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: there is a lynch mob standing in front of my mailbox, waving axes and forks, demanding to get their happy end. Fine! Good! Coming already!
Very special thanks to my fantastic betas, The Magic Rat and Eveiya, and to all the gentle, fork-waving souls who wrote me after chapter 8 to inquire on my mental state.
CHAPTER 9
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
with vassals and servants at my side,
and of all who assembled within those walls
that I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches all too great to count
and a high ancestral name.
But I also dreamt which pleased me most
that you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same,
that you loved me
you loved me still the same.
"Marble Halls" – Enya
~°~
Spring had come, finally. Flowers shyly peeked out of the ground, the birds returned and Lothlórien paraded in a new green robe. The Golden Wood looked like a painting not yet finished, with naked trees among green ones, but Galadriel was confident her realm would recover, eventually. She enjoyed greatly the feeling of the fresh, young green grass under her feet, and for the first time in many years, there was peace in her heart.
She made her way to the place her mirror used to be, as she did most days, and contemplated her past. First she had thought her heart would stop beating when Rúmil had destroyed the mirror, but soon enough she realized that he had done her a favour. Galadriel felt deeply ashamed and guilty for her actions, blaming herself for not seeing through the treachery of the mirror.
Most of her people didn't hold her actions against her, for she had always been a mild and benevolent ruler, but there were many who had left the Golden Wood and sailed west, which pained Galadriel greatly, for she would have given her life if this had brought the fallen Galadhrim back. Oddly enough, the one she had thought would hate her the most was the one to stand by her.
When Rúmil returned to Lothlórien to bring the tidings of his brother's death, Galadriel expected him to hate her, and in the beginning, that had appeared to be true. Rúmil even made plans to sail West, too, but as months passed and he began to come to terms with his grief, he decided that the one who should really be held responsible for the death of Orophin and all the other Galadhrim was the one who had poisoned the mirror with the cursed ring. Elves, Ishtari, Dwarves and Men had tried to figure out the puzzle, but no reference could be found in any book to another Ring of Power, it was as if it didn't exist, and yet it did. Who had forged it? Who owned it? And who could profit from this irresponsible act?
Rúmil, ever the pragmatic, had ordered from the most skilled Dwarf masters a box made of stone. He picked up the ring with the point of his sword and placed it in there, finally sealing everything with mithril.
"We cannot keep the ring here, my lady," he had explained, "the Golden Wood is weak, and you are only just beginning to recover from the darkness; with Lord Celeborn's departure, half of Lothlórien's power has gone, and we cannot risk falling under the spell of this cursed thing again."
She had listened, and not commented on the fact that Rúmil still called Celeborn his lord – something he did all the time, stubbornly, looking at her challengingly. The more she got to know him, the more she saw how very much he was of Celeborn's blood. Amazing – all these millennia, Celeborn had a son, living right under his nose, and he hadn't known. Not that she had known, either, but then all through her life she had made a point of ignoring her husband's extra matrimonial activities.
Rúmil had brought the ring to Rivendell, escorted by a troop of Galadhrim, and there it still was, under heavy guard, in a secret room deep down under the Last Homely House, a place only known only to a few chosen ones. The only key was guarded by Lord Elrond himself, and until the time came that this riddle was solved, nobody would be allowed near the dark jewel.
While Galadriel stood in the clearing, lost in thought, something dropped on her head. She reached up, and held a sweet-smelling white flower in her hand. She sniffed it, and smiled; rolling the stem between her fingers.
Another flower fell from the sky, this one caressing her cheek as it softly fell to the ground. Galadriel was showered with flowers, hundreds of the beautiful, fragile blooms rained from the sky, and in no time, she stood ankle-deep in a sea of beauty.
When she looked up, she saw Rúmil lying stretched out on a branch above her, holding an empty basket in his hands and grinning.
"I bid you a good day, my lady. I hope you will excuse the momentary shower, perfect weather will resume shortly. "
With that, he dropped the last flower down from the tree, and Galadriel caught it, waving up to the Galadhrim, who looked rather smug.
"This was lovely, thank you!" she said, and Rúmil winked.
"Not lovelier than you, my lady,." he replied, then he dropped down from the branch, landing elegantly in front of her and bowing in silly exaggeration of a noble's greeting.
"May I be so daring as to ask my lady to bestow upon me the great honour of leading her back to the Royal Talan?"
Galadriel curtsied, pretended to think for a moment, then she nodded.
"I think I can agree to that, young Master Elf, but only if you promise not to make a spectacle of me again by carrying me through the Great Hall thrown over your shoulder."
"I promise, though with regret - it sure gave your court something to talk about," Rúmil grinned, then he offered her his arm, and the two walked back to the Talan.
For a while, they chattered happily, then Rúmil became serious again.
"I came to say good-bye, my lady. 't is well after the 2nd anniversary of my brother's passing, and I will meet with Haldir in Rivendell, to honour his memory by his grave. I shall not be gone for long. Is there any message I shall take with me?"
Galadriel gently stroked his face.
"Give all my love to Elrond and my grandchildren, especially Elladan, for I know that he still suffers greatly."
"This I will do, my lady. And how about Lord Celeborn? Shall I tell him again that you will await him with drawn sword if he should dare to cross the border, willing to have his head served on a plate, decorated with parsley and chopped onions?"
Galadriel thought about it for a moment, then she shook her head.
"No. No. This is too harsh, and I spoke those words in a moment of childish anger. Tell him instead that I will release the hounds."
Rúmil laughed.
"My lady – how many years more do you intend to keep him dangling like this?"
Galadriel shrugged.
"We are slowly rebuilding our friendship, Rúmil. To rebuild our marriage will take much more time. You cannot fix what got broken over centuries. Neither he nor I are ready for this step yet."
"I see. Maybe you should take yourself a skilled young lover for the time being then. Lonely hearts get cold at night."
She stopped, and saw the serious question behind the teasing.
Sighing, she stroked his cheek.
"This, dear Rúmil, would be highly inappropriate."
"Agreed. But it would also be a lot of fun."
For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Finally, Rúmil sighed: "My lady, I also see another serious problem."
"Which would be?"
"You do not have any hounds."
* * *
It had become a ritual for Elladan. Every evening at sunset, he would walk down the small path behind the house which led into a small wood, not more than a handful of beeches, and sit for an hour in front of the small memorial he had set up for Orophin. It was only a short distance from the place where the funeral pyre had been - a pyre worthy of a king. Elladan had collected the wood himself, together with Rúmil and Haldir, and he had been the one to light the pyre.
It had burned for almost an entire day, and when it was over, nothing was left of his beloved but ash. They had covered the place with soil, and Elladan had planted a young beech there, to symbolize the cycle of life. His father had spoken to him; gentle words, wise words, words intended to ease his pain, but to no avail. Every day, he hoped to wake up to find his pain lessened, but instead, it got stronger. There was no escape - every place, every thing in Imladris reminded him of his lost beloved.
Sometimes, he woke up at night, sitting up drenched in sweat, thinking he had heard Orophin's odd, rusty laughter, or he dreamt that he ran into the woods, thinking he had seen silver blond hair shining in the sun, only to find Haldir or Rúmil, and then he cried, chiding himself that things would get better, but they didn't. Not for Elladan.
He lived in a world of grey, for life had lost its colours. He couldn't enjoy the beauty of the early spring flowers anymore, for Orophin would never see them. He could not enjoy Lindir’s sweet songs, for Orophin was not there to share his delight. Every so often, he caught himself directing his steps towards Orophin's chamber, to tell him about this or that, only to stop dead in his tracks when he remembered that the chamber was empty, that Orophin was no more.
Was this all there was to life? Would he have to live for the next millennia now with this horrible pain? He could not bear it, and he knew it. He, Rúmil and Haldir had become a unity, sworn to each other in shared pain over the loss of their loved one, and if it hadn't been for Orophin's brothers, Elladan would most probably have given up.
"Elladan?"
The young Elf looked up when he heard Erestor's soft voice, and looked up to face him.
"Elladan, I am most sorry to disturb you in this hour of solitude, but here is somebody to see you."
Elladan got up, and saw the Galadhrim who stood behind the advisor. He wore the colours of Lothlórien, and from his braids, he could tell that the stranger had a high rank among his people.
"My lord – my name is Turmíl. I served with Orophin in the Battle of Tíngel."
He stepped forward, and bowed. Elladan mirrored the motion, then he nodded at Erestor, who turned and left the two alone, followed by Glorfunkle, who soon caught up with him, landing on his shoulder.
"You were his captain," Elladan stated, and the other nodded.
"That I was, my lord – but I was also his friend. I hope you can forgive me my intrusion, but I and my kin will sail west soon. He was my friend, and I owe him my life, so I wanted to honour his memory before I leave."
There it was again, the bitter lump in his throat, but Elladan swallowed it down.
"There is no need to apologize, Master Turmíl. It is good to see he is missed by so many."
Elladan knelt down beside the memorial and brushed off some dry leaves, then he polished Tirith, Orophin's blade, which was set into the stone, with his sleeve.
"I am sorry I never saw him wield this blade. It is a wonderful weapon, worthy of its master."
Turmíl nodded.
"This is true. He was a great, fearless warrior, and he has fought bravely."
Elladan could not help it; certainly it was unworthy for the Heir of Imladris to cry in front of a stranger, but there was nothing he could do.
"One day one must run out of tears, or not? Life does go on, or so everybody tells me, but it is not the same life that I had before. It is a lesser life. It is an existence."
Turmíl rested his hand on the young Elf's shoulder.
"My lord – you will do him the greatest honour if you enjoy life again. Laugh, love – your beloved would have wanted you to be happy, not to fade away from grief."
Elladan didn't say anything to this, and for a long while, the two Elves just stood in front of the memorial without speaking, each lost in his own thoughts.
"I must leave now, my lord – I thank you for allowing me to bid my farewells and my respect."
"There is nothing to thank me for, Master Turmíl. I wish you a safe journey, and may the Valar look after you and your family."
Both Elves bowed, and Turmíl followed the small path back to the house.
Elladan sighed, then he, too, returned to the Last Homely House, preparing for another night full of nightmares.
* * *
The spring days were warm, but still, the night air was chilly, so Elrond sat in his favourite chair, holding a glass of Miruvor and staring into the fire. He had been mourning Orophin, of course he had, but even more so, grieved over his son's pain. Elladan was walking through the Last Homely House like a shadow, and nothing Elrond or anybody else said could drag the young one out of his pain. He was deeply worried that his son might fade. Elrond chided himself for underestimating the love between Elladan and Orophin, he had not taken it seriously, or not seriously enough, and had brushed it aside as a fancy. Only when he had seen his grief stricken son clawing at Orophin's body, cursing the Valar and begging Mandos to call him, too, had Elrond realized how very deep Elladan's feelings were.
He sighed. Maybe he was not as good a father to Elladan as he had thought. Even now, he couldn't do anything for Elladan, who mourned in silence and refused to talk to him about the things that had happened. He would not even talk to Elrohir.
"Do you find it hard to sleep, mellon?" a soft voice behind him asked.
"Celeborn - no, sleep fails me tonight."
He gestured to the chair next to his, and Celeborn settled down.
For a while, both Elven lords watched the play of the flames, until Elrond broke the silence.
"I am deeply worried about Elladan. Grief is eating him up, and I do not seem to be able to reach him. I am afraid I have failed as a father - I should have noticed earlier how close to his heart Orophin had grown."
Celeborn turned his own glass in his hands.
"Do not blame yourself, Elrond. Some things... they just happen, without anybody's doing. We all failed - I should never have allowed the situation in Tíngel Forest to escalate the way it did, Galadriel should not have sent him there in the first place and - ai, Elrond, there are so many 'if’s', but does it help us? I doubt it."
Elrond shrugged.
"Orophin served my family for many years," he finally said, staring into the fire. "He saved the lives of my children, he guarded them well - to the end. But still, I did not know him. He always kept to himself, he never talked about his family. But he won my son's love."
Celeborn, despite his pain, smiled.
"Oh, he was a wild child, Elrond. Now that he is dead, I can tell you, for while he yet lived, I was sworn to secrecy. I actually got him out of prison and brought him to the Golden Wood."
Elrond cocked an eyebrow.
"Prison? How does an Elf end up in a prison?"
"I doubt he was an Elf back then. He was stolen as a child, and sold into slavery. The first 70 or 80 years of his life, he spent as a slave in a blacksmith's workshop."
"A slave? Who would dare to take an Elf as a slave?" Elrond cried out angered by the mere thought.
Celeborn took another sip of the sweet and potent wine.
"The ways of the mortals are different from ours, mellon-nîn."
"And, pray tell, Celeborn - why was he in prison?"
Celeborn laughed silently, thinking back of the dirty, skinny Elfling he had found in that dungeon.
"He was a thief. And he injured two guards who caught him, or so I was told."
"A thief? Orophin?"
"Aye, a thief. A profession he did not give up lightly, I assure you. Amrun and Mya had a hard time teaching him some manners. Once, he even stole my horse - at least he tried to, but the beast threw him off, of course."
Elrond shook his head.
"So my son was in love with a former slave and horse thief?"
Celeborn nodded.
"Does it matter, Elrond? Could Elladan have made a better choice?"
Elrond thought about it, then he shook his head.
"No. I do not think so."
"Then we agree."
The lords sat together in silence again, until Celeborn noticed Elrond was staring at the life-sized painting of Celebrian which hung over the fireplace.
"She was a wonderful daughter, and I think she would be very proud of her husband and her sons." Celeborn finally said, looking at Elrond, who whirled the wine in his glass.
"Yes, she was a star among our people. And yet, she could swear like a Gondorian soldier!" he continued, glancing at Elrond, who had to smile, despite his worries.
"Oh yes, indeed she could! She had a fiery temper, and she knew tales that made even Glorfindel blush."
Celeborn grinned.
"Of course – she heard them all from me."
He raised his glass to the painting.
"To Celebrian, the best daughter an Elf could have, and to her quick wit."
Now Elrond lifted his glass as well.
"To Celebrian, my dearest wife, who never forced me to sleep on the sofa in all our years of marriage."
Celeborn grinned.
"To Celebrian, and her outrageous fashion sense."
Elrond rolled his eyes.
"To Celebrian, and her experimental cookery."
Celeborn turned to Elrond, a wicked glimmer in his eyes, and raised his glass to the other Elf.
"And to Celebrian - who had impeccable taste when it came to choosing a mate."
The Lord of Rivendell blushed, and cursed himself for it.
"You say that now, Celeborn," he muttered, "but I remember quite vividly one Elf who lamented and shouted, announcing he would rather marry his daughter off to a Dwarf than a peredhel, and who only turned up at the wedding because his wife gave him a sleeping draught and had him carried there."
The blond Elf waved his hand dismissively at Elrond.
"Ai, Elrond – these are old tales, almost as old as Glorfindel's Balrog-story. I have come to appreciate you over the years."
Celeborn glanced at Elrond, then he put the glass on the chair's armrest, got up and walked over to the Elven lord.
"As a matter of fact, dear Elrond, I have come to appreciate you very much over the years."
With that, he bowed down to Elrond, who stared at him like a rabbit facing a snake, and gently kissed him.
Before Elrond could say or do anything, a deafening noise made the books jump in their shelves, and both Elven lords looked up, startled.
The portrait of Gil-galad had fallen off the wall.
* * *
"Amaris! Have you seen this?" the warrior howled, gesturing at the palantir.
"Indeed Sire," replied the Elf with the golden hair who sat opposite him, concentrating on a game of chess, "you just lost your queen."
"That is not what I was talking about!"
"That might very well be, Sire, but you still lost the game. Check."
"The game, the game - Celeborn is after Elrond!"
"Yes, Sire. Most inconvenient. And mate."
"Inconvenient? That is the understatement of the age! This is an outrageous insult! An intolerable act of provocation!"
"Yes, Sire. I fully agree."
"So, what are we going to do about it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You do NOT expect me to sit here and scratch my backside while that Lothlórien trollop tries to weasel his way into Elrond's bedchamber, now do you!"
"No, Sire. Of course not. This would, in any case, be a most unsuitable alliance."
"Most unsuitable."
"However, I would recommend that you do not react too impulsively, Sire."
"Who - me? Have I ever been impulsive, Amaris?"
"No, Sire. Not within the last ten seconds."
"Are you being ironic now?"
"Possibly."
"One of these days, Amaris, I shall find myself another advisor."
"Feel free to release me from your services, Sire."
"The Mordor I will. I am used to you. This aside, it annoys Oropher."
"You are too kind, Sire."
"I know. However, I wish to let you know that I have decided it is time to leave this homely place."
"Sire – with all due respect, we cannot leave."
"And why not?"
"First because we are not allowed to and second because we are dead."
"This is an impediment, but no reason."
"As you say, Sire. But you are aware that your fëa will be reborn as a dung beetle if Mandos should find out."
"Dung beetles are highly intelligent animals, dear Amaris. We will leave this afternoon, when he is busy registering the new arrivals."
"But Sire - you cannot just step through the gate without permission - it is against all rules!"
"Rules are there to be ignored. But if you are afraid, you are most welcome to stay here."
"I am not afraid. I merely regard it as my duty to inform you of the risks. I am your advisor."
"I know, I know. So, are you joining me or staying behind?"
"My place is by your side, my liege. This aside, my sympathies for Lord Celeborn have always been mild at best."
"So we have an agreement then?"
"Indeed, Sire."
"Good. And - Amaris?"
"Yes, Sire?"
"I think this here would be a nice souvenir to take along from the Halls of Mandos."
"That? Are you sure?"
"Would I have suggested it otherwise?"
"Yes."
"Note my words, Amaris: when you turn up for festivities uninvited, you will be more welcome if you bring a present."
"In any case this is better than this tasteless statue you gave King Oropher for his begetting day, Sire. The one with the naked nymphs."
"I like naked nymphs."
"You like anything naked. You were the reasons we started to wear clothes in the first place. Before you came to our realm, we were a happy bunch of frolicking, naked Woodland Elves."
"One day, you will be my death, Amaris."
"May I remind you, Sire, that you have already been mine?"
"Very funny, Amaris."
"Mirkwood humour, Sire. We are a merry lot."
* * *
"My dear Glorfindel, you look very tired", Elrond remarked when he sat down beside the warrior in the grass. The warrior had circles under his eyes that would have done a Shire-raccoon honour.
"Tired? I am not tired. I am exhausted. Worn out. Wrung dry." Glorfindel moaned, and flopped back on the blanket he had spread out in the grass.
Alarmed, Elrond checked his friend's face for signs of illness.
"Are you ill? Is there something I can do?"
Glorfindel chuckled.
"Yes, there is. Can Erestor sleep in your chamber for two weeks?"
Elrond's eyebrows marched towards his hairline upon hearing this outrageous demand.
"Are you running a fever?"
"Me? No. If anybody runs a fever, then it is Erestor. It is the same fever he ran last year, but this year he runs a temperature which threatens to burn me."
"Oh." Elrond said, which was not much, but covered all there was to say. "It is that time of the year again."
"Yes," Glorfindel sighed, "it is that time of the year. Mind you, not that I would complain – Erestor is the fairest being I ever knew, but… Estorel!! Stop chasing that butterfly!"
The Elfling, who had crawled for at least ten minutes in the grass, heading for a butterfly in a hopeless attempt to catch the fragile being, stopped, alas too quickly, doubled over and landed flat on his nose. The following dramatic howl had the quality of a Ring Wraith's cry, and both Elves covered their ears.
"Estorel, stop it already!"
Glorfindel got up, and walked swiftly over to his son, picking the child up. Estorel looked definitely sulky.
"He almost had him," Bramble said, and stared accusingly at Glorfindel.
"You two are not supposed to catch butterflies, darling. Would you not rather have them flying to brighten up your day? They cannot do so if you hunt them."
"But Sia said it is good to start with butterflies."
"Oh yes, and here we go again", Fin sighed, finding the ever-present Rabbit-hero-worship among Rivendell's youth increasingly tiring. "And if Sia tells you to jump off a bridge you would do it, too?"
Bramble looked at Fin, then she seriously said: "Yes."
Elrond laughed.
"I cannot wait till Estorel comes of age, I predict years and years of boundless delight and torture!"
Fin produced a grimace faintly looking like a smile.
"Have you seen Erestor?" he asked the girl, and she pointed in the direction of the cave she lived in with her parents, Haldir and Rabbit.
"He talks to Sia. "
"And what is it they talk about?" Fin asked.
Bramble frowned, then she tried hard to remember what the odd subject of the discussion had been.
"Erestor is on heat."
Elrond howled with laughter, literally rolling in the grass, which earned him an evil glare from Glorfindel.
"This is so not funny, Elrond. You have no idea what - demands I have to fill. From dusk till dawn... ai, you have no idea." Glorfindel groaned, shaking his head.
"Now look, dear friend – why do you not simply give in and have another child? You could sleep again at night, and the sofa in the library would not become more worn out than it already is."
"Elrond!" Fin protested, "not in front of the child! And this aside, we have never done it on the sofa."
"Oh – you have not? But Melpomaen said…"
"Melpomaen can call himself lucky if he manages to tell his backside from his elbow, my lord. I know with absolute certainty that we have never done anything on the sofa in the library."
"No?"
"No. We used your desk."
* * *
The Elves were riding through the streets of Rivendell. The blacksmith, who had stepped out of his workshop for a short break and a breath of fresh air, saw that they must have come a very long way, for they were covered in the dust of the road. Their faces were half covered by the hoods of their cloaks which protected them against the light spring rain. He had never seen them before, so he reckoned that they must have come from another realm - Woodland Elves, maybe.
The horses halted in front of him, and a tall, impressive Elf with blue eyes bowed respectfully in front of the blacksmith.
"Mae govannen, Master Blacksmith, how delightful to meet a friendly face on this wonderful mild spring evening. Pray tell, could you lead us the way to the Last Homely House? As much as I appreciate sunshine in its liquid form, I would not mind getting into the warmth and dry."
The blacksmith answered the greeting, then he scratched his neck.
"Are you coming to see Lord Elrond? 't is a bad time, my friends - the House of Elrond is in mourning. Do you bring bad tidings for our dear lord?"
"On the contrary, my friend, on the contrary. We bring very good tidings," the Elf answered, while the one with the golden hair riding to his right snorted.
"Good tidings are surely most welcome and needed in these dark days," the blacksmith sighed, thinking of the young lord's sad eyes. "Just ride up this street, there is an aromatherapy shop on the right, and directly opposite, you will find the Last Homely House."
"I thank you, my friend", the Elf said, then they directed their horses up the street.
Before they entered the courtyard, the tall Elf halted his horse.
""Nice place Elrond has set up here, Amaris."
The blond tried to brush off some of the travel dust from his cloak, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a muddy puddle on the way.
"Aye, Sire. Charming little realm.
"Please do not get overly enthusiastic."
Another snort from under the hood, and more frantic brushing.
By now, two guardians had emerged from the depths of the bushes, bows lowered, but still alert.
"Be welcome to Imladris, friends. Tell us your names, and what it is you desire."
The tall Elf bowed his head.
"Mae govannen, my friends. I am a weary traveller from a far-away land, and I bring tidings for Lord Elrond who, so I was told, resides within these walls."
The guardian looked him over, saw that he didn't carry any weapons and found him to be harmless.
"You can leave your horses here, the stable grooms will take care of them."
The travellers got off their horses, and quickly, a servant came to take the reins of their mounts, leading them away. In the meantime, one of the guardians went inside to announce the visitors, and soon after, Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir turned up to bid them welcome as was proper, curious to learn who these unannounced visitors might be.
They walked slowly towards the stairs leading to the entrance. At first, Elrond couldn't see their faces, as they were too far away.
"I wonder what tidings they may bring, my lord," Erestor said, and squeezed his eyes to see better.
"Me too," Elrond answered, and he shaded his eyes, for right this moment, the sun broke her way through the clouds again.
Now they were within sight, and Elrond shook his head. What foul trick did the light play here?
The tall Elf pushed his hood back, and a mass of dark hair fell down over his shoulders, the sunlight accentuating a slight tint of red in the dark tresses.
Elrond stared. He just stood there and stared, mouth half open, face drained of all colour. Not a word left his lips.
"Ada, what is wrong? Ada?" Elladan asked, tugging on Elrond's sleeve, worried about his father's odd behaviour, but Elrond didn't react, he just continued staring.
"Rather enthusiastic welcome, now is it not, Amaris," the dark haired Elf said, turning to his companion.
"Indeed, Sire. It is bordering upon hysteria," came the dry reply from the Elf to his left, who had pushed his hood back, too, and showed a mass of golden hair. He still fiddled with his sleeve and muttered some decidedly unfriendly words.
There was a third Elf, still hidden by the hood, who did not come closer, but swayed, as if he was not sure on his feet. Elladan, though still worried about his father, looked at him with the eyes of a healer.
"Is your friend ill? Shall I care for him?" he asked, without taking his eyes from the still figure.
The dark elf rubbed his chin.
"Oh, penneth, this seems to be a most excellent idea, do you not agree, Amaris?"
"Splendid idea, Sire. I would even go as far as saying: brilliant."
Elladan stepped down the stairs, and he passed the tall Elf, who was walking towards Elrond. Once he stood in front of the Lord of Imladris, he gave him a blinding smile.
"Still easily distracted, now are you not, my dear. Ah well. I just take it you are happy to see me again."
With that, he took Elrond's face between his hands, and pressed a wet, firm and loud kiss on his lips.
Elrond blinked.
"Ereinion..." he stuttered, not able to believe what he was seeing.
"Gil-galad?!?" Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrohir called out in chorus.
"These Elves have a very quick way of thinking, dear Amaris."
"Indeed. Remarkable, Sire," the golden-haired Elf answered, now dusting his coat off.
Elladan had not really taken notice of the commotion behind him; there was a patient, and he was grateful for anything that would take his mind off his pain, even if only for a short time.
"I am Elladan, the son of Elrond," he said, approaching the still figure, "I am a healer, so if you are injured, I will try to help you."
The Elf shook his head once, then again, as if to get rid of a strange noise in his ears, or perhaps in disbelief. Finally, he reached up to the hood of his cloak, and slowly let it slip from his face.
Elladan hid his face behind his hands. What a cruel trick of nature! For a moment, he had thought...
Gentle hands reached for his, pulling them away from his face, and he looked into a pair of eyes he had thought never to see again.
"Elladan - I have missed you so very, very much," the Elf said, his voice trembling. A second later, Elladan felt how strong arms embraced him, and only now did he believe what was happening here. He didn't ask any questions, he just buried his face in the mass of silver blond hair, and all the tears held back these long, long months were flowing now, soaking the cloak of the other, while gentle hands stroked his hair.
"Orophin," he whispered, "dear, dear Orophin."
Behind him, he heard the amused voice of the tall Elf.
"Good to see you appreciate our souvenir from Mandos. Now Elladan - if you are finished with the welcome-back ceremony, you might wish to care for your father. I am afraid he has fainted."
* * *
tbc
* * *
Author's notes: for the first time, I got more feedback than I could answer. I eventually will, I promise, but judging from the contents of the mails I got I decided that you probably preferred me to bring this chapter here online rather than answering mails.
Many asked why I had to let Orophin die in the first place – though my cherished readers knew all along that he would be back, many thought it was not necessary to put poor Elladan through so much heartache.
Now, my take on this is the following: this is an alternative universe – very alternative! Here, the twins did not rescue their mother from the Orcs; they lost her when they were still toddlers, so they never really consciously experienced the loss of a loved one (which does not mean they wouldn't miss their mother).
I think this experience will be highly important for Elladan's growing-up process. Losses are part of our lives, and Elves are no exceptions there.
I was positively surprised to get so much nice feedback on Mandos. Again, this is an alternative universe, and here he IS the middle-earth equivalent to the Grim Reaper. Does he gloat over the good "harvest" because he is happy to see Elves die? No. He is happy because he did a good job. The Halls of Waiting are neither Heaven nor Hell as we (think to) know it. It's a place where the soul of an Elf waits to be reborn, which, from Mandos' point of view, is an act of purification: the reborn soul is improved and pure. So why should it be bad to die? Remember: the Elves refer to mortality as "a gift".
You will be pleased to hear that Mandos will be back – he will actually be very much back in the sequel to "The Knave".
Only two more chapters to go – stay tuned, I know you can do it!