrohir stared at Elladan, his mouth open.
"You – send me to my room? Like an Elfling?" he croaked.
Elladan shook his head sadly.
"Go, Elrohir. I beg you."
Elrohir wanted to say how sorry he was, and that nothing that had happened had been Orophin’s fault, but no words would come, and so he quietly left.
Celeron said nothing, and it was Eldanar who finally approached Elladan, taking the Elf's big, strong hand between his two small ones.
"Do not cry, ada," he whispered.
Elladan knelt down, hugging the child very close, and Tathar, the loyal toy dragon, was once again soaked in tears. This time, however, they were not the Elfling’s tears.
* * *
"Stop giggling, Haldir. The situation is serious."
Haldir tried to stifle his laughter, but not even Lord Elrond's frown could wipe the grin from his face.
"I am sorry, my lord, but hearing the high king calling for a porcupine mate was just…"
"Haldir. This is not funny."
Mauburz snorted.
"Yes, is very funny. All forest full with Orcs, and you make porcupine horny. Very silly. Stoopid Elves."
Again, the call of the angry squirrel could be heard.
"Oh, squirrel now very angry. Better stop now, or squirrel gets heart attack."
The squirrel in question was indeed trying very hard not to lose his temper. Thranduil cursed for the umpteenth time his decision to participate in this hair-raising operation. He knew that warriors often tried to relieve the tension before a fight with rude jokes, but this porcupine-incident took things a little too far.
The king of Mirkwood sighed. He tried to listen to the trees, to let his thoughts drift on the breeze, to see the enemy and know what to expect. But he could not concentrate. The atmosphere of this forest was dark, and his heart was heavy. He knew that something serious, something of great impact, would happen. For many days now, he had felt melancholic, and though he had not shared his fears with anybody, those close to him knew that Thranduil pondered his possible death.
There had been signs in the sky, a cloud hiding a certain part of the moon. An owl had cried outside his window, and a dead crow had been found outside the entrance of the Great Cave. All these were harbingers of doom according to the legends of the Woodland Elves, and even if Thranduil had not believed in these signs, his heart told him that his life's path had reached a crossroads. He was convinced that he would have to take the road to the Halls of Waiting, and who knew what to expect there now, with the Vala of Death their enemy?
Thranduil was not too fond of his life – it had been hard and troublesome – but he would have liked to stay a little longer here on Arda, to give Legolas the support he needed. Thranduil hoped that Amaris would stand by his son, counsel him as he had counselled this cursed high king. Legolas would need all the help he could get; the crown of Mirkwood was not a blessing but a curse in times like these.
Lost in his thoughts, Thranduil let his attention slip for a moment, and when all of a sudden a squirrel shot out of a hole in the tree trunk, he started, lost his balance and fell.
"What a way to die," his last thoughts were, "frightened out of your tree by a squirrel…"
He heard Legolas yell in fear for him, and turned in the air like a cat. Branches broke his fall; it hurt, and he felt his ribs crack, but at least the speed of his descent slowed. His hands clawed the air, but despite all his efforts, found no hold. Again, he hit a branch and cried out in pain, then he closed his eyes, expecting to hit the ground.
Instead, the impact felt rather soft, considering the circumstances, and when Thranduil opened his eyes, he found himself on the ground, on top of a very shocked looking Elf.
"By the Valar – is this a new weapon I have not heard of yet? The patented Elf catapult? Would stones not perhaps be more effective?"
Thranduil, still dizzy, held his head in the hope it would stop spinning, but to no avail.
"I fell…" he murmured, then he sank back, feeling nauseous. Luckily, the Elf he had landed on reacted quickly, grabbing him before he could hit the ground. Thranduil's head came to rest on the Elf's shoulder. He had never seen this one before. His hair was golden, like his own, and gentle eyes looked down at him in concern.
"Yes, I noticed. So I suppose you are the welcome present all tired travellers who enter sunny Tíngel receive? Ah well, it would be rude to refuse a gift – I think I shall keep you."
"I do not think that the Elves of Mirkwood would be delighted if you carried their king away as a souvenir, Nonfindel," Erestor's tired voice could be heard from the shadow of the large tree.
By now, they were surrounded by Elves, and Legolas knelt down by his father's side, his fair face distorted with fear. He took Thranduil's hand.
"Ada, ada, please, speak to me! Are you injured?"
Elrond began to examine the king. Then he patted Legolas' back.
"He has broken a few ribs and his left foot, but from what I can tell, he has no further injuries. However, he probably has a concussion, so we must take him somewhere safe."
Then he looked up.
"Erestor! My dear, dear friend – we were so worried about you! But pray tell," he added when he saw the state his advisor was in, "what has happened? You are injured! Were you attacked?"
Erestor shook his head, and Elrond saw how very tired and sad his old friend looked. Now he also noticed the other figure, still hidden in the shadows.
"Glorfindel?" he asked, taking a few tentative steps towards the warrior, but when he saw the look of suspicion in the warrior's eyes and the lifted blade, he stopped.
"Erestor, what has happened? Who is this? And why is Fin…"
The black-haired Elf only shook his head.
"Glorfindel lost his memory. There is no time for explanations now, Elrond, for the enemy is close. We must prepare for battle."
While Erestor and Elrond talked, Legolas began to brace his father's foot. They would have to find a safe place for Thranduil; he would not be able to face the enemy. Nonfindel looked down at the injured Elf in his arms.
"So, you are a king then," Nonfindel murmured, brushing the loose strands of hair back from Thranduil's face.
Then he smiled.
"Ah, it does not matter. I think I will keep you, anyhow."
* * *
Elrohir entered his chamber, closed the door and then slumped down on the floor. Never in his life had he felt so miserable, confused and alone.
It was a revelation for the young Elf to finally understand that it had not been love that had drawn him to Orophin. Yes, the Elf was fair and a great warrior, but the attraction for Elrohir had been what Orophin represented for Elladan. Elrohir was lonely, and he longed for somebody to share his thoughts and feelings with. To think that the only one he had been close to these last months had been the Vala of Death... it defied all imagination.
Elrohir rubbed his eyes. He felt like falling asleep right here, on the floor, but the thought of being found lying behind the door like a dog made him struggle to his feet. He took off his clothes and dropped them on the spot, not bothering to fold them and hang them over a chair. With his last strength, he crawled between the sheets, and fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
"This family really have a talent for making their lives complicated," Lórien said to Námo, and both watched the sleeping half-elf for a while. He could not see anything special about him. What was it that had attracted Námo so much that he had accepted exile? He had often asked, but never received an answer. As with so many things, Námo tended to be very tight-lipped about his motivations.
"I think that you owe me an explanation, considering that I have to perform your duties. Bringing dreams is decidedly more pleasant than bringing eternal sleep."
Námo shrugged, giving Lórien a sidewise glance. "I will not gainsay this," he finally said. "It is an interesting experience, though, to actually dream."
"You have walked in my realm many times, Námo - is there really a difference now, that you are trapped in this body?" Lórien asked.
The black haired Vala nodded.
"There is. I wish I could explain to you how it feels - how I feel."
Lórien shook his head.
"I never understood your obsession with the Firstborn, Námo. To me, your current state looks terribly limited."
"It is. But while I cannot fly with the wind anymore, I can feel it in my hair. I can touch. I can smell."
He reached out and gently, almost gingerly stroked Elrohir's hair.
"I can feel."
Lórien sighed.
"That is what I was afraid to hear."
* * *
"I would think that you have gazed at this pretty jewel long enough now, my lady, and you should put it back its case, lest you go blind."
Finwë's voice, sounding bored as usual, had a thin layer of ice in it, and Firinwë, still holding the ring in the light, noticed it. However, this was no reason for her to do as she was told.
"Certainly you would not want to rob me of the only light and beauty in this place, my lord," she answered, still holding the ring, "as both Celeborn and Glorfindel are gone, I must find other ways to entertain myself."
The dark lord clasped his hands behind his back and stepped closer. He always seemed to flow rather than walk, and his movements, though lazy in appearance, were quick and often unexpected. So, while she was annoyed that he suddenly stood behind her, she was not too surprised.
"You should not forget, dear child, than I am longing for entertainment, too," Finwë purred, his breath like a chilling breeze on her neck, "and it would entertain me to no end to cut your hand off if you should not return the ring to its case right now."
Firinwë clenched her jaws, then she turned her head, glaring arrogantly at the dark lord.
"I doubt you would do that, my lord – for if you cut off my hand, how could I wear the ring once its power is needed?"
Finwë smiled. It was a terrible smile, showing two rows of white, sharp teeth.
"All you need to wear the ring is one finger, my lady. So I promise to stop after I cut off the ninth."
He was bluffing. Of course he was. But still, Firinwë put the ring back in its case.
"You are very wise, my child. Now come, I have things to discuss with you. We will go to war."
He abruptly turned around, heading for the door, and after a moment of hesitation, Firinwë followed him.
The ring in the case was annoyed, but it would wait, as it had done for so many years already.
Its time would come.
* * *
"I have been waiting for you, young one."
It was not the dream Elrohir wanted to have right now, but quite obviously, Lórien had decided to punish the young Elf for his behaviour. Elrohir dreamt that Námo was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap.
"What are you doing here?" Elrohir gasped, and Námo bowed his head.
"It is time to close the circle, young one."
"I do not feel like playing riddles with you," Elrohir replied tiredly, "nor do I wish to play the fool for your entertainment. You are a Vala, and one of the mightiest at that, and for you, I am nothing but a toy."
"Come here, Elrohir."
Námo had often sat there like this, legs crossed, sometimes annoying him, sometimes enlightening him. Elrohir noticed how the mattress was pressed down under the Vala's weight. How odd to notice such a minor detail, and how quickly dreams adapted to reality, but maybe it was because Námo's weightlessness had always amazed Elrohir. He was reminded of Estel, who had been greatly fascinated as a child by the fact that Elves left no footprints in the snow, and the boy had been terribly disappointed when he realized that, as much as he craved to learn this art, he would never master it.
Elrohir slipped out from under the covers and moved to the foot of the bed. He sat down opposite Námo, but well out of his reach. Automatically, he took the same position, legs crossed. But unlike Námo, his hands did not rest peacefully in his lap. He wrung and kneaded them, interlaced and unlaced his fingers and closed them to fists again, the knuckles protruding white.
"It is time."
Elrohir stared at Námo, interrupting the restless folding and unfolding of his fingers for a moment.
"Time for what?" he asked, but Námo only smiled.
The next thing Elrohir knew was the solid, comfortable weight of Námo's body, the hands whose caresses he felt though they did not touch his skin, soft lips claiming his, sharp teeth nibbling on his ear.
"Do not torture me so," Elrohir sobbed, "can you not leave me my peace at least in my dreams?"
But Námo did not answer, his hands were buried in Elrohir's hair, and then those maddening caresses continued. There was a voice in Elrohir's mind, speaking soothing words of comfort, a warm blanket of love wrapped around his heart, and the touches and whispered kisses woke a yearning in his body he had never known before. And he could not resist it. His hand fisted in Námo's hair, pulling the other close so hard that their teeth clashed when their mouths met, but neither one cared.
Námo seemed to touch him everywhere at once, and while this incredible creature nibbled on the tip of Elrohir's ear, the young Elf thought that at the same time a hot, wet tongue tickled his navel, while soft lips teased his penis. This was, of course, one of those wonderful things possible only in dreams.
"Have you made your decision, young one?" Námo whispered in Elrohir's ear. He did not state what decision, but oddly enough, Elrohir knew the answer.
"Yes, I have. I agree, by my soul, I agree," Elrohir groaned.
"Then you are mine. All of you, young one, body and soul and heart, mine to keep, for all eternity."
The very moment these words were spoken, a heat he had never known before encompassed Elrohir. He was pressed down into the mattress, and he saw Námo move above him. It was surreal, one of the weirdest dreams he had ever had. Námo whispered words in a language Elrohir had never heard, and before Elrohir's inner eye, faces and places appeared from a time when Arda had still been young. He saw the awakening of the Firstborn, saw life and death, battle and peace: a million voices united in his mind into the song of creation, and at one point, he thought Elladan was calling for him somewhere.
But nothing was real, nothing, only the burning fire in his body. He tried to move and find relief, but his body would not obey him. His limbs were heavy, as if he had weights of lead bound to them, and so all he could do was feel the sensations. He cried and begged and pleaded for Námo to end it, but at the same time, he would have given anything for this never to end, never to have to wake up again and face a life where he was neither wanted nor needed.
"Námo, please …" he finally sobbed, and the spell was broken. He snapped up, digging his fingers into Námo's back and his teeth into his shoulder. Elrohir pulled Námo even further down on his lap, and in the moment of his release, both stilled their movements, nothing disturbing the silence but Elrohir's soft moan.
"Do you love me?" Elrohir whispered, breaking the silence and searching Námo's face with feverish eyes for an answer.
There was no reply from Námo, but he rested his forehead on Elrohir's, a gentle smile playing around his lips, and Elrohir knew the answer.
* * *
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