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: I'm already working on the final version of chapter 6, so this is going to be a longer story. But it's basically already finished, so you won't need to worry about getting stuck in "WIP" hell.
Warmest thanks to Ye Amazing Magic Rat for Ye Amazing Beta and to Kharessa for readjusting the rating of this story: "A dramatic tale that incorporates elements of comedy in a way that furthers the realism of the characters' situations."
Oh, and Celeborn will be back in future chapters, for those who asked. He is not the kind of Elf who would be happy with being second banana.
And now, without further ado …
CHAPTER 3
"And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear."
The Lady of Shalott - Alfred Lord Tennyson
~°~
"… and as this year's lettuce harvest has been severely reduced due to the overpopulation of land snails, I suggest that …"
If there was one thing that Lord Elrond had learned over the course of the millennia, it was the ability to feign interest when he was bored. It was the basic skill of any diplomat. And right now he was bored, by the Valar – Erestor was a brilliant advisor, and, if Glorfindel could be trusted in this matter, blessed with many other talents, but he was the speaker out of Mordor. And while Elrond's face carried an interested and alert expression, he had zoned out half an hour ago, when Erestor had gone into a lengthy and detailed description of the mating rites of land snails.
A most important subject, no doubt.
So, while Erestor lectured on snails, lettuce-farming Hobbits and import taxes, Elrond secretly mused upon the members of his council. Some were friends, some were family, and some were opponents. But he felt responsible for all of them, and now a wonderful opportunity presented itself for some contemplation.
First came Glorfindel, his trusted friend. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, Estorel must have given an extended concert last night, including encores, and Elrond had a hard time holding back a chuckle. The picture of the mighty and feared Balrog-slayer changing nappies was just too hilarious to stay serious.
Glorfindel sat relaxed, head propped on one hand, and he was staring at Erestor with an expression one could only describe as 'doting'. Elrond doubted that the warrior was paying any attention to Erestor's words; it was far more probable that his thoughts were occupied with activities not to be discussed in front of young and impressionable Elflings.
Next to Glorfindel, Elrohir was rolling the stem of a flower between his fingers, and occasionally, he sniffed it, his gaze drifting dreamily into the distance.
Elrond sighed. May the Valar have mercy, Elrohir was in love. Again. What maiden was his youngest son chasing after this time? Was there any left in Imladris whom Elrohir had not yet bestowed his attention on?
'We should call ourselves lucky the times of dragons demanding virgin-sacrifices are over', Elrond mused, 'for they have become an extinct species around here since Elrohir has reached majority.' It was high time Elrohir found a mate, got married and had five or six elflings to keep him occupied. Such frivolous behaviour was unbecoming the son of a lord.
Which lead Elrond's view to Elladan, his eldest and heir. He sat slumped in his seat, frowning and brooding. The lord of Rivendell inwardly cringed when he noticed that Elladan, once again, had put on his tunic inside out. What was it with this child of his - why was he so clumsy, so careless, so - unelven? Elrond's mused on his son's broad, powerful form, the strong hands which lacked, like almost everything else about him, the natural grace and elegance of Elven kind; indeed, if it hadn't been for the long dark hair and the slightly pointed ears, Elladan could have passed as a mortal - not that anybody would have said that aloud, least of all Elrond, for he loved his son dearly.
''T’is my fault', he thought, ''t’is my human ancestry which shows so clearly in Elladan.'
Elrond had always, ever since he'd been a child, felt the strong bond between him and the part of his family which was Elven. When the time had come for him to decide where his future should lead him to, he didn't have to think twice to make a choice - he wanted to be counted among the Firstborn.
His brother, on the other hand, had been out drinking and fighting with mortals all his life, had shown little to no interest in the history of the Firstborn and fallen hopelessly in love with a mortal woman, so his choice to lead a mortal life had not come as a surprise to Elrond.
But this had in no way lessened the pain for Elrond to see his brother, his twin brother, perish and eventually die. Elros had decided one day that his time had come, assembled his family and friends and said his final farewells. Then he'd found himself a secluded spot in the woods and lain down to die under an old oak tree.
Even now, so many millennia later, the memory of his brother hurt Elrond greatly. It was one pain among many which tortured the heart of the Lord of Imladris, and even if this one didn't make itself known for a while, another pain over a loss would take its place, and so Elrond's life was filled with painful memories. He wished he could make some new, happier ones, but the Valar seemed to enjoy seeing him suffer. Even the wedding of his beloved daughter had been overshadowed with the bitter knowledge that she would not follow him to the Undying Lands; she would stay here with her beloved Estel to wither away and die.
The ones he loved had all died, eventually. Gil-galad, whose laughter Elrond still believed he heard, and whose strong hands he still felt in the dark hours of the night. Elros, his brother, who never managed to get his hair braided in a decent way. His beloved Celebrián, who had looked so fragile, but was all her father's daughter, drinking, laughing, swearing and loving with all her heart.
And then there was Glorfindel - at least his trusted old friend had come back from the Halls of Waiting - no doubt because Mandos had gotten tired of the Balrog-tale. While Elrond was happy for Glorfindel that the warrior had finally found peace and love in his life, he wondered why he was not entitled to some happiness himself. Was his life really supposed to be one of grief and sadness?
Immortality, he mused, was highly overrated. What good was an eternal life for if you had nobody to share it with you? If it was nothing but an everlasting journey full of pain and grief?
"... and I am sure you agree with me on this, Lord Elrond."
What? Who? Where? Erestor's eyes rested on him expectantly, and of course Elrond didn't have the foggiest clue what exactly it was that he should agree on. But as Erestor's advise was usually wise, Elrond straightened up, waved his hand and said; "Of course, dear Erestor, we shall do as you advise."
A chorus of groans arose from the council, and Erestor looked surprised, but satisfied.
"Why ... well, I am glad if surprised to hear you agree, Lord Elrond. So I will advise the chef that we will have two meals of steamed snails a week now to get rid of them. A very wise decision, my lord!"
With that, his advisor left the council in direction of the kitchen, long black hair and dark robes flying behind him, closely followed by Glorfindel who, without a doubt, would try to drown his lover in a kettle with soup. Elrond only regretted that there was no tree growing next to his seat so he could bang his head against it.
* * *
Rúmil lay on his back, enjoying the last beams of the late afternoon sun. He chewed on a blade of grass and watched the clouds above drift by while Orophin sat cross-legged beside him, sewing a busted seam on his jerkin. He was humming, a little out of tune, but still, Rúmil enjoyed the atmosphere of peaceful brotherly companionship very much.
"Do you miss Ada and Nana?" Rúmil asked after a while, his eyes following a cloud which looked like a goose. If it had breasts, Rúmil thought, it would look like Lady Galadriel.
Orophin looked briefly up from his work, then returned his attention back to needle and thread.
"Of course I do. I miss them a lot."
"Especially Nana, hm?"
Orophin cocked his head, giving his brother a puzzled look.
"Why her especially?"
"Because you were always Nana's pet."
Rúmil grinned when Orophin blushed.
"I was not." he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Of course you were. You were her 'darling little Phinny', despite your bad manners and your complete lack of knowledge of all things Elvish. And I shall not mention your spitting on the carpet."
Orophin whacked his brother with the sleeve of his jerkin, and Rúmil quickly rolled aside, giggling.
"And you were Ada's darling, you master archer, you!" Orophin growled, but it was an amused growl, so there was no need for Rúmil to duck and hide in the bushes.
"Ah yes, we were an adorable lot," the younger one chuckled, "and we all loved Haldir, who was the best-fed Elfling I've ever encountered, and became the best-fed Elf I know!"
"See," Orophin snickered, "this just goes to prove that I was NOT Nana's favourite – she always made me change Haldir's nappies."
"Ewwww!" Rúmil pulled a face, pinched his nose and they both broke out in laughter.
"Ah yes," Orophin sighed, "those were the days. Time has gone by so swiftly - it seems like yesterday to me."
For a while, the brothers sat in silence, till Rúmil broke it.
"And ... do you ever miss your real parents? You know - not Nana and Ada; your real ones."
Orophin gave Rúmil a sharp look.
"Why do you ask this?"
Rúmil shrugged.
"I don't know. I just - remembered how I and my brother used to lay in the grass and watch the clouds pass by. It's one of those things which just pop in your mind, you know. So I wondered if you have memories of your family as well."
Orophin had finished his sewing by now, bit off the thread and put the needle carefully away in the pouch on his belt.
"No. I have no memories. I was too young. I know there had been an attack and smoke and people screaming, but it's only - a flash of memory. As far as I can remember, I've always been with the blacksmith."
Orophin's face closed up, like it usually did on the rare occasions where the discussion came to his life in slavery. Rúmil had never pushed the subject, but there were things he had wanted to know for a very long time, and he felt he needed to know them to maybe understand his silent brother a little better. Now the time seemed right.
"Did they treat you - right?" Rúmil finally asked, worried Orophin might get angry and not talk to him again. Orophin always locked himself away when he didn't want to talk about something, but this was not the case today.
The older Elf looked at Rúmil, and thought about the question for a while, frowning.
"Right - yes, I guess they treated me right. They never beat me, I got enough food to keep me alive, and sometimes, the children were really friendly with me. It's just ..."
Orophin broke off, fiddling around with his jerkin.
"What?" Rúmil asked.
"Well ... I guess it would be nice if I could remember what colour eyes my mother had, or how she was kissing me good-night and telling me to sleep well."
He shook his head, as if to scare away his memories, then he slipped back into his jerkin.
"Ai, this is silly. Let's forget this idle talk, come on, let's prepare camp for the night, it will be dark soon and I'm tired."
With that, Orophin got up, and went to collect some wood for the fire, but Rúmil had seen the sad expression in Orophin's eyes, and he sighed. Sure, he had lost his family under horrible circumstances, but he remembered them, he remembered his mother's kisses, the teasing of his older brother, and though he had never known his father, he could look back on happy times before his life had come to a dark hour. Orophin's life, on the other hand, had probably only really begun when Amrun and Mya had adopted him.
An hour later, the two brothers were snuggled up in their bedrolls, cloaks wrapped around them, but while Orophin had fallen asleep immediately, Rúmil was tossing and turning. Their previous discussion kept him awake, and finally, he disentangled himself from his cloak, got up and sneaked over to Orophin's place. His older brother's eyes were vacant, he was deep asleep.
Rúmil bent forward, pressed a kiss on Orophin's brow and whispered: "Good-night, dear Orophin - sleep well."
Then he went back to his own bed-roll and finally fell asleep.
* * *
"It's black."
"Yes, but there is a hint of red."
"Nay!"
"Yes, there is!"
"Stop being insulting!"
"I'm not insulting! I just say that his hair shows a hint of red!"
Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest and glared with menace at Elladan, who was pulling faces in a brave effort to amuse Estorel, but so far, the baby had only yawned and fallen asleep again.
Erestor, who had followed the conversation with amusement, turned his attention to Elrond, who also stood bent over the cradle.
"What do you say, my lord: does my son have ginger hair or not?"
"YOUR son can have whatever he wants, green hair if you fancy, but OUR son does NOT have red hair!" Glorfindel howled. Mauburz gave him The Evil Orc Eye.
"Me likes red hair. Rhimlan has red hair. Red hair very nice on nice baby Elf."
Elrond cleared his throat, then had a closer look at the tiny baby in the cradle, who was peacefully suckling on his dummy. Ai - it seemed like yesterday that his own children had been such wee babies. Elrohir had cried all night, and Elladan had managed to drop the dummy every other minute, so he or Celebrian had to get up six or seven times a night, crawling on all fours on the floor looking for Elladan's dummy and stop the baby's heart-breaking crying. The situation had only improved when Orophin had become guardian to the twins and attached a thin gold chain to Elladan's dummy and fixed it to the cradle.
"I can't really tell," Elrond began carefully, not willing to get tangled up in a lengthy argument with his seneschal, "maybe it's just the light. Many dark-haired Elves have a tint of red, it only enhances the shine."
Dark-haired elves like Gil-galad, for example. Not that Elrond would have said this aloud, of course. Some things, especially the aesthetic value of a mass of dark hair with a hint of red spread out over one's pillow were not meant for public discussion.
Erestor laughed.
"You are always the diplomat, my lord! Fin, stop sulking - if all things fail and Estorel should be unhappy with his hair colour, he can still dye it when he's old enough."
Fin groaned, but before he could find a suitable reply, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in if you must!" he yelled, and one of the servants stepped into the nursery, announcing that two riders from Lothlórien had arrived.
"This must be Orophin", Erestor smiled, and, turning to Elladan, he asked: "Would you be so kind to look after Estorel for a while so we can welcome his new guardian?"
Elladan, whose heart had doubled its beating rate and who showed a nice blush on his cheeks, agreed, happy to escape the embarrassing encounter with Orophin. Everybody left the nursery to welcome the Galadhrim, and Elladan sat down beside the cradle.
"Don't listen to them, Estorel," he said, gently rocking the cradle, "you look wonderful. Glorfindel is just grumpy because he ran out of hair bleach. "
* * *
"Correct me if I'm wrong, dear Erestor, but isn't this the impertinent individual who tried to molest you once?" Glorfindel snorted, and glared daggers at the two Elves who rode slowly up the path to the Last Homely House.
"Yes, it's Rúmil. About time you memorize his name, Fin, and no, he didn't molest me, he kissed me, and this he did very well, my dear. And, unlike others, he showed me respect and did not drag me to his chambers by my braids like other people I could mention here."
"I didn't drag you by your braids. I threw you over my shoulder and carried you."
"Ha," Erestor snorted, "and that makes it what? More dignified?"
"No," Fin replied with a smug smile, "more effective. Or have you already forgotten our first night?"
Erestor blushed and preferred not to answer. He turned his attention to Orophin and Rúmil, who had now reached the stairs, halted and got off their horses.
Orophin bowed in front of the Lord of Imladris, Glorfindel, Erestor and all other assembled nobility, while his eyes quickly scanned the crowd for Elladan, but the young one was nowhere to be seen. His mood dropped - the closer he'd gotten to Imladris, the more nervous he'd become. He had missed Elladan more than he realized, and the prospect of seeing the young one again had filled his heart with joy, but now...
"Welcome to Rivendell, Orophin. I am most delighted to see you in the services of my house once again, and I dare say we have all been very much looking forward to your arrival."
All but one, Orophin thought, but his answer was courteous. "You are very kind, Lord Elrond. I bring greetings from my Lord and the Lady, and I took the liberty to bring along my brother, Rúmil, whom you will certainly remember."
"Indeed," Elrond replied, still finding it difficult to accept that the gangly young Galadhrim who used to hide shyly behind Orophin's back was the same Elf who now answered Glorfindel's glares with an arrogant smile.
"I shall not abuse your hospitality, my lord", Rúmil said, "I shall only stay here for a week, then I have to return to the Golden Wood for my scheduled duties. I am merely here because, in times like these, I didn't want my brother to ride alone."
"This is wise. Now, I suggest a servant shall show you to your quarters, you can refresh yourselves and take some rest. Then I am sure Erestor and Glorfindel will wish to introduce you to your charge, Orophin."
Before Orophin could reply, someone pounced on Rúmil, who toppled over and rolled with the attacker in the dust. Only when the two came to a halt, Orophin realized it was Bramble, who had come to welcome her uncle.
"Rúmil! Rúmil!"
Rúmil tickled his niece, and the little girl giggled, yellow eyes blazing with mischief.
"Hello, little one!" he grinned, got up and dusted off his breeches, then he picked up the child and threw her high in the air and caught her securely again.
"Princess, I have missed you! Have you been a good girl while I was away?" he asked, and she giggled again.
"Yes, very good! I can catch fish now!" she declared, very proud.
"Really? That's wonderful! You must show me how you do it!" the Elf smiled, and cuddled her.
"Yes! Yes! And you can bite off the fishies' heads!"
Rúmil winced at the prospect of this kind of entertainment, and a familiar laughter was heard behind him.
"Rúmil! I knew Orophin was coming along, but I am most delighted to see you again! Bramble, please try not to damage your uncle."
"Haldir!" Rúmil said, and he carefully set the little girl back on the ground so he had his arms free to hug her father.
"It is good to see you again, penneth."
Haldir rolled his eyes.
"I'm over five thousand years old, Rúmil."
"Indeed, and it shows."
While his two brothers exchanged pleasantries and Bramble clung to Rúmil's leg, Orophin scanned once again for Elladan. He felt watched, and really - there he was, standing on a balcony, holding a baby - Estorel, Orophin thought - and watching him.
Their eyes locked.
* * *
Elladan had watched the arrival of the two Galadhrim from a distance. He barely noticed Rúmil, for his eyes were fixed on the tall Galadhrim beside him. The very same who had been his guardian for so many years. The same who had been hunting cockroaches in the kitchen with bow and arrow. The one who had been courting Arwen.
The one whose lips he still felt on his cheek.
What was this, Elladan wondered, why did he feel such a longing? He felt guilty; guilty for avoiding Orophin and being not courteous, guilty for the butterflies in his stomach, guilty for the dreams he had, guilty for wanting - yes, what? What was it that he wanted? Orophin's respect? His friendship? His love?
Ai! He should not have such thoughts! But pictures came to his mind, unbidden and not welcome, pictures of Orophin kissing him, touching him, taking him.
Elladan shook his head. Maybe he should have a swim in the Bruinen, its cold water would drive out these foolish thoughts. Orophin could and would never be his lover, and the sooner he accepted this, the better.
Before Elladan could deepen his musings, Estorel made his wish for some attention known with a groan. A tiny hand waved in the air, and Elladan picked him up, gently rocking the baby who was now cooing. Once again he was amazed Erestor would trust him to hold the child without fear he'd drop it. Then he stepped out on the balcony to see what was going on in the courtyard.
This very moment, Orophin looked up, his green eyes locking with Elladan's grey ones. He smiled, and the son of Elrond was lost.
* * *
Galadriel's naked feet touched the grass without a sound, and even the water seemed to cease the rush of its flow when the Lady of the Golden Wood stepped to the source to fill the carafe with the purest water in Lothlorien.
Lórien was sleeping, but she, its lady, was not. She had woken from disturbing dreams, found herself once again alone as her husband obviously had preferred to ride out for game or dame. And it had drawn her to the mirror. It had called to her, it wished to show her something, and so she obeyed the call and left her talan.
Once she had commanded the mirror, but now the mirror commanded her. It didn't show her anymore what she wished to see, but only what it wished to show. Slowly, slowly it had taken over her mind and thoughts, and before not too long, it would take over her heart as well.
Galadriel stood bent over the mirror, slowly pouring water, then waiting for the waves to settle. There was a sparkle, then a shine, and a picture formed on the smooth surface.
It was Elladan, locked in a passionate embrace, his face flushed, and his fingers digging deep into the back of his lover, whose face Galadriel couldn't see. She only noticed the long, silver blond hair, but before she could see more, the mirror changed the picture, and now Elladan's face was bloody, a large wound on his head, his features were disfigured with pain, and again, the silver blond Elf was bent over him. When he turned his face, she recognized him: it was Orophin.
Galadriel's heart almost stood still - this couldn't be. This wouldn't be. Not if she could help it. And if she had to send Orophin to Mordor to protect her grandson, she would do it!
Quickly, she turned and hasted back to her talan.
If she had stayed, she would have seen the face of Lady Firinwë in the mirror, a smug smile on her lips.
* * *
tbc
* * *
Author's notes: thank you all for your feedback and your encouragement! It's much more fun to write this way. :-)
And I told you we haven't heard the last of our dear lady, didn't I?