FINDING NÁMO
Overall rating: yellow/orange
Category: slash (two male Elves in love), romance, drama, ANGST, h/c, humour.
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel, Orophin/Elladan, Elrohir/Námo, Elrond/Gil-galad, Gil-galad/Amaris, Celeborn/Melpomaen, Haldir/Rabbit, Rúmil/Galadriel and more
Warnings: mpreg, Angst - and we have scruffy Legolas, if this needs a warning.
Beta: Miss Eveiya
Summary: "Finding Námo" is the sequel to "The Knave", and I recommend that you read "The Knave" and "The Tw-Elf Days of Yule" first, otherwise some aspects of this story will be confusing.
Author's notes: if you get the feeling that you've seen part of this chapter here before: you have. Parts of it were published in the Yuletide Tales; those who headed the spoiler warnings very likely never read those parts, though.
I'd like to thank all of you for your great patience; this must be one of the longest WIP's in the history of Elfslash, heh! Very special thanks go out to Eveiya, my beta. I can't put into words how much she's done for me, how much time she's dedicated to "Finding Námo" and my assorted other writings. Once we meet up, we'll both get really plastered, my dear. Yo!
CHAPTER 17
"There he goes," Gil-galad stated.
"Good thing you pointed it out to me, I would not have noticed."
Gil decided that this was not the right moment for one of their daily squabbles. This aside, he wanted to watch Elrond for as long as possible. The Lord of Imladris and Elcallon crossed the bridge, then disappeared into the forest.
Amaris came to stand by Gil-galad's side, looking out of the window. Imladris would not be the same without Elrond's calming presence. There would be arguments galore, and not everybody would suffer Elrohir gladly as interim Master of the Last Homely House. More than one advisor and council member had protested that Elladan, the older, should look after Imladris during Elrond's absence.
But this was the way Elladan wanted it. He had always known he was a healer, not a statesman. He lacked the diplomatic skills for that, while Elrohir could charm Dwarf lords out of their armour. Elrohir was wiser, knew more about the history of his people, and unlike Elladan, he had inherited some of his father's gift of foresight.
So they had agreed after long discussions and arguments that Elladan would look after the House of Healing, while Elrohir would care for Imladris. Elrohir was nervous about this task, but he knew that Erestor and Glorfindel would be by his side.
"Two years. That should not count for much if you are immortal, yet I feel as if he would be gone for two ages," Gil-galad said.
Amaris frowned.
"You will miss him," he stated.
"I will, very much, actually. He is one of the few things that connect me with my former life."
Amaris turned away.
"Good thing you found him again then," he said, "considering there is nobody else here in Imladris who was part of your old life. And now please excuse me, I have an appointment with Glorfindel on the training grounds."
Gil noticed the sharp edge to Amaris' voice well, and he held him back by the arm.
"Amaris – you know that you hold my heart. There is no need for jealousy."
Amaris spun around and folded his arms over his chest.
"With all due respect, Sire – I wish to leave. I do not want to drink from Elrond's glasses anymore, eat from his plates or make love to you in one of Elrond's bloody guest beds!"
"But they are very comfortable," Gil-galad protested, ducking just in time to avoid the vase Amaris threw at him. He even managed to catch it in full flight, placing it carefully on a side table.
"Amaris, you really should not break Elrond's vases."
"Do you know what you can do with Elrond's vase?" Amaris yelled.
Gil-galad nodded.
"Yes. But I do not think he would like it. But now in all seriousness – what is wrong?"
Amaris began to pace up and down the room.
"I feel useless, Ereinion. Absolutely useless. You and I are anachronisms. We were warriors living in a warrior's time, and now we sit here in Imladris, watching the flowers grow. There is no purpose for us."
Gil-galad, who had secretly felt the same, stopped Amaris' restless pacing and took him in his arms.
"It is my fault. We should not be here. But as this cannot be changed – what do you suggest?"
"I want to go home."
Gil-galad swallowed hard.
"Home as in – Mirkwood? As in spiders, poisonous plants, gossiping trees and batty king?"
Amaris nodded and gave him a blinding smile.
"Well Amaris, if this is what makes you happy, then I shall follow you. But do you not think that Thranduil the Exceptional and Impressive, Most Splendid and Feared Ruler of Mirkwood, King by the Valar's Grace, Ruler of 2000 Years, Shining Star of Greenwood The Green, Fairest of all Elven Lords, Light of the Dark Ages, Son of Oropher the magnificent, etc. etc. etc. might have certain objections? I fear that the very moment I set foot on his realm, a war should break out."
Amaris grinned.
"Do not worry, Sire. Now that he has Nonfindel for comparison, he would even welcome Sauron himself with open arms."
* * *
"My master wishes to speak to you."
As usual, no "please" was attached to this statement, and though Fëanor did not have the slightest wish to see Námo, he put his book aside and stood up.
Being called to Námo's office usually meant trouble. He would probably be informed that another one of his former enemies had arrived, and that he had better stay away from the Great Hall for a couple of weeks. Or months. Or, in some cases, years.
Fëanor did not mind. He did not care for company, and was heartily tired of hostile glares following him where ever he went. Nobody could hold grudges like Elves! Not even Dwarves.
Admittedly, they all had good reason to hate him. Looking back at his life, there were many things he would have done differently, but he could not undo his deeds.
He watched the back of Námo's servant. They all looked the same; black-haired, pale shadows, walking without a sound and never showing any emotion. Fëanor wondered what they really were, for he was quite sure that what he saw here was only a form they had taken to ...
He had not seen the doomsman of the Valar for a long time. Come to think of it, nobody had seen him for a lengthy period, which was rather peculiar. The servant knocked and opened the door, beckoning Fëanor to enter. He looked up at the many shelves, reaching up so high that he could not see their end. Some said that the dusty tomes held the history of every Elf that had ever lived. Fëanor wondered what his book must look like if that was true. Probably black, bound in wargskin, with a note attached that it should not be handed out to Elflings and those of a nervous disposition.
Fëanor had expected to find Námo behind his desk, writing or reading as usual, but the Vala stood by the window, overlooking the sea.
"Your time has come," Námo said, without turning around to his visitor. "You will return to Arda."
"What?"
Fëanor took a step back.
"I do not wish to return! What would I do there? Hide for all eternities from those who wish to see my head on a pike?"
Námo pushed the curtain a little further to the side and opened the window. The cool, salty seabreeze filled the room, chasing away the dust and the stale air. A scent of nutmeg mingled with the fresh air, and Fëanor heard Námo take in a deep breath.
This was odd. Námo never breathed, so why did he do it now?
"Your wishes are irrelevant. And do not fear, you will not return as you were. You shall be reborn, and will not remember your former life. This is my blessing to you."
Fëanor's head spun.
"Reborn? Where to? And in what form? As a dung beetle? Earthworm?"
Námo chuckled. Hearing this sound from the stern Vala confused Fëanor completely. Breathing, chuckling - what would come next? Smiling? All this was unheard of!
"Dung beetle? Ah no, no, I do not think it would be wise to reunite you with your friends yet. I was more thinking along the lines of an Elf. You will be reborn the son of a great Elven lord, and I would be grateful if you could avoid any kind of oaths this time. Do you think you can manage?"
"I do not wish to be reborn!"
"How unfortunate, for you do not have a choice. And now you may leave."
Fëanor wanted to protest again, but everything went black and he lost consciousness.
* * *
It had been a good Yule Eve, Elrohir decided, despite his father's absence. The cook had outdone himself and prepared a meal worthy of a king. Glorfindel, with Estorel perched on his lap, had told the most hilarious tales, making everybody laugh. Even Erestor, holding tiny Lórindel, had smiled all evening long. The infant pulled faces which Glorfindel, the proud father, declared to be expressions of amusement. Erestor, however, told him that it was rather a case of constipation.
Elrohir had been surrounded by smiling, happy faces, by couples wishing each other a merry Yuletide, hugging and kissing. He had envied neither Glorfindel kissing Erestor, nor Orophin taking Elladan's hand and squeezing it while Lindir sang traditional tunes of a merry Yule. Two cases of wine had arrived from Mirkwood, a present from Gil-galad and Amaris. Elrohir missed them sorely, but they all deserved happiness, and he had had a smile on his face all evening long.
But now, back in his chambers, this smile disappeared. It was cold there, and lonely. One floor down, Orophin was probably unravelling Elladan's braids as they celebrated Yule Eve in their own, private way.
Like one who picks at a scab to see if the wound underneath has healed, Elrohir thought of Orophin as Elladan's husband to see if the thought still hurt. It did not. So he should be happy now, should he not?
Elrohir sighed and began to undress. He should really stop thinking of Námo and the strange dream he connected with him. He and everybody else in Middle-earth had probably been nothing but a brief distraction for the spiritual being. Elrohir did not blame him, for what use could a Vala have for a mere Elf?
A quick wash in the bathing chamber, then Elrohir slipped between the sheets. He listened to the many sounds which filled the Last Homely House despite the late hour: a door closing; the roof groaning under its heavy load of snow. These were comforting, familiar sounds, and so Elrohir, despite his melancholic mood, fell asleep very quickly.
He dreamt of a sunny meadow, laughing children and Námo, sitting on a stone and watching him, Elrohir, bathing in the Bruínen. How upset had he been back then with his uninvited watcher, and how he missed him now!
Elrohir woke up, and it took him a moment to adjust. What a realistic dream! Looking out of the window, he could see the thick curtain of snowflakes, in the first dim light of the early morning. And yet, he still had the scent of summer flowers in his nose, and the memory of Námo's smile.
Sighing, he pulled the covers up over his shoulder, and tried to fall asleep again, until he heard the unexpected but unmistakeable sound of somebody eating.
Had a snake slipped into his bed, Elrohir would not have sat up faster.
"These almond pastries are delicious," Námo said in a conversational tone, "especially if you dip them in wine first. Have you ever tried it? Most interesting. I wonder what they would taste like with mustard."
Elrohir did not answer, just stared at Námo. He wore his usual garb, black leather and velvet, and was spread out elegantly on the other side of the bed, licking his long fingers clean. He smiled at Elrohir, showing two rows of white, sharp teeth.
"You do not happen to have any mustard here, do you?"
Elrohir pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Mustard?"
"Yes. But do not worry; I can try to find some tomorrow. I am curious to see how mustard would taste with grapes."
The thought of grapes with mustard alone made Elrohir's stomach turn, not to mention the shock of Námo's visit. The Vala put the plate aside, and with a movement faster than Elrohir's eyes could catch, he rolled onto the young Elf, pressing him down into the mattress.
"I would have expected more enthusiasm about my return, young one. Would you rather I left again?"
Elrohir closed his eyes for a moment. Námo was a very solid weight, and the Vala was tugging playfully on Elrohir's earlobe with his teeth.
"Your appearances have never hurt, but your departures did. I am not a toy, Námo, here for you to play with and throw away the next day."
Námo frowned.
"Who is speaking of departures? I have no intention of leaving."
Elrohir's eyes grew as wide as saucers.
"No?"
Námo shook his head, then he slowly licked Elrohir's neck, leaving a wet trail from his collarbone to his ear.
"Eru in his eternal wisdom has decided it is better that I cause confusion among the Firstborn than among the Vala for the time being. And who am I to argue with Eru? I hope you do not mind if I stay here."
Elrohir would have loved to answer, but Námo kissed him, so he could not speak. He was too busy exploring his lover's mouth and in between times trying to catch his breath. Námo was not one of the sweet, gentle lovers Elrohir was used to. He was demanding in his love, and there was no doubt about who led this encounter. But Elrohir was more than happy to follow him. The feeling of soft leather on his skin almost drove him insane, and he groaned with disappointment when Námo rolled off him, a wicked grin on his face.
"You do not seem to mind, I see."
"I have dreamt of this," Elrohir whispered. "I have been looking for you, in every tree, in the depths of the Bruínen. You took a part of me with you when you left."
"I dare say that this statement is very true. Your search for Námo is over now, Elrohir. You have found me."
The Vala chuckled, raking his fingernails over Elrohir's groin. He seemed very pleased with the reaction this caused.
"I see you are enjoying yourself, young one. But this will have to wait, as I have not come alone."
Námo clapped his hands and a large basket appeared on the bed. Elrohir jumped, and moved away from it when he realised that the basket was moving.
Námo rolled his eyes.
"No, I have not brought snakes or dragons with me, young one. Come and see for yourself."
Elrohir swallowed hard, but he obeyed.
It was a large wicker basket, and the wriggling contents were covered with a blanket of dark red velvet. Elrohir looked to Námo, who gave him an encouraging smile. So Elrohir reached out swallowed hard and pulled the cover away.
Elrohir was prepared for snakes, Wargs or even puppies, but not for the two most beautiful babies he had ever seen. Granted, his experience of Elflings was limited, but these children were perfect. Tiny fists pressed against their mouths, the little boys slept peacefully. Soft black hair covered their heads, and Elrohir was fascinated by the tiny, leaf-shaped ears.
He reached out to touch the Elfling closest to him, whose slate eyes were half covered in reverie, but hesitated.
"This is Elvoron," Námo explained, "the older of the twins. He will have the body of a warrior, the hands of an artist and the attention span of a butterfly. Do touch him; he will not bite you - yet. He has no teeth."
Elrohir rested his hand on the Elfling's tummy, and was amazed at how large it looked against the tiny body. Elvoron did not move, but his brother began to stir, and opened his eyes fully. Tiny hands began to reach out, and the Elfling gave a mewling sound.
Elrohir frowned. The eyes of the child looked veiled, as if hidden behind a curtain.
"They are twins, born within the same day, Elrohir," Námo explained. "He is the younger one, called Ellón, for the darkness is always with him."
"What do you mean by that?"
Námo sighed.
"His fëa refused to re-enter this world. There were complications, and when he finally was born, his eyes could not see."
Elrohir stared at Námo in horror.
"He is blind? This is terrible! How will he manage in life?"
Námo looked down at Ellón, and stroked the fine, dark hair on his head. Immediately, the Elfling's head turned to him.
"The Firstborn are full of miracles. He will learn to use his ears and nose better than any other, and become a skilled fighter and feared warrior. But there are limits to what he can do, and so his heart is often full of shadows."
Ellón had finally found Elrohir's hand and was now clinging to his index finger with remarkable strength. Then he let go and tiny arms reached out for Elrohir, a silent demand to be picked up and cuddled.
"It will be difficult for his parents to raise him," Elrohir said.
"We will do remarkably well," Námo answered.
Elrohir stared at Námo.
Then he stared at the Elflings.
A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and the enormity of Námo's words began to sink in. He felt like running, screaming, crying, laughing, all at the same time. But in the end, Elrohir followed his heart.
He reached out and took his son in his arms.
* * *
THE END (YIPPIEH!!!)
No, wait... there is an epilogue!
<- Back to chapter 16 Forward to epilogue