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 Zimraphel and Feronil
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. This was one of the Yuletide Tales. If you've headed the spoiler warnings, you've never seen it, though.
THE EPILOGUE - "THE FADING KING"
Many, many years after the happenings in the last chapter of Finding Námo, the day before Yule in Minas Tirith...
* * *
Rúmil stood by the window and took in a deep breath of the cold wither air. Lothlórien was scented with Yule. There was laughter in the air, merriment, and behind him, his wife and son were decorating the Yule tree. It was a wonderful, peaceful evening, and of course he could count on his wife to ruin the mood.
"Estel is ill. We will leave for Minas Tirith," Galadriel said, and cut off the thread which she had used to fix a gold-painted apple to the Yule tree. She might as well have said "the cookies are in the oven" or "the weather is nice." Celon, her oldest son, looked at her with big eyes, while Rúmil, being used to his wife's ways, neither asked why nor what, but "When?"
"Tomorrow," she replied.
"Very well, I will ask the Eagles for their help."
"Thank you, my beloved." Galadriel pressed a soft kiss on Rúmil's cheek. "I knew I could count on you."
"Of course you can. And while I am at it, I will see to it that we will have a crane to lift you onto the Eagle, my dear."
Galadriel, heavily pregnant with their second child, bestowed a scathing look on her husband. Alas, after 115 years of marriage, scathing looks and disapproving glares bounced off the lord of Lothlórien like water off a duck's back.
"May I come with you as well, nana? Ada? I am old enough, and I do not want to be alone on Yule," Celon said. Galadriel and Rúmil looked at each other, then Rúmil nodded.
"You may. Just make sure you are out of the way when your mother gets sick on the Eagle."
Galadriel poked her tongue at Rúmil, Rúmil poked his tongue at Galadriel, and Celon, not for the first time, thought to himself that his parents were rather silly for a lord and a lady.
* * *
Arwen's grief had been so strong that Galadriel had been able to feel it in Lothlórien. Her pain had been like a grey shadow covering her soul, and now, that the Eagles landed outside the gates of Minas Tirith, sadness and pain towered in front of her like a thick wall.
"You were right, nana," Celon said, "something is amiss here."
"Of course I am right," Galadriel replied, while Celon and Rúmil helped her descend the eagle. It was a complicated undertaking, for her pregnancy was already very much advanced.
"Your nana is always right. Even if she is not. That is one of the eternal laws of Lothlórien," Rúmil said, and winked at this son.
Galadriel whacked him playfully on the head.
The two soldiers guarding the gates of the White City bowed deeply when they recognised their noble visitors, and one of them offered immediately to lead the Elves to the palace. A brief look at Galadriel's bulging stomach let the man correctly assume that there was no way the lady would be able to walk up the seven levels to the palace, and so he went to fetch some means of transportation.
"I wonder why those silly Eagles did not land near the Citadel... I hope he will find something to transport nana," Celon worried, and his father nodded.
"With a bit of luck, they have a Mumak over left from the last battle," Rúmil said, "that would be the least we would need to move her."
Galadriel's mood did not improve in the least when she found herself on the back of a scruffy donkey cart. This would give Rúmil monition for teasing to last at least two Ages! So much for the impeccable manners of the men of Númenor...
Nobody could be seen on the usually busy streets of Minas Tirith. The market, buzzing with life on her last visit, lay abandoned and not even cats or dogs roamed the streets. Nothing resembled the merry Yule spirits they had found in Lothlórien, no decoration could be seen - it was as if Yule would not happen this year.
The whole city seemed to be petrified. <i>My worst fears must be true then,</i> Galadriel thought, and her heart grew heavy with sadness.
Celon, as about as discreet and diplomatic as his father, tapped the shoulder of the soldier who led the donkey.
"Pray tell, my friend, how are things with the king? Is he going to die?"
The sad look in the man's face was answer enough. He nodded.
"Yes, young master. You've come at the right time; we fear he'll not live to see Yule. He handed over the Winged Crown to his son, and now he lies in his bed, surrounded by his family. It's terrible. Such a fine, wise king he was."
Rúmil and Celon looked in shock at Galadriel, whose face showed neither grief nor surprise, but grim determination.
"So it has come to pass," Galadriel said. "I am glad that I did not let my condition hold me back from coming here."
Father and son looked at each other. They knew that Galadriel was able to know and see things nobody else could, but they were mostly left in darkness about her thoughts. They also knew out of many years of experience that it was fruitless to ask. Galadriel would share her knowledge when she felt it was right to do so, and not a moment earlier.
When the small caravan finally arrived in front of the palace, the guards outside snapped to attention. The Elves thanked the soldier, who returned to his duty, and soon enough they saw Elboron approaching them. Dark shadows were under the man's eyes, and the lines in his face were far too deep for one of is age. The son of Faramir and Éowyn had lost his parents only a few years ago, and now his mentor and good friend was about to leave Arda as well.
"Well met, my lady and lords," he said, and bowed his head in greeting. "I am so very glad that you have come. Our dear queen is grieving, and has expressed many times that she misses her kin very much."
The steward of Gondor lead the way up many stairs, through long corridors, deep into the palace, until finally, they stood in front of a large door. Many of Gondor's dignitaries were waiting here to learn about the state of their king, but they immediately stepped aside when they saw the Elves approaching.
Elboron opened the door, and the small group entered a dark bedroom. The curtains were pulled close, and Celon wrinkled his nose at the scent of medicine in the air. Galadriel felt the urge to tear down the drapes and let air and sun in this room. This was like burying the king when he was still alive!
Eldarion and his sisters stood at the foot side of the large bed. When they noticed the visitors, they all came to hug their great-grandmother, her husband and their son, but it was a silent greeting, lacking all the happiness of previous family reunions.
Arwen did not stand up. She sat beside Estel, holding his hand. Once in a while, she bent over the still figure in the bed and pressed a kiss on the dry lips. She did not seem to notice the visitors, nor the family gathered in the royal bedchamber. All through the years, Estel had been the front and centre of her life; all her thoughts and emotions had revolved around him. Now, in his last hours on Arda, she did not only have to come to terms with the fact that her lover, her best friend, her dearly beloved husband, the father of her children and the companion of so many years would be gone forever.
She also did not have the comfort of a reunion in the afterlife, for his way was not hers, and what happened to mortals after their death only Eru knew.
Her children were all grown up, with families of their own. Eldarion would be a wise and just king, just like his father. Her work here was done. She would wait for her last relatives to sail West, and once the last Elf had left Lothlórien, she would return to the abandoned Golden Wood, lay down under a mallorn tree and fade away.
"You look pale, my lovely child," she suddenly heard her grandmother's voice. Surprised, Arwen looked up.
"Grand-nana!" she sobbed, and fell gratefully into Galadriel's comforting hug.
"There, there, no tears, my little one. I am here now, and I will see to it that everything comes to a good end."
Arwen cried on her shoulder. All the tears she had held back these last weeks for her family's sake were now flowing, and soon Galadriel's robe was soaked with tears and snot. The lady of Lothlórien had to smile, despite the sad occasion. For grandparents, their grandchildren would always stay Elflings, no matter how old they were. And quite obviously, grandchildren would never be too old to snot on robes.
When she felt that Arwen was calming and her sobbing died down, Galadriel pulled free of her granddaughter. Even with blurry eyes and a red nose Arwen was beautiful. What had Estel been thinking? Decide that now was the moment for him to die, after only a hundred years of marriage?
"Arwen, I want you to take the family, including the two I have brought along, and leave me and your husband alone for a short while. Go and have a Yule feast ordered worthy of a king, and send your children out to find a Yule tree. I want this place decorated for a merry holiday."
Arwen stared at her grandmother as if Galadriel had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"But grand-nana... I do not wish to leave him alone, I want to be here when he... when..." she sniffled, but Galadriel stroked her hair and gave her a reassuring smile.
"You have my word that Estel will not leave this world while you are away. Now go, child. Do as I you were told. This matter does not allow any delay."
"You have heard your grandmother. Now out, out, all of you, I am dying to see your latest needlework, Arwen," Rúmil said, and pulled a face.
There was no point trying to defy the united forces of Galadriel and Rúmil. Within a short time, Galadriel was alone with Estel.
She sat for a while and watched him. Still a handsome man, maybe now even more so than in his youth. The haunted expression on his face which she had known all through his young years was gone. He looked peaceful, healthy and he had also gained a few pounds here and there. But it suited him, and nobody expected the king to look for all eternity like he had in his Ranger days.
"Very well then," Galadriel finally said, got up and stretched. She rubbed the small of her back and groaned. Having children was great, but being pregnant was not. Even the most graceful of Elven ladies began to resemble cave trolls in the later stages of the pregnancy, and Galadriel was vain enough to loath looking into her mirror in the morning. Not a pretty sight! And all Rúmil's fault!
Well, at least she would have a daughter this time. Finally! How she had longed for having a little girl again all these centuries!
But she was not here to muse about her appearance or her future daughter. Galadriel went to the nearest window and pulled the heavy velvet curtains aside. A thick cloud of dust emerged from the drapes, and she had to sneeze. Quickly, she opened the window and took a deep breath of fresh air.
"Much better. I do not understand the mortal's needs of locking themselves away from sun and air in such a way," she said, and turned to Estel, who lay still, pale and silent in his bed.
Galadriel clapped her hands.
"Estel, it is time to get up," she said cheerfully.
No reaction from the man. She clapped again, and when this did not excite any reaction, she sat on the bedside and poked him in the shoulder.
Slowly, with great effort, Estel opened his eyes. It took a while for him to focus on his visitor, but when he realised who was sitting with him, he opened his mouth in surprise.
"Galadriel..." he whispered.
"Indeed. I am glad to see that some wit is left in this thick skull of yours. Now enough with the drama. Get out of that bed and dressed. You have caused enough grief to your family already. It is Yule. The feast is waiting."
Estel's eyes got wide upon hearing these words.
"Galadriel... I am... dying..." he protested with a weak voice.
Galadriel snorted.
"Nonsense. Nobody is going to die around here. What madness got into you, Estel? A man in his best age, lying down to die? Leaving his wife behind with no hope and comfort? Enough, I say! Get up now!"
Estel, who had already felt his soul pass over to the other world, managed to sit up. Galadriel went to the cupboard and gathered some clothes which she carried over to the bed.
"Here. Pull in your stomach and it should fit. I give you five minutes to get decent."
The king held the tunic in his hands, his face one big question mark.
"Galadriel - I am dying!" he said, his voice now clearer and rather insulted.
"No. You are not. No dying. No tomb. No last service. No weeping widow. You will sail West with Arwen within a fortnight, and I am sure my granddaughter would be grateful if you will wear something else but your nightshirt for this occasion."
Galadriel stepped closer to the bed, and pointed at Estel with her index finger.
"You, my dear Estel, set your heart on making my granddaughter your wife. You insisted. None of Celeborn's tantrums held you back. You did not fear my wrath. You moved the skies and Elrond's heart to get her, and now that you have her, you will keep her. No quick escape after only a hundred years of marriage! Marriages are forever and ten days! So get up now, get dressed and face the next Ages like a man!"
She turned around, and heard with great satisfaction how Estel, all of a sudden rather awake, slipped in his clothes. When she heard him lace his tunic, she faced him again.
"Why?" he asked, "Why am I not dying? Why did I feel like my last hour had come, and now I feel so - alive again?"
Galadriel shrugged.
"Imagination, my dear friend, is an amazing thing. How many have died because they were convinced their hour had come? And how many lived because they ignored the fact that, by all rules and laws, they should be dead?"
She stroked the bulge of her stomach.
"Life is a precious gift. See, the Valar offered to grant me one wish if I returned the Ring of Death to them."
Estel looked at her questioningly.
"I admit that my first impulse was to wish for the return of my daughter", Galadriel continued. "I would have given anything to hold my child in my arms once more. But we should not dwell on the past, rather try to improve the future. So I asked them to allow you into Valinor, to live with Arwen for all eternity among those who you have known and loved in your life."
The king's legs gave in, and he sat back on the bed.
"Does this mean... that I'm immortal?" he whispered.
"Indeed."
Estel shook his head.
"Galadriel, the last time mortals aimed for immortality, it ended in a really big mess."
She shrugged.
"You are not telling me anything new here, Estel. I have been there myself, and trust me, I would not wish to see history repeat itself. But considering that this is a gift from the Valar, I think it is safe to say that you sailing to Valinor will not end in a big war, ruined cities, stolen jewels and kinslaying. And now go, your wife and your children are waiting for you."
For a moment, Estel did not move. But then he jumped up, hugged Galadriel very tight and pressed a firm kiss on her cheek before he dashed out of the door. There was silence first, followed by a multi-voiced cheer which made the whole palace tremble.
Galadriel grinned. This journey had been a success, no doubt! Once more, she rubbed the small of her back, then she waddled towards the door. More than anything else she longed to return to the safety of the Golden Wood. There had been enough adventures to last her for at least two more Ages; and what she needed now was a very good foot massage.
How thoughtful of Rúmil to accompany her.
* * *
BUT NOW THAT'S REALLY THE END! THANK YOU!
<- Back to chapter 17
"But whatever happened to..."
THRANDUIL AND NONFINDEL: "PAINTING THE WOODS RED"
CELEBORN AND MELPOMAEN
FERONIL, LINDIR AND "THE LICE BOY": "AN ELF OF MANY TALENTS"