THE KNAVE
Overall rating: yellow/orange
Category: slash (two male Elves in love), romance, drama, ANGST, h/c, humour.
Pairings: Orophin/Elladan, Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit - and some surprises
Warnings: mpreg, ANGST
Beta: Miss Eveiya
Summary: this is the story of Orophin and Elladan, and how they finally found happiness. Some ties not even death can cut - and life is a never ending gamble. It is also the story of Erestor and Glorfindel, and how they cope with their little Elfling, Estorel.
Author's notes: my favourite story so far. It is angsty, though it has quite a bit of humour as well - but there are some chapters which are depressing. Do not worry, though: I only write happy endings. This is actually the story of Orophin, and of his brothers - how they became who they are today. Not what you expect...
CHAPTER 1
The weight of the world, the need to survive
Has made you believe, that you've got no right
Then out of the blue, you meet someone
Who offers a place, warm as the sun
Just close your eyes
Reach for the moment
Before it slips by
Here is your second chance
Take it and fly
"Second Chance" - Trisha Yearwood
* * *
It was a stormy night, many millennia ago, in a town of Men. Decent citizens stayed at home, their quilts pulled up to their noses, snoring peacefully after a day of hard work.
The less decent citizens, however, had gathered in the tavern, 'The Golden Hind', drinking, whoring and playing. The latter was done at a small table in the back room of the tavern. Officially, The King had banned gambling for wealth, and while it was known that he wasn't one to turn down a good game of cards himself, he expected to be obeyed. The owner of The Golden Hind felt no need to spend an extended vacation at his sovereign’s expense in the dungeons, or end his days on the gallows.
This night there were five players sitting around the table. The game had been going on for hours, and was now reaching its climax. Stakes were high – Dalley, the supervisor of the royal dungeons, had risked three months worth of wages plus his little cottage, and now he was sweating blood and tears. His opponent was not showing any sign of nerves, though whether this was due to an exceptionally fine set of cards, or the fact that he was an Elf, one could not tell.
"Well, well, well… my dear Dalley, I fear you have loaded more on your plate than you will manage to eat," the Elf sing-songed.
He was an intimidating sight – tall, even for his kind, with long silver coloured hair, and eyes which told of courage and mischief. He was a regular visitor of the Golden Hind's backroom, a reckless and dangerous player, and many a piece of gold had found its way in his pockets over the years.
He grinned, and presented his cards on the table with an elegant gesture, then he propped up his head on his hand and batted his lashes at Dalley.
The man paled. For a moment, he only stared at the cards the Elf had shown. Then he looked up into those bright eyes, back on the cards, and threw his own on the table, accompanied by a desperate sigh.
"You have ruined me, my lord", he hissed between clenched teeth.
The Elf looked at the crestfallen man, then he addressed his companions.
"My friends – would you be so kind to give us a moment of privacy, so that Master Dalley and I may discuss the progress of this business?"
They all got up, shuffling chairs, and looked at Dalley with pity. They knew his wife – she would rake him over the coals for this, but not before having skinned him alive. When the last one had left the room and the door was closed, the Elf stretched, shoved back the chair and rested his long legs on the table. He folded his hands behind his head, and studied Dalley, bemused.
"You are ruined, my dear friend. You have lost all you have, and more."
Dalley nodded, and swallowed.
"I am a man of honour, my lord – I will pay what I owe you." he murmured, still staring at the dirty deck of cards in front of him.
"Ai – I have no doubt. Alas, I am an Elf of honour, my dear Dalley, and it is not my wish to see you ruined. I much prefer to see you well and prospering, so that we may play many more games in future. What would you say if I said I would call this game a day and forget about your debts – if you do me a small favor."
The shattered man looked up, a very tiny flame of hope showing in his eyes, but then suspicion won over.
"What 'small favor' are you talking about, my lord? It can't be that small considering the size of my debts."
The Elf chuckled.
"You are a clever man, Dalley, and worthy of your king's favor. But you shall not have to worry – it is not much I ask of you."
Dalley leant forward, so not to miss a word. The Elf held his gaze, and for a moment, Dalley was mesmerized by the wisdom and power behind those eyes.
The elegant fingers picked up one card, and the Elf let it dance in his fingers, the movement so quick that Dalley found it very hard to follow the motions. Finally, the Elven lord skipped the card over the table, where it landed in front of Dalley. It was the Knave of Hearts.
"You have one of my kin sitting in your dungeon. This is my prize. I want you to give me the Elf."
The man gasped.
"My lord – what you ask of me is impossible! I cannot release this prisoner, he is due to be hanged by the next morrow! Ah, he is a bad lot, my lord, not at all like the others of your people," Dalley eagerly added. "He has stolen, and robbed, and hurt two of our guards severely. t’is only right to teach him a lesson."
"What lesson can be learned by hanging from one’s neck, Dalley?" the Elf asked, bemused.
"Well …" the man stuttered, "I guess he will learn not to do this again."
"A very wise form of teaching, indeed. I suppose most people would find it difficult to do anything once they are dead."
The irony was lost on Dalley, who was torn between the prospect of facing the wrath of his king for letting a prisoner escape, and the prospect of facing the wrath of his wife when she learned that he had lost all their worldly possessions.
The bigger fear won.
"I shall do as you wish, my lord, and may the gods help me for this, but I must warn you; he is evil to the core, and there is not one good hair on his head. Just make sure he will not cut your throat when you sleep, for he is just the kind to do such things."
"I shall not sleep then. Let's go."
Elf and Man got up, and left the tavern.
* * *
‘Dungeons look the same where ever you go,’ the Elf thought. ‘If you have seen one, you've seen them all, maybe with exception of King Oropher's dungeons in Mirkwood, which had windows with curtains of a flowery print, but maybe that was part of the punishment.’
This dungeon here, however, was just that: a dungeon. A dark, stinking hole where people were left to rot or go insane. The Elf crinkled his nose in disgust at the place, the stench, and the customs of Men in general. He longed for his home, and the faster he could leave this place, the better.
He followed Dalley through tunnels and corridors, and finally, they stood in front of a heavy wooden door, fastened with iron bars and a very tiny opening, not much more than a peek hole.
"Here we are, my lord. But keep your hand on the hilt of your sword at all times. He is dangerous."
The Elf nodded.
"Here are the keys – from now on, you are in the hands of the gods, and I don't know anything," Dalley muttered. He quickly retreated to the other end of the corridor, locking himself away in his office.
"So then, let's see what this dangerous beast looks like," the Elf said to himself. He put the key in the hole and opened the door. It screeched, and he winced; for his Elven ears, the sound was torture.
He was taken aback by the smell in the small room, which was not much more than a rat hole. There was dirt, waste, blood – and he also smelled anger and fear, a mix which could be dangerous.
The prisoner was shackled to the wall, huddled on some dirty straw. He was in rags and covered in dirt, and there was an angry wound on his head. The Elven lord suspected that the other Elf had blond hair, but as it was short and spiky, and as dirty as the rest of him, he couldn't be sure.
"What is your name, mellon?” the lord said in his native tongue, and upon hearing those words, the head of the prisoner shot up. All he could see were two sparkling green lights in the darkness – his eyes.
"Bloody hell, speak in a language I can understand,” the chained Elf snapped, and tried to move away from his visitor. He failed, as the shackles didn't give him much leeway.
The Elf repeated his question in Westron, but all he got as a reply was an angry; "Who wants to know this!"
"I am Celeborn of Doriath."
"Celeborn? Ha!" The other Elf laughed, and it was no good laughter, it was full of spite and menace. "What a prissy name … it is fitting to a groomed pet like you. What is it you do for a profession, Celeborn," he mocked, stretching out the name, "or shall I rather ask who?"
Celeborn rolled his eyes.
"By the Valar, you really are immature. You might have talents when it comes to robbing elderly females of their bonnets or babies of their rattles, but as far as insults are concerned, you are way below standards, my dear. Quite frankly, I am not impressed."
Celeborn had taken the other Elf by surprise with this statements, and he had to chuckle. Now that his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, he took a closer look at the prisoner.
Much to his surprise, he saw that the Elf was still very young – indeed, he doubted very much this one had even reached majority yet. Sharp features which spoke of hunger, green eyes with a dangerous spark, high cheekbones, and a long, lean body. A long, lean, very dirty body.
"I shall try to do better then the next time we meet. Now spit in the wind and leave me alone," the prisoner snorted, and there was an odd roughness to his voice. It was not at all like the soft, melodious voices Celeborn knew from his kin.
"I don't expect anything less. Your speech is bold for one as young as you are. How old are you, child?" Celeborn asked, and he was answered with an angry bark.
"I am no child! I am a warrior, and if I wasn't shackled to this bloody wall, I would prove it to you!"
"If you do not wish to be treated as a child, then do not behave like one. Again; how old are you?"
"Why would you want to know?" the prisoner growled.
"So I can determine if you are still young enough so I can give you the spanking you obviously need. Again, for the last time: How. Old. Are. You."
There was a moment of silence, then the other Elf grumbled: "I'm 70. Or 80. Who can tell. Nobody kept books on that."
Celeborn cocked his head. 70? By the Valar, this was a mere child. "You don't know your age? How come?"
"What are you – part of the punishment? Is this additional torture before I get hung?" the young Elf snapped. "If so, I prefer to be hanged right now, and spared your jabbering."
"I am most sorry to disappoint you, but your execution got cancelled. I have just bought you, and shall take you with me."
If he hadn't been shackled to the wall, the young Elf would have jumped up. "Bought me? You cannot buy me! Nobody can! I do not belong to anybody! Nobody can ever buy or sell me again!"
Celeborn was taken aback by the emotional outburst. "Sell you again? Pray tell - have you been sold before?"
There was no answer, and so Celeborn stepped closer to the young Elf, a horrible suspicion working its way into his mind. Was it possible? Surely this couldn't be …no man would dare to ...
Celeborn crouched down, and, ignoring the angry glares of the young one, pushed the shred of fabric which covered the left hip of the Elf away.
And really, there it was – an ugly mark, a mark of shame: the mark of a slaver.
Anger rose in Celeborn, cold, raging anger. Men – who else but men would sell their own or any other kind for profit! And he was expected to risk his neck for this breed, which had treated one of his kin like livestock? Ai, next time Gil-galad asked for his assistance, he'd give him a good lecture on the 2357 good reasons why Middle Earth could only profit from mankind's disappearance from the face of Arda!
Reason number one was sitting in front of him, and despite the dirt Celeborn could clearly see the youth was blushing with embarrassment.
"Tell me the truth, young one. What has happened?"
For a long moment, the young Elf only eyed him, trying to make up his mind. Celeborn knew he was being evaluated, and didn't push the subject.
Finally, the other turned his head away.
"Our village was plundered by Orcs. I was little. Almost everybody died. When they were gone, soldiers came. They took with them those of us who were left, and sold us for three barrels of wine to a slaver. I was bought by a blacksmith and was made to work for him, then for his son when he died, but I didn't like it, and when he forgot to lock my chains one night two months ago, I escaped."
Celeborn imagined a frightened Elven child who had lost his parents, forced to work in a blacksmith's workshop, chained up. The lecture he intended to give to Gil-galad was increasing to epic proportions.
"You have done well to escape, penneth. You have done wrong, however, by making a living as a thief. And you have severely injured two guards of this kingdom. Once we are back home, you and I shall have a more in-depth discussion about the do's and don'ts of our kin, but for now, we must make haste to leave this place."
The young Elf looked up at him again.
"Leave? Where to? And what are your intentions? If you try anything, I cut your throat!"
Celeborn laughed.
"My intentions are honorable, penneth, do not worry about that. But you are a wildling in need of domestication, and Lothlórien is just the place for your education."
The other's eyes grew big like saucers.
"Lothlórien? It really exists?"
"It does," said Celeborn, while he fumbled with the key on the locks of the prisoner's shackles, "as a matter of fact, I am the ruler of the Golden Wood. Nice job, good people to work with, a little low on the payment and I didn't have holidays for about 2500 years, but I am quite happy with the ways things are. And just in case you should plan to behave in any other way than your best, I shall throw you personally in the river and hang you on a line by your ears to dry. This, if I may add, is less cruel than what my dear wife would do to you, for she wields a mean rolling bin."
The young one snorted.
"A Lord you are, ah. And now you expect me to obey you, right? And I must show you everlasting gratitude for my 'rescue'? Well heed this: I don't obey anybody!"
He spat on the floor.
Celeborn sighed. "You really are a child, mellon."
With a 'click', the shackles sprang open, and the young Elf dropped his arms with a moan of relief. He stretched his arms, then rubbed his wrists, which had become raw from the shackles.
Celeborn wanted to say something, but before he got a chance, the young Elf attacked him.
Though Celeborn was impressed by the strength the obviously malnourished young body still possessed, he was no match for the Elven lord, who was an experienced warrior, and as he had no time left to waste on childish tantrums, he knocked the young Elf out with a hard hit. The young one dropped to the floor, slumped like a rag-doll.
Celeborn threw the bundle of skin and bones over his shoulder as if he was a sack of flour. Then he hastily made his way through the corridors and out of the backdoor, disappearing in the night like a thief.
* * *
The sun stood high in the sky already when the young Elf woke up. His head hurt, he was thirsty, not to talk about starving, and he felt sick. When he came to awareness, he found himself sitting on a horse, in front of somebody who held him around the waist in an iron grip. Slowly, he remembered the events of the previous night, and started to squirm, but the one holding him wouldn't have any of it.
"Stop being a pain, penneth, and stay put. You are a special delivery for the Golden Wood, and if you don't behave, I shall wrap you up and tie you with a red bow."
The young Elf ceased his struggle, realizing it was a waste of energy, and growled; "Stop calling me names."
"What names?" Celeborn asked, and tightened his hold on the young one, just in case.
"Penn something."
"Ai, you mean 'penneth' – it is no insult, it only means 'young one' in my language. In our language," Celeborn emphasized, and he smiled when the young Elf repeated "penneth" three times.
"You could tell me your name, mellon – which means 'friend', by the way."
"Here it means 'melon', and we are not friends. I don't have any friends," the young Elf spat.
"You are right in not having any friends – better wait for the right ones to come along rather than chose the wrong lot."
The young Elf wanted to say something, but changed his mind, so he only growled, and again, Celeborn wondered about the odd voice. Now, with the other Elf sitting in front of him, he had a good view at his traveling companion, and noticed faded scars which ran all around the neck.
"What has happened to your neck, not-mellon-nîn – were you injured?"
For a moment, there was no answer, then a growl again.
"Neck chain. From the blacksmith. He welded it too close first time round. That's why my voice is so strange."
‘That's it,’ Celeborn thought, ‘I shall not lecture Gil-galad, I shall make him eat my list of reasons why men are a pain.’
"Your voice is not strange,” he finally said, after swallowing the bile which had risen. "It is different. It makes you stand out, and I bet it holds a special attraction for the ladies."
The young one growled again, and for the first time, Celeborn heard something like merriment out of the sound.
"So, now that we have settled that we are not friends, will you tell me your name, or shall I call you 'pumpkin' for the rest of our journey?"
The young one winced. "I can't remember my name. But everybody calls me Orophin."
"So then, young master Orophin, I think it is time for a rest and some food."
* * *
They rode off the path, and finally came to a halt by a small pond.
"We have water, and I have provisions. Now all we need is a fire."
Celeborn looked at Orophin expectantly, and the battle between ‘staying’ and ‘flight’ was obvious on his face. In the end, the sight of lembas, dried meat and fruit made him collect firewood rather than miles, and within an hour, they sat peacefully around a fire, sharing a rabbit Celeborn had caught.
The Elven lord ate with all the grace of his kin, while Orophin slung the food down like a wild animal. There was, indeed, something feral about him, and he reminded Celeborn of a huge wildcat. Purring one second, tearing your throat out the next.
Celeborn was kind, but he was also sly. Like a wild dog could be tamed with a juicy bone, this starving wild child could be calmed with food. A full belly was less likely to complain, and by the Valar, this one would need all the food he could get.
When the last apple had vanished, Orophin dropped in the grass. Celeborn got up, went to his horse and started to rummage through his saddle bags. He finally found what he had been looking for, and threw a bar of soap to the young Elf.
"We are starting your education right now, Orophin. Lesson number one: Elves are always clean. No matter the circumstances, we always look neat."
Orophin propped up on his elbows, and glared at Celeborn. "And why is this so?"
"Because we are prissy and vain. And because it annoys Men. And because we like it this way. Up, up, the bath is waiting."
After a moment of contemplation, Orophin grabbed the soap and went down to the river, muttering curses in Westron, throwing his ragged clothes carelessly aside, and finally stepped gingerly into the cold water.
Celeborn kept an eye on him without intruding upon his private sphere, and collected some of his spare clothing for the young Elf.
"I am leaving a tunic and a pair of breeches for you here, Orophin", he called out over the water. Orophin's head bobbed up, he didn't comment, but he had heard him. The youth dived under water, and soon, splashing and the scrubbing of soap on skin could be heard.
After a while, Orophin emerged from the river, looking for all the world like a drowned rat. He shook his head in a very animal-like manner, his hair, now recognizable as of a colour similar to Celeborn's, was splashing water drops in all directions.
He quickly slipped into the breeches, fiddled around with the tunic, put on his boots. If it hadn't been for his ridiculous haircut, he'd almost look like an Elf, Celeborn mused.
"We must leave now. I want to be some place safe before night falls. There are too many Orcs around to risk camping in the woods."
"I'm not afraid of Orcs", Orophin muttered.
"But I am, and you better start to learn to fear them, too – the fearless tend to be careless and therefore dead pretty fast."
They collected their gear, and when everything was stored away, Celeborn got on his horse. He reached out to Orophin, who grabbed the offered hand without a second thought, letting him be pulled on the saddle and settling in front of the Elven lord again.
For a while, they rode in silence, then Orophin turned around, glaring at Celeborn's braids, tugging on one.
"You look like a girl," he snorted.
"You are the first to notice, I always thought I'd hidden my feminine side well…"
"Braids are for girls,” said Orophin.
"Braids are signs of honour. You have to deserve the right to wear them. The first time you will get them is when you come of majority. Later in life, the style of your braids will tell your kin of your rank and achievements."
"And that's why you wear them? To show off with your achievements?"
Celeborn grinned. "No – I wear them so people can admire my pretty ears."
"This is silly."
"Of course it is. We are Elves – we are silly. The faster you get used to it, the better."
* * *
By the evening of the next day, Celeborn and Orophin reached the border of Lothlórien. The youth still wasn't sure what to think of this whole matter – he had spent all his life among Men. The memories of his childhood had faded long ago, and though the language of the Elves had a familiar touch to it, he didn't understand a word.
The only thing which reminded him that he was an Elf was his ears, which were leaf-like and ended in delicate points. Orophin kept his hair always long enough to cover them to avoid insulting comments, and it was intriguing to travel with somebody who so proudly showcased this specific trademark.
Orophin still didn't trust Celeborn. True, he had treated him kindly so far, had given him food and not asked for anything in return – yet. Those two guards had offered him a meal in exchange for some services Orophin wasn't willing to provide. They had thought the youth to be easy prey and had to learn a very painful lesson. Orophin didn't regret at all that he had hurt them with a dagger – as a matter of fact, he only regretted he hadn't killed them.
For now, the situation seemed to be safe, though. He was being treated well, he got food and water and he would get to see the Golden Wood, a place of beauty and light he had heard of when listening to the fairy tales the blacksmith's wife had read to her children, and later, her grandchildren.
Why they kept him chained in the workshop when they praised Elves so highly was one of the things Orophin had often wondered about. They didn't treat him too badly, after all he was a valuable possession which they cared not to damage, but still, it was a contradiction.
After all the myths Orophin had heard about the Golden Wood, he was more than a little surprised to learn that the Lord of this miracle realm was playing cards in the Golden Hind's backroom, drank the hardest warriors under the table and knew a lot of decidedly indecent tavern songs.
Elves, he decided, were highly overrated.
* * *
Orophin felt the magic of the Golden Wood immediately. A feeling of peace and security settled over his troubled mind like a warm blanket, and he relaxed against Celeborn. There was a soothing, calming presence in his mind, like a lovely woman voice singing a lullaby. Celeborn smiled when he felt the youth, who had been taut like a bowstring all through the journey, finally relax.
"Mae govannen, Lord Celeborn. It is a very joyful day that we see your safe return."
Orophin stared wide-eyed at the five guardians who stood on the path ahead of them, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He was impressed – sure, they also had the ridiculous long hair, and those naff braids. But from the way they held their bows, and the expression on their faces, he could tell right away that these were warriors, and of a kind one did not wish to come to any form of disagreement with.
"Mae govannen, Amrun," Celeborn returned the greeting. Changing to Westron he added, "It has been a troublesome stay this time, but look: I brought a souvenir with me."
Orophin snorted, and glared daggers at the Elf in front of him who broke out in laughter. He turned to Celeborn, and asked; "Who are they? And who is this oaf?"
The lord snickered.
"These, my dear Orophin, are some of the famous Galadhrim – the guards of the Golden Wood. They are the best bowmen you can find, loyal and almost fearless, and Amrun here is one of their captains. Ai, Amrun, come on over here, please."
The captain moved forward, and stood soon beside the horse of his lord, taking its reigns. He looked at Orophin, and frowned when he saw the state the youth was in, but felt it was not in his place to ask who the stranger was.
"Amrun – this is young master Orophin. For reasons that do not matter here, he was released into my care, and now I release him in yours. I expect you to teach him our language, our customs, and how to use fork and knife during luncheon. The basics on personal hygiene couldn't do much harm, either. Oh yes, he might like to learn how to use bow and arrows, too, and a handkerchief rather than his sleeve. Make sure he gets a good-night kiss every evening, he seems a little starved for attention. And be careful; he spits, scratches, and if you are not careful, he might even bite your ankle."
Orophin, who had listened to Celeborn's speech with increasing anger, opened his mouth for a rude reply, but he got interrupted by Amrun, who laughed and said; "Ai, my lord, this surely sounds like the kind of Elfling my wife will like! Pray tell – how many more of the little fosterlings do you plan to grace me with? I'm only asking so I can start to build a bigger talan."
"Ah, you know what I'm like, I can't leave any stray behind. How are the other two doing, by the way? It has been quite a while since I last saw them."
Amrun smiled. "They are doing fine, my lord. Haldir is teething right now, and keeps us up all night, but this aside, he has recovered very well, and has almost reached normal weight."
Celeborn winced. "By the Valar, don't mention teething. My daughter almost drove me out of my mind - for three months she was screaming without a break. That such a little creature could produce such a noise - amazing! May the Valar have mercy on her future husband!"
Everybody laughed save Orophin, who couldn't really see the humor in a discussion about baby issues.
"And the other one that Gil-galad found?"
"He still refuses to speak. My wife called him Rúmil, and he didn't object. I got him a dog, and now he's mostly out in the wood with the beast. They've become close friends. We saw him smile for the first time last month, though. It will take a lot of time and patience, but I think we'll get through to him eventually."
Celeborn nodded.
"You have my gratitude, Amrun, both you and your wife. Not many would have done what you did, and by free will."
Amrun bowed.
"You are too kind, my lord, but it is no issue - we couldn't love them more if they were our own children."
Orophin was confused, the magical atmosphere of the Golden Wood made him a little drowsy, and so he didn't put up much of a fight when Celeborn told him to get off the horse and follow Amrun.
"Penneth, I will soon come and see how you fare. Amrun is a friend of old, his wife is a darling, and they care for two orphans already. For the time being, I suggest you stay with them. Try not to be too much of a nuisance, don't spit on the carpet and please – stop biting your finger nails."
With that, Celeborn said farewell to his guards. He rode off towards the royal Talan, where Galadriel was already waiting for him, eager to hear news from the country beyond the border.
* * *
Amrun and Orophin walked for a good hour in silence. The youth looked at his new guardian with curiosity and suspicion alike. He seemed to be kind, but who knew – maybe they would force him to work again? Well, at least he didn't look like somebody who would chain him up, so in any case, his life had improved, and Orophin postponed plans for an escape for the time being. He could still take flight if the situation got fishy.
When they finally stopped under a large tree, Amrun addressed the youth.
"This is your new home, Orophin. You are welcome to stay here as long as you want, our talan is your talan. But I expect you to treat my family with the same respect they will treat you."
Orophin frowned. Respect? Now, this was a first. "Why should they respect me?"
Amrun gave him a friendly and patient smile.
"Because you are a member of the family now, Orophin."
The youth didn't answer, but looked around, confused.
"Where is your house?" he asked, because there was nothing but trees and bushes here.
"There!" Amrun grinned, pointing above him.
Orophin looked up at the green roof of the forest, and indeed – there was a house up there. Mouth wide open, he stared at this wonder.
"I take it you have never seen a talan?"
Orophin just shook his head, and his stomach fluttered at the thought of climbing up this tree.
"Do not worry, penneth – there are stairs."
And indeed – there were. So cleverly attached to the tree they were almost invisible, without a doubt a measure of security.
"You go up first, Orophin, I shall make sure you won't fall off a tree on your first day."
"I don't fall off trees. Do you think I'm stupid?" Orophin growled. He started to climb the stairs, which were swinging slightly in the wind, carefully putting one foot before the other.
"Stupid? No. But unskilled."
With that, Amrun followed Orophin, and after five minutes, they reached a house on a large platform. An artfully carved door opened, and a woman stepped out. Her hair was long, it went down to her waist, and it was of a beautiful dark-golden colour. She held a sleeping baby in her arms, and gave the youth a friendly smile.
"Amrun! Why didn't you tell me that you would bring a guest? If I'd known, I could have prepared something special!"
"Ah, your food is always splendid, love, do not fret. This is Orophin, Mya. He will stay with us – Lord Celeborn has brought him along from his trip. He doesn't speak our language yet, so for the time being, we shall speak Westron."
The woman nodded, and gave Orophin a radiant smile which warmed his heart - he liked her right away.
"You are more than welcome, Orophin. Please come in and make yourself at home."
A dog started to bark like crazy in one of the rooms.
"By the Valar - what is this beast up to! Please hold Haldir while I make sure the dog won't steal the dinner, Orophin."
With that, she put the baby in the arms of a completely baffled Orophin, and rushed through the door back inside the talan. Orophin stared down at the baby in horror, especially when the little one awoke and started to scream when he noticed that he was not held by his foster mother anymore.
Amrun howled with laughter when he saw the terrified face of the youth. "Ai - that's my wife, isn't she just wonderful! And how good to see that you already formed a bond of brotherly love with little Haldir."
"Amrun ..." Orophin stuttered.
"Yes, penneth?"
"He leaks."
* * *
Lengthy author's notes:
Yes, I slew canon again. Timelines clash in a way that would make even Sauron's hair curl, but it is not, as one reader implied, because I was too "sloppy" to do proper research – as a matter of fact, I read almost all of Tolkien's books – it is just that I have created my own universe here. That's why my stories are marked as "AU" – alternative universe. Though it might even be a different solar system at times. Oh behave!
"The Golden Hind": was a ship! Captained by Sir Francis Drake, it undertook one of the most historic and exciting voyages of all time. Between 1577 and 1580 the "Golden Hind" circumnavigated the world, making vital discoveries before returning home with amazing treasures. Sir Francis Drake was in high favors with Queen Elizabeth I., he was the nightmare of the Spanish armada and, like it or not, he was a pirate. A small reference to the current pirate frenzy – I decided calling the tavern "Black Pearl" would have taken it a bit far… savvy?
Celeborn: I see him as a bit of a rogue, our dear lord of the Golden Woods, and certainly not as the "Prince Valium" portrayed in the movies. I also think that Galadriel doesn't know half of the things her dearly beloved is up to.
Orophin, Rúmil and Haldir: the hair colour aside, I've hardly ever seen three brothers which looked less alike than these three. For me, family is a matter of the heart rather than of blood, so I decided those three are brothers by choice, not by birth. A bit unorthodox, I agree, but I think we have left canon far behind already when we let an Orc with a crush on Elrond run an aromatherapy-shop in Rivendell.
For nitpickers: in this story, Orophin's age would be about 16 human years, Rúmil is 10 and Haldir is a baby. And yes, I know that it's not "Orophin" in the picture (though, in a way he is).
Erestor, Glorfindel and their Elfling will turn up in the next chapter. They are gentle-elves and had no objections to let Orophin hog the spotlight for an entire chapter.
