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: Hold your tissues ready, dear friends. BIG HONKING ANGST. And remember: no matter what happens in this chapter, there WILL be a happy end. Count on me. Happy end, remember? But no pleasure without suffering ...
CHAPTER 8
Never thought you'd make me perspire.
Never thought I'd do you the same.
Never thought I'd fill with desire.
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed.
Me and the dragon can chase all the pain away.
So before I end my day, remember..
My sweet prince, you are the one
My sweet prince
you are the one
"My sweet Prince" - Placebo
~°~
Tea. It was tea. He sniffed the mug with the steaming dark liquid, and all his powers wouldn't change it to Shire Brandy or Miruvor, though Shire Brandy or Miruvor were exactly the thing he needed right now.
There could be no doubt; the Valar hated him.
Celeborn sighed, head propped on one hand, and pushing the mug around with the other. Then he started to draw little designs by running his finger through the damp circle the mug had left on the table. There was still one hour to go till sunrise, but everybody seemed to be awake, busy with some important task or other; only he was sitting here, useful like a fifth horseshoe.
He hadn't slept a wink last night - the conversation with Rúmil had left him utterly confused, so he went for a walk in the garden. Beleth and Rhinwë - by the Valar, he hadn't thought of them for ages! Beleth had been as close a friend as a lord could have among the Galadhrim. They had shared the same quick wit and love for merriment, and many a bottle of wine had been emptied between them. Rhinwë, his wife, was well aware of her husband's "various interests", as she had discreetly put it, but there was never any discord between these two. They loved each other, and Rhinwë once remarked that it did not really matter where the body was as long as the heart knew the way back home. She had been remarkable, he remembered - she had a profound knowledge of healing herbs, and knew how to handle the bow. He couldn't remember her not laughing or at least smiling, something he had found very enchanting.
Beleth had fallen in an ambush, leaving his wife with an Elfling behind. Rhinwë had not smiled anymore, and it had been a natural thing for him to care for the small family. Celeborn made sure they got all they needed, and when, after a couple of years, she had asked him one night to stay, he had complied. Had he loved her? No, but there had been a deep friendship and mutual respect, and if Galadriel knew about it, she had never mentioned it. Celeborn also remembered Orod as a shy, serious youngster, nose always in the books - he remembered him quite well, actually, but whom he did not remember at all was his younger brother.
There had been no brother. He was absolutely sure. But there had been a note, one day, begging him not to visit anymore, she would leave Lothlórien, and thanking him for all he had done. This had come as a surprise, but, respecting her wishes and assuming that she had found a new mate, he never saw her again. When, some years later, the news that the small village she had lived in had been destroyed and all citizens killed, he had mourned, but the pain had not been deep and ever-present like the one he had experienced when his beloved daughter left.
While he hadn't given much thought to her reasons for ending their affair back then, now all was clear to him. She had been with child - his child. Calen - who was now known as Rúmil of Lórien. By the Valar - had he lost a daughter to now gain son? Celeborn raked his fingers through his hair. This was just too much for one Elf to understand!
He finally got up from the table and made his way through the great hall, out into the courtyard. The archers and sword fighters were all gathered, checking their weapons once again, calming excited horses, chatting. They were off to Tíngel, to drive the evil finally out of the forest, a task that rightly should have been done long ago, and by him. He had neglected his duties, and for this, there were no excuses.
He looked across the courtyard, and yes, there he was, talking to Haldir. Celeborn watched Rúmil’s every movement, trying to find a familiar motion, something he might have in common with the Galadhrim. Yes - there was something. He couldn't say "the nose" or "the eyes", but there was something in Rúmil's face, something he recognized. Arrogance? Self-confidence? He couldn't tell, but this was, without a doubt, his son. His son. Slowly, the significance of it sunk in, and Celeborn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Lost a daughter, won a son - wonderful, from one point of view, but the revelation that he had an illegitimate son would not exactly get Galadriel in the mood to forgive him any time soon.
'I better let sleeping dogs lie for the time being,’ Celeborn thought, ' there is time enough to sort out this chaos after we have sorted out the mess in Tíngel.' Rúmil, who had been about to get on his horse and ride ahead to Lothlórien, looked up, noticing that he was being watched. When he saw his lord's eyes rest on him, he bowed his head and smiled.
Celeborn winced. This was going to be a very long trip.
* * *
Erestor, tall, quiet, and, as usual, dressed in black, Glorfunkle on his shoulder, stood on the top of the stairs, supporting the still weak Glorfindel and overseeing the preparations for the departure. So was Elrohir, who had loudly protested against his father's order to stay at home, but had finally obeyed, seeing that he was not the warrior in the family and more of a hindrance than a help in battle.
"Up and ready, Celeborn?" a cheerful voice asked, and when the former lord of Lothlorien turned around, he saw a slightly familiar looking Elf brush by, heading for Elrond's horse who was waiting patiently in the courtyard, held by one of the stable grooms. Only then did Celeborn realise that the Elf in armour with the warrior braids, twin knives on his back and the late Gil-galad's sword on his side was none other than the Lord of Imladris himself.
"Elrond?" he gasped, staring at his son-in-law in disbelief.
"What what what – did you think I would let my child ride out alone? Every sword is needed, dear Celeborn, and though you might think me to be a bookworm and scroll-shuffler by now, I can assure you that I still know how to wield a sword and gut an Orc," Elrond nonchalantly remarked, waving an elegant hand in the air.
Everybody stared at Elrond, till he finally got tired of the attention, and gave them all The Eyebrow. Turning to Elrohir he said: "Son – until my return, you shall be the Lord of Rivendell. I trust you to do everything to protect this realm and our people. Listen to Erestor, who will give you good advice, trust Glorfindel to protect our borders, and for the Valar's sake, Elrohir, do keep your hands off of my thimble collection."
With that, he took Vilya off his finger, where the Ring of Power had been for millennia, and gave it to Elrohir, who accepted this responsibility with trembling fingers.
"But ada," he protested weakly, "I… I do not know how to use… this."
Elrond took the ring out of his son's hand again, and placed it firmly on Elrohir's finger. The young Elf immediately felt the ring shrinking, adjusting to his own, smaller finger, and a prickling sensation spread from the jewel all through his body.
"You are not supposed to use it, Elrohir. When her services are needed, Vilya will know herself what she has to do. As long as your heart is honest and your deeds fair, she will not fail you."
He hugged his son, and Elrohir pressed his father close to his chest.
"Take care, Ada, please all come back unharmed. I do not have a good feeling about all this."
Elrond smiled.
"Do not worry, penneth – we will return."
With that, he went to his horse, and soon, the Rivendell army was on its way to Tíngel Forest. Erestor's thoughtful look followed them for a long while, till the last rider had disappeared in the distance.
When he felt Glorfindel's healthy arm wrap around his middle, he leant in, resting his head on the warrior's shoulder, while Glorfunkle rose up and flew ahead, through the Great Hall up to their chambers.
"I wish I could join them," Fin said, and sighed. Erestor did not reply to this, he only kissed him softly on the cheek and secretly thanked the Valar for Fin's injury.
His heart was heavy – even he did not have a good feeling about all this.
* * *
Fin was bored. Not only was he confined to his bed, he didn't even have Erestor or Estorel to keep him company. His beloved advisor was sitting in a meeting with Elrohir and some Dwarf lord, and he had taken Estorel with him, safely tucked away in his basket. Meoin II had been so enchanted by the Elven infant, the first he had ever seen in his life, that the first half hour had been spent with discussions about children, babies, toys and sleeping habits. Meoin II, it seemed, was father of no less than 15 little Dwarflings, and therefore an expert in the field of babies. He gave Erestor the good advice to feed the baby mead from an early age on, as this would strengthen his bones.
Erestor, who would have rather had his teeth pulled than feed Estorel any alcoholic beverage, had managed a smile, and the conversation only came to a halt when advisor Feronil announced that a kin slaying could not be prevented if he heard the word "Elfling" once more today.
Being in bed was fun as long as Erestor was there, too. But as he wasn't, Fin decided after two hours that he needed some distraction. With Elrond gone and Erestor in a meeting, the library was deserted - what a wonderful opportunity to sneak in and have a look around Elrond's locked department! Ever since Erestor had mentioned the "hidden books", Fin was dying to learn about their content. Erestor's blush when approached about it had given him a clue, and so Fin, always eager to learn new things, slipped into his clothes and out of the door, sneaking through the corridors of the Last Homely House like a thief in the night. Soon enough, he stood in the library. He had been here thousand of times, but where was the forbidden part?
He checked the shelves to the left and to the right, and finally, he saw the entrance to another room, parted from the main library with a heavy curtain. 'Aha', Fin thought, 'this looks hidden enough for me!' He looked over his shoulder, just to make sure he wasn't watched, then he slipped behind the curtain, and found himself confronted with two rows of shelves, loaded with books and scrolls. If Fin had been the least bit interested in books, he might have noticed this part of the library millennia ago, but usually, he avoided every book that had more letters than pictures, and he preferred the training ground to the library. 'Scroll-shufflers' did not rank too high in his personal scale of regard, unless it was Erestor, of course.
"Well, well, well, now let us see what treasures dear old Elrond hides away from us peasants," Fin said to himself, and grinned. He just picked the first book in reach, a small, leather-bound tome, its title promising "Mirkwood Love Secrets".
"My, my, Elrond, you old rascal..." Fin grinned, then he sat comfortably on the floor, opening the book.
Interesting. Most interesting. Just the thing for Fin - not much text, but many pictures. Most inspiring illustrations, actually - even Fin, who was skilled in the art of love, was fascinated, no, awed by some of the positions shown here. For over an hour he kept on reading, then, when reaching page 257, he turned the book upside down, frowning.
"By the Valar," he said to himself, "I could not do this on my own - not to mention with somebody on top of me!"
"Really? How can you tell if you never tried?" The amused voice made him jump, and Fin quickly clapped the book close.
"Oh. Darling. How – nice to see you. Had a good day?"
Erestor shook his head, and took the book out of Fin's hands.
"Glorfindel,” he began, and Fin winced, for any sentence Erestor began with 'Glorfindel' tended to end in a lengthy and mostly unpleasant lecture, "my dear, dear Glorfindel, I so knew you would try to sneak in here sooner or later."
Fin, feeling like an Elfling caught stealing a cookie, slightly blushed, and this alone, Erestor thought, was worth the effort of sneaking up on him. He cocked an eyebrow, and studied the illustration in the book, rubbing his chin.
"Most interesting. This certainly requires a certain level of physical fitness, and a very balanced equilibrium. Indeed – I do not think you would be up for this challenge."
Fin jumped up.
"My equilibrium is very balanced, thank you very much! And if it was not for this lame wing, I would help you balance out yours!"
"My, now would you?" Erestor purred, put the book aside and pushed Fin gently against the shelf.
"Oh, but certainly I would. When it comes to balance, I surely could teach you a trick or two."
Erestor, who by now had already his hands under Fin's tunic and was slowly kissing his way up from throat to ear, snickered.
"Could you? Now, this sounds promising, dear Glorfindel. Well – if you are up for teaching, then I am up for learning."
"Your study or mine?" Fin asked husky-voiced, and Erestor grinned.
"I follow your lead, dear teacher. Can I trust your honourable intentions?"
Fin looked down at him, all hurt honour and indignation.
"Erestor! Really! Have my intentions ever been anything but honourable?"
"Yes," Erestor replied, running his hand up Fin's thigh, "all the time, and do not dare to change anything about it."
Erestor growled, and then he nuzzled Fin's chest.
"Love, what are you doing?"
"Mmmm... I really like your scent."
"My scent?"
Now, this was a new one. Erestor actually purred, and rubbed his face on Fin's chest, like a cat who wants to be petted. 'This I can do', Glorfindel thought, 'and not that I want to complain, but this is a rather odd behaviour'.
More growling came from Erestor, and if Fin had had a hand free, he'd certainly have scratched his head over this so far unrevealed feral side of his mate. But then again: why question presents if you can enjoy them?
"To say it with our dear guardian: you. My bedchamber. NOW." With that, Erestor let go of Fin, and beckoned him to follow. Fin was more than ready to comply, but before he left, he quickly grabbed for the book and slipped it under his tunic.
"Be afraid, oh Erestor," he grinned.
* * *
'Now what kind of welcome is this', Rúmil thought, when he halted his horse by the royal talan. First there had been no guardians to greet him when he had entered the Golden Wood, not the tip of an ear to be seen when he rode into Calas Galadhron, and now his sight was blinded by a piece of cloth the wind had blown in his face.
He grabbed it, eyeing it suspiciously and sniffing. He knew this scent - it was that awful perfume the Lady Galadriel used, the one that smelled almost as bad as "L'eau de Mordor". What was going on here – where was everybody? And why were the trees losing their leaves?
Rúmil was not frightened, for little could scare him. Blessed with a healthy confidence, there were few tasks he thought he could not handle, and Galadriel was none of them. He had a lot of questions, and he would not leave before he had answers. He entered the great hall, but other than more leaves which covered the floor, nothing unusual could be seen – the fact aside that at this time of the day, this place would normally be humming and buzzing with the voices of hundreds of Elves, and now, there was silence, deadly silence.
Rúmil scratched his head, and took a firm hold of the hilt of his sword – one never knew.
Finally, he saw something moving.
"You there, stop!" he called, and the Elf addressed stopped frozen in his stride, turning to Rúmil with a scared expression on his face.
"What happened here!" the Galadhrim demanded to know, and the Elf, one of the servants, shrugged, fiddling with his hands.
"The Lord has gone, the Lady has given in to sadness, and the Golden Wood is dying, guardian. We have not made our mind up yet whether we shall pass to the Havens or go to live somewhere else, but all things good and fair have left the Golden Wood."
Rúmil snorted.
"What a lot of nonsense. Do not be so melodramatic, for the Valar's sake. You cannot possibly leave our home just because some trees are shedding their robes – happens all the time other places!"
The Elf ducked, eyeing Rúmil as if he was crazy.
"Do not speak so harshly in this place! The Lady would not approve!"
Rúmil rolled his eyes.
"Good – I shall ask her myself. Where is she? Staring into her bird bath again?"
Wincing, the servant shook his head.
"She is in her study, as always. Looking out of the window. But you cannot go to her now. She does not want to see anybody."
"Well, I guess this is not her lucky day then, because I wish to see her, and I shall!"
With that, Rúmil passed by the distraught and protesting Elf, and ran light-footed up the stairs to the royal chambers. Arriving in front of Galadriel's study, he knocked on the door, but there came no answer.
"My lady? My lady, it is I, Rúmil – I bring news from Rivendell and Tíngel Forest."
No answer, so Rúmil knocked again.
"Lady Galadriel – I know that you are in there, and I need to speak to you."
Silence.
Rúmil wasn't patient on his best days, and this certainly was not one. After he knocked and called two more times, he decided he had done courtesy enough honour, and opened the door. He found Galadriel sitting by the window, looking out over her realm, and it looked as if she hadn't heard Rúmil enter.
"My lady?" the Galadhrim asked again, and finally, she looked up, frowning.
"Rúmil? How did you get in my chamber? Who let you in?"
He bowed in greeting.
"I knocked several times, but there was no answer."
"Ah."
This was all she said, then she looked out of the window again, as if Rúmil wasn't there at all. He waited for a while, but when no further reaction came, he decided to get right to the point.
"My lady – what has happened here? Where is everybody?"
Galadriel sighed.
"He has left the Golden Wood."
Rúmil, correctly assuming that "he" was Lord Celeborn, nodded impatiently.
"Yes, this I know, but this does not answer my question. What is going on here? This looks more like a graveyard than my home!"
She shrugged.
"Our time has come to an end, my child. I will go west, and take my people with me."
"Go west? What do you mean by 'go west' – do you intend to abandon us and the Golden Wood?"
She looked up.
"Look out here, my child - what is there left to abandon?"
As already mentioned, Rúmil wasn't a very patient Elf, more one of the practical kind, and this was too melodramatic for his taste.
"With all due respect, my lady – you cannot get us all in a mess and then just cross over the sea and leave us here to deal with it. You have quite a situation in Tíngel Forest, and we need to act now to get it under control, unless you wish to find one morning an Orc in your bathroom using your lavender soap."
This bold speech triggered what little was left of the Galadriel of the old days, and she got up, glaring at Rúmil.
"How dare you talk to me like this – you forget your place!"
Rúmil, who was not only impatient, but also of a rather fiery temper, shook his head.
"My place is here – in the Golden Wood. I swore to protect it with my life, my lady, and this I will do. I am nothing but a simple Galadhrim, I know nothing of politics and I certainly do not have your spirituality or the Gift of Seeing, but you DID make a mess here, and we are the ones to suffer. You have sent my brother to Tíngel Forest, to almost certain death, and if you expect me to let you flee to the Havens without sorting this out and getting him back, then You! Are! Wrong!"
The last words he accentuated by poking her with his index finger, an action he would never have dared before, and Galadriel's face reddened in anger.
"You accuse me of sending your brother to death? How dare you! I have only separated him from my grandson to protect him!"
"Protect him? Elladan from Orophin?"
Rúmil looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
"Orophin would die for Elladan – as a matter of fact, this is very likely to happen, as you have sent him to the Forest of Death. If you intended to kill him, why did you not do it yourself instead of leaving the dirty deed to the Orcs?" he shouted.
"Do you call me a kin slayer, Galadhrim? Have you forgotten who it is you speak to?" Galadriel shouted back, her fingers curling into fists.
"No, I have not forgotten who I talk to. All the harder it is for me to believe you did do such a foul deed!"
Galadriel shook her head.
"I have seen him in the mirror, Rúmil. He was trying to kill Elladan, and I could not bear to lose another member of my family. Why he acted this way, I do not know, but I owe it to my daughter to keep her children safe. Tíngel is not a comfortable place to be, that is true, but it is no more dangerous there than anywhere else."
"Your mirror? You have seen in the mirror that Orophin was trying to kill Elladan?" Rúmil called out, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Galadriel nodded. "And now you will leave this chamber this very moment. I order you to join your brother on duty in Tíngel Forest, and I do not wish you to darken my door again."
Rúmil had had enough now.
"Oh, stop being such a drama queen," he groaned, then he grabbed Galadriel's arm and dragged her towards the door.
"Leave me be! Guards! Guards! I am attacked!"
Rúmil shook her, rather violently.
"My lady! There are no guards. Your guards are hiding. And the guards of Lord Celeborn will not come to your aid. So, you and I will now go down the stairs and up to this cursed bird bath of yours, and I will have a look into the mirror myself. There are two ways you can get there: either walking or dragged by your hair after a good spanking – make your choice!"
Galadriel's mind might have been slightly fogged, but she knew immediately that Rúmil was serious. For the fraction of a moment, she was reminded of Celeborn in his wild warrior days, but this moment passed quickly, and she decided that, for the time being, she would play along. Once they were out of the Talan, her guards would surely come to her help.
She gave Rúmil an angry glare, then she followed him out of the door and down the stairs, and he did not let go of her arm even for a second. On their way to the mirror, Galadriel looked to the left and right, but there was not a single soul, and only now did she notice how quiet the Golden Wood was – no voices, no birds singing, only the soft rustling of the leaves on the ground.
And for the first time for many millennia, Galadriel was scared.
* * *
Night had fallen, and the rain had ceased, so the Galadhrim in Tíngel Forest were gathered around the small fire. The last night, they had been attacked again by a band of Orcs; while they managed to fight the beasts back, three of their own had fallen, and their pyres had burned all day long. Now, the remaining warriors, tired, worn out, depressed and ill, stared into the fire, wondering when their own pyre would burn. They had given up hope for re-enforcements. The lady had obviously decided to let them rot out here.
"I wish I could sing," Turmíl finally broke the silence, "I dreamt last night of our home, and I heard them singing. I miss it."
Orophin, who sat in front of him, his head resting on his captain's thigh, looked up. They had come to an agreement everybody knew of but nobody talked about. It was an arrangement of comfort, which went further than friendship but was not love, a strong bond between warriors, maybe frowned upon if forged in times of peace, but now, here, nobody found anything odd about it.
"I know a song," Orophin finally said, "one befitting our situation. I learned it long ago."
He coughed, then cleared his throat. Finally, he began to sing, and his odd, rusty voice gave the melody a haunting quality.
"There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
They were as black as black might be,
With a down.
The one of them said to his mate,
Where shall we our breakfast take?
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down
Down in yonder green field,
Down, a down, hey down, hey down,
There lies an Elf slain 'neath his shield,
With a down.
His hounds they lie down at his feet,
So well they do their master keep,
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.
His hawks they fly so eagerly,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
No other fowl dare come him night,
With a down.
Down there comes a fallow doe
As great with young as might she go
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down
She lifted up his bloody head,
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
And kissed his wounds that were so red,
With a down.
She got him up upon her back,
And carried him to earthen lake,
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down
She buried him before the prime
Down a down, hey down, hey down,
She was dead herself ere e'en-song time,
With a down.
The Valar send every Elf,
Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down."
Orophin broke off, staring into the fire. Then he got up, rather abruptly, and walked over to his bedroll. Shortly after, Turmíl join him, and he felt strong arms embrace him and a soft kiss was placed on his ear.
"Do not despair,” he said, burying his face in Orophin's hair, "we will get through this – alive."
"Will we?" Orophin said, leaning back into the caress. "I do not think so. I only wish I…"
He broke off, shaking his head.
"Wished what, mellon?"
"I wish – I could see him again. Only once. I miss him. And I know he misses me, too."
Turmíl got angry. He did not know the name of Orophin's beloved, but this he knew: he would not have abandoned him, he would have followed him to Mordor and back if necessary. From some of Orophin's remarks Turmíl concluded that the Galadhrim had fallen for some spoilt noble brat's game; it was well known what a frivolous bunch the Rivendell Elves were, and he felt pity for Orophin, though he would never have told him. They all needed something, someone to hold onto out here, and if Orophin needed to believe that his lover was still waiting for him, so be it.
Orophin turned around, facing his captain.
"You think me a fool, do you not," he said, but there was no anger in his eyes, only – amusement? Was this possible?
"Maybe," he honestly answered, and gently traced Orophin's jaw line with his finger.
"Not more foolish than any of us, I guess."
Orophin rested his head under Turmíl's chin.
"I know him. I have known him for many millennia, since he was a babe. I am not wrong about him."
"Would he approve of – this?"
Orophin thought about it for a while.
"He would understand it."
"A remarkable young Elf he seems to be, your mysterious beloved," Turmíl said, "if you were mine, I would not share you."
There was a light in Orophin's eyes, a short flash, and he smiled, for the first time in many days.
"He is remarkable, my friend."
"Without a doubt,” Turmíl replied, gently stroking Orophin's hair.
And indeed: Orophin had no doubt. That was why he clung on to life.
* * *
Rúmil's legs were considerably longer than Galadriel's, so she had to walk rather fast to keep up with him. She had no idea what had gotten into the Galadhrim to treat her thus, but there was a natural authority about him she did not dare to defy.
Finally, they hastened down the stairs towards the mirror, and Rúmil pushed her towards it.
"So, my lady, and now you and I will have a look into your bird bath. I want to see what you see."
She hesitated a moment, then she went over to the well, filled the carafe with spring water and stood close to the mirror, pouring the liquid into it.
First, she could see nothing, but when the surface smoothed out, pictures started to show. She concentrated on the attack she had witnessed on her grandson, and the mirror showed her Orophin, hitting Elladan in the face.
"Come here – see for yourself," she said, almost triumphantly, though it pained her to see her oldest grandchild suffer. Rúmil did as he was asked, and looked into the mirror. He saw Orophin, binding Elladan.
"My lady – this he did to protect Elladan. He wanted to make sure the young one would not follow him to Tíngel Forest, knowing how dangerous the place is. And he would not have had to do this if you had not sent him there in the first place!"
Galadriel stared at Rúmil, confusion clearly on her face.
"But the mirror…" she began, but the Galadhrim cut her off.
"The mirror, the mirror – have you ever considered that the mirror might not show you the truth? Or show only a part of it?"
She shook her head. "The mirror has never betrayed me," she stubbornly insisted.
"No? Well then – show me Tíngel Forest," Rúmil demanded, and again, Galadriel obeyed.
Rúmil stared down in the water – this could not be. This was a forest, true enough, but not the Tíngel Forest he knew. The trees shown were green, and the Galadhrim on guard were laughing and joking, while others sat around a fire, preparing a meal.
"This is not what Tíngel looks like, my lady."
"Of course it is! Can you not see? Do you think I would send any of my people there if the place was as bad as you say? What do you think me to be – a kin slayer?" Galadriel sharply asked, glaring at Rúmil.
He shook his head, and took the carafe out of her hand.
"Give me that thing – let us see what the mirror will show me."
Before Galadriel could hold him back, he attempted to pour some water in the basin.
"You fool – only I and the lord – the former lord of the Golden Wood can rule the mirror! It does not obey a mere Galadhrim!"
Alas, the very moment the water touched the surface of the mirror, a dazzling flash emerged from it, so bright that Rúmil dropped the carafe and the two Elves had to cover their eyes, afraid of being blinded.
"What have you done! What is this!" she called out, and stared into the mirror.
It was the same picture as before – and then again, it wasn't. It was Tíngel Forest – but the trees were not green, but of a dark, rotten colour; it was raining, and the Elves gathered around the small fire looked frail and sick. There was an atmosphere of such sadness and despair about this scene that Galadriel felt tears sting in her eyes.
Rúmil grabbed her arm again.
"See my lady? THIS is Tíngel Forest, this is where you have sent my brother and many good Elves! This is the truth – your mirror only showed you what you wanted to see, or what it deemed fit to show you, and you believed it without questioning the truth!"
"No… this cannot be…" Galadriel whispered, covering her mouth with her hands, staring down at the changing pictures, of Orcs attacking, Elves maimed, funeral pyre's burning.
"This is reality, my lady. And now you must act upon it!" Rúmil pleaded, shaking her.
For a while, Galadriel didn't move at all. Then, obviously coming to a decision, she straightened up.
"Rúmil, lead my guards to Tíngel Forest. Take every Elf the Golden Wood can spare, and drive the vermin out of it for all time. Bring our Galadhrim home safely. I have failed, for this I must pay – but not them."
Rúmil let her go, and sank to his knees.
"My lady – I will bring them back or die trying."
He felt her hand resting on his head, and he looked up.
She stared at him, and he felt her mind, like a warm summer breeze, like a gentle hand touching.
"I see…" she finally said, "I should have known all along."
Rúmil didn't understand what she was talking about, but the words "Tíngel Forest", "guards" and "bring them home" he understood very well, and so he quickly got up and made towards the stairs, but then he hesitated, turned around, and returned.
"Please forgive me, my lady, but it has to be done."
With that, he drew his sword, raised it, and with a deafening noise, the blade collided with Galadriel's mirror, splitting it in two. Sparks flew, the water spilled to all sides, and an evil stench filled the air.
Galadriel and Rúmil both stared at the pedestal the mirror had stood on.
Imbedded in the stone lay a ring.
* * *
The Orcs attacked two hours before sunrise, and they outnumbered the Galadhrim by far. They were also well-nourished and healthy, not ill and weak like the Elves, and if it hadn't been for the unbroken spirit of the Firstborns and their archery skills, the death toll might have been even higher than it was. There could, however, be no doubt that this was a lost battle. For every Orc slain, two more seemed to grow out of the rotten ground, and the Galadhrim were falling back.
Turmíl had been wounded early on, but he kept on fighting for his life, and Orophin stayed close to him, covering his back as well as possible. He had taken a blow to the arm, and he was quickly losing the little strength he had left.
While he fought off another of the foul beasts, his eye was caught by an Elf walking among the fighters, hands folded behind his back, at times standing still and watching the battle, then continuing his walk, as if he were strolling through a garden, admiring the flowers. He looked like a Noldo, long black hair cascading down his back, and he was dressed in black robes, which enhanced the paleness of his skin. He was very fair of face, but his eyes were like two pieces of coal, and this strange figure frightened Orophin more than the Orc in front of him who tried to maul him.
From time to time, the stranger stepped closer to an Elf, gently tipping his shoulder, and the touched one fell, slain. Orophin didn't have the time to watch every move the stranger made, but he was there, ever present.
Suddenly, there was a voice, whispering in Orophin's ear.
"It is time to go, my child."
The voice was gentle, polite, it was more an invitation than an order, but one not permitting any kind of gainsaying.
"No," Orophin hissed through clenched teeth, fighting back the Orc who tried to bring him down, "I will not go yet."
Now the Dark Elf stood beside the Orc, watching the battle with an odd amusement.
"That is not for you to decide, my child. I am calling you, and you must follow. Let go. Your time is up."
"It is not! I will not go before I have seen Elladan again!" Orophin gasped, and slew the Orc with a last, desperate blow of his blade. Staggering, he stood over the corpse, his heart racing.
"Good - as the harvest was so rich today - I will wait." the stranger said, his black eyes looking right into Orophin's soul. "But I will not negotiate our agreement. When your time has come, I will call you, and you will follow. Do I have your word?"
"You have it," Orophin moaned, feeling dizzy.
"So we have an agreement then," the stranger nodded, bowed his head in a mock salute, and turned around. For a heart-stopping second, Orophin thought he would touch Turmíl, but instead, he disappeared - where to, Orophin could not tell, he just was not there anymore.
Before Orophin could take another moment to sort this strange incident out, he heard horns. Now this could not possibly be...
But it was. Hundreds and hundreds of warriors stormed into the clearing, and the Orcs, blinded by the shining armour and the sparkle of the swords, fell back, surprised and overwhelmed by the joined forces of Rivendell and Lothlórien. Rúmil led the Galadhrim, joined by Celeborn who rode closely by his side, and riding ahead of the Rivendell Elves - Elladan.
"You have come," Orophin whispered.
* * *
The battle was short - the Orcs had no chance, outnumbered as they were, and while those who had been slain were burnt, small groups of Galadhrim hunted down the beasts who had managed to escape into the bushes. The fallen Elves were gathered; their bodies would be brought back to the Golden Wood.
Celeborn was shattered. He had known Tíngel Forest to be a rough place, but this - this he had not expected. How could he have let this go on for so long - how could he have allowed his personal problems to have such an impact on his duties and his responsibilities! He was not worthy to be the Lord of the Golden Wood, at least on this point he agreed with his wife. Celeborn sat on a stone, close to the place the bodies of the Galadhrim were gathered, and he cried. His people left him alone, feeling that their lord needed time to come to terms with the things that had happened here. They all did.
While the Galadhrim hunted the remaining Orcs, the Elves from Rivendell pitched tents, and quickly, the exhausted and injured Galadhrim were carried inside, stripped of their sodden clothes, given dry and warm ones and covered with blankets. Provisions were taken out, fires started and food cooked. Elrond and Elladan looked after the wounded, and they both got increasingly worried when they found all of the Lórien warriors coughing heavily and fighting for every breath. None of them had ever encountered such an illness among the Firstborn, and Elrond had to think long before he came up with a remedy. He sent out some guards to collect a certain root, to be cooked and prepared in a draught, hoping this would at least lessen the pain and make the breathing easier.
Orophin had stubbornly refused to leave his place, claiming to feel fine and insisting they should look after other, more severely injured warriors first. Elladan, who had been shocked when he saw what state the Lórien Elf was in, had decided not to start an argument with him, but simply picked him up, carrying him to his own tent. The fact that Orophin didn't have enough strength left to fight Elladan off was more frightening than anything else. He gently laid the heavily coughing archer down on his bedroll, then he started to peel him out of his sodden clothes, noticing the wound on his arm. Orophin weakly protested, but Elladan would have none of it.
When Elladan opened the lacing of the breeches, Orophin tried to push his hands away. Elladan gently stroked his face. "Do not worry, beloved. I mean no harm. But you must get warm."
Orophin finally ceased his struggle, and Elladan slipped the garment down his legs. Considering that this was the first time he had seen his beloved naked, this might have been an awkward situation, but now, Elladan was the healer, and Orophin the patient. He checked for bruises and injuries, but the wound on his arm, the awful cough and the rattling of the lungs aside, Orophin seemed to be unharmed.
When Elladan examined him, he noticed a strange mark on his hip - at first, he thought it to be a scar, but when he looked closer, he saw that it was a burn, in shape of an eagle. How odd, Elladan thought, why would Orophin have the picture of an Eagle burnt into his skin? It looked very old, very faded, but still, he could recognize the picture.
But for now, this was not important. Elladan rubbed Orophin's clammy skin off with a towel, bandaged his arm and draped a warm blanket over him. Elladan rested Orophin's head in his lap, stroking his hair and holding out the mug.
"Drink this, Orophin - it will help you."
Orophin obeyed, and sipped the bitter liquid slowly, interrupted by heavy coughing. When the mug was empty, he leant back, exhausted, and closed his eyes. How wonderful it felt, despite the pain in his chest, to be held by Elladan again. He had feared he would never see the young one again, and now he had come, here, to Tíngel Forest.
"You wear different coloured clasps again," Orophin said, smiling weakly, and Elladan blushed.
"I am glad you are here," Orophin simply said, and reached up to cup Elladan's face. The young Elf leant into his touch, and the Galadhrim stroked his face gently.
"I was worried I would not see you again before..."
He broke off, interrupted by a heavy bout of coughing.
"Before what, beloved?"
"Before I have to leave," Orophin said.
"Leave where?" Elladan asked, confused.
There he was again, the Dark Elf. He lay beside Orophin, stretched out quite comfortably, head propped up on his elbow, and beckoned Orophin, wriggling his index finger.
"Elladan... I have to go. Mandos is calling me, for many hours already, but I refused to follow, for I have been waiting for you. Now I must obey."
Elladan stared down at the Galadhrim in panic.
"Do not say such things, Orophin! You are not going to die - you are an Elf, Elves do not die! I am here, and ada is here, and he will get you back on your feet in no time, you will see!"
Orophin weakly shook his head. So did the Dark Elf.
"Much as I would wish this to be true, this is not what is going to happen. But my heart is light as you are here with me, now. And you are unharmed, that is all I need to know."
Elladan gave up fighting the tears that were welling in his eyes. He stroked Orophin's face, but as much as he wished to dismiss his beloved's words as the delirious thoughts of one who was ill, one look into the dull, glazed eyes of Orophin told him that the archer was speaking the truth.
The door of the tent flapped open; Haldir and Rúmil came to see how their brother fared. When they saw Elladan crying, and noticed the expression in Orophin's eyes, they felt like somebody had given them a deadly blow with a blade. The brothers knelt down on the other side of Orophin, Haldir taking his hand, Rúmil resting his hands on his thigh.
They all sat for a long while, the only sound to be heard was Elladan's occasional sob and Orophin's rattling breathing. Then, suddenly, the second sound stopped, and Elladan, who still held Orophin's hand, squeezed it, again and again, but there came no reaction. Haldir bowed his head, and murmured the ancient blessings one said on such an occasion. Rúmil hit his fist repeatedly into the ground, tears of anger and grief wetting his face, and Elladan, who still didn't fully understand what was happening, stared down at the now very peaceful face of his beloved.
"It is always sad to witness such a scene," the Dark Elf said to Orophin, "but eventually, they always get over it. Now come, I have dwelled here long enough."
Orophin felt oddly light, as if he had drunk too much wine, and he followed the Dark Elf out of the tent.
"Do you play the cards or throw the dice, Elf?" the Dark Elf asked, and Orophin shook his head.
"What a pity," he sighed, "since Glorfindel of the Golden Flower has left us, I have no one left to share my passion. Ah well - I should not complain. Harvest was good today," he added, and gestured to a large group of Elves who stood by a tree, all with the same dreamy expression as Orophin's on their faces. The Dark Elf led the way, and they followed him, disappearing into the mist.
Down in yonder green field,
Down, a down, hey down, hey down,
There lies an Elf slain 'neath his shield,
With a down.
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.
* * *
Author's notes:
"The Three Ravens" can be found in Thomas Ravenscroft's "Melismata", published in 1616. I used the "modernized" version for reasons of easier understanding and changed a few words to "elfisize" the text. You can find a midi of the melody HERE. Some believe that the text goes back to the belief that the spirit of a beloved one who has died can return as an animal - here, the doe - others support the theory that the doe here is an Elf, who returns to her slain lover in form of an animal. Be that as it may, this song has a very special meaning to me, and so it ended up in this chapter.
The Dark Elf here in this story (Mandos) is the Middle Earth equivalent to The Grim Reaper, hence the "harvest" reference.
And here my prophylactic response for those out there who might wish to mail something in the line of 'but Orophin has blond hair!': yes, he has. Alas, when the picture in the header was taken, he had already spent weeks in Tíngel Forest, so naturally, he was covered with mud. It's not the wrong hair colour, it's just the lack of shampoo. And I ran out of Orophin pictures. So sue me, Dorothy.