YULETIDE TALES 2003
"THE TW(ELF) DAYS OF YULE"
This is a series of 12 ficlets, pure fluffy silliness, which will be rated G - PG-13, depending on the day. Gen, het, slash - something for everybody. Beta-read by Eveiya, thanks a lot!
I wish you all a joyful festive season. And if you, between unwrapping presents and digging into the Christmas dinner, should stop a moment to think of those who have less or nothing, you might feel like sharing your happiness, and go here:
DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS
5 dollars can make a difference - and a donation in honour of somebody rather than presenting him with another tie or ashtrey he or she doesn't need might be a nice idea this Christmas, too...
Thanks!
Erestor
THE FOURTH NIGHT OF YULE
"This is the fourth night of Yule, and surely it seems
that Elrohir is having most pleasant dreams"
Elrohir lay on his back, hands folded behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He had done so for many hours already, watching the patterns of the pale moonlight on the carved wooden beams, had counted four times over the books on the top row of the shelf, and still sleep wouldn't come.
All through his life, the twelve days of Yule had been a time of cheerful expectation and excitement for him, save the last two years, which had been darkened by Elladan's grief. So, with Orophin and Gil-galad returned from the Halls of Waiting and everybody happy, he had expected to feel the much-missed and familiar tingle and spark again – but it did not happen.
The truth was that Elrohir felt left out. The Valar knew he was happy for his brother, and for his father, who had laughed more since Gil-galad's return than he had in the last 5 centuries, but he felt strangely cut out of their lives. They all had "someone" – he had not. 'Now that is not true,' he chided himself, 'you have your lovely Mirkwood maiden.'
But Eldanorien had returned home for the festive season, and deep down in his heart Elrohir knew that sooner or later she would return for good – love had turned to friendship, and one day, the call of her home would be stronger than his wish for her to stay.
Elrohir sighed. Being the odd one out was a new experience for him, and not one he enjoyed. Sure, half the court was still at his beck and call, heads turned when he passed by, and he knew that more than one gentle soul sighed at night in longing for him, but this was not what he was looking for. Not any more. The admiration had lost its appeal, the sweet words become shallow, and he dreaded the 12th night which would force him to sit among happy faces and loving couples, with nothing to hold on to but a glass of mulled wine.
Just when Elrohir was about to start enjoying his self-pity, he perked up – there was a noise coming from the window sill. He turned his head, and almost fell out of the bed.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, crawling to the head end of his huge bed, clutching the bed sheets tightly around his midriff.
"You ask me the same question every time our paths cross, child. I would have thought you to be more imaginative."
Námo, the Doomsman of the Valar, known to Men and Elves as Mandos, stifled a yawn, and as always, Elrohir had to admire, though reluctantly, the fluidity of his movements.
"Why are you doing this?" Elrohir asked, a little whiny. "Why do you follow me? Why chase me? What have I done to you that you punish me so?"
"Punish you?" Námo cocked an eyebrow, and sat down at the foot of the bed, stretching out comfortably. Elrohir couldn't help but notice that the Vala didn't seem to weight anything, not a crease showed in the sheets, and, most disconcertingly of all: the Vala didn't cast a shadow.
"Why should I punish you? That is not my duty. I am only observing. That is all I do. I do not interfere, I do not initiate, I only - watch."
The dark Elf stretched out the last word, giving Elrohir a smile, and there was mischief in the dark liquid of his eyes.
"That you do – no doubt." Elrohir grumbled, and pulled the sheets a little further up his body, fighting the heat which spread over his face when he noticed Námo's expression of approval.
"Do you wish me to leave, child?" Nŕmo asked.
Elrohir wanted to say "yes, now, right away!", but oddly enough, he shook his head.
"No – yes – no, maybe not."
"Sleep has evaded you for many nights already, child," Nŕmo said, "Irmo, the master of dreams, has missed the presence of your spirit in his realm, and so I came to see if anything is amiss."
Elrohir sighed.
"Do you visit every Elf on Arda who is plagued by insomnia, my lord?" he asked, and Námo laughed again, that odd, toneless laughter that Elrohir felt in his soul, though his ears couldn't hear it.
"No, my child – only those Elves who fear death so little they attack me with their bare hands."
The young Elf grew beet red.
"My apologies, my lord – I know that what I did was unforgivable, but…"
"No apologies needed," Nŕmo interrupted him, "I found your actions most refreshing, and certainly more entertaining than the reactions I usually encounter. Only two beings have dared to attack Death, one of them being the Evil Lord, another being, and you, fair Elrohir."
Elrohir noticed well that one Evil lord plus one fair Elrohir were only two, not three, but he did not dare to ask who the third being had been, which was a wise decision.
"So then, young friend – you feel left out, unable to enjoy the spirit of the season, and instead you dwell in self pity. This aside, your sweetheart went to visit her family, your brother is focusing entirely on his husband, and you feel guilty for your little fantasies about…"
"No! Do NOT say it!" Elrohir squeaked, sounding like one of Estorel's toys.
"Why not?" Námo asked, "It is quite natural for an Elf of your age to admire those of wisdom and experience, and to wonder what it would be like to…"
"I said: DO NOT SAY IT!"
Nŕmo shrugged.
"As you wish, little flame. But you admit that I am right?"
"About everything else – yes, mostly," Elrohir admitted, alas with a frown.
"You must learn, child, that the hearts of those who love you are houses with many rooms. You were used to living in the largest ones, and now others have taken residence there and you feel pushed aside, but trust me, living in a smaller chamber might be just as comfortable and rewarding."
"What do you mean by this?"
"That your brother and your father do not love you less just because they have shown you another room to live in. Do not feel pushed aside or less loved. Share their happiness, and find somebody who has the main room in his or her heart kept for you."
Elrohir sighed, then he looked up.
"Who resides in the main chamber of your heart, my lord?"
For the first time, Elrohir felt he had caught the Vala unaware.
"Death has to be impartial, and how could I be if I had a heart? If I had likings and dislikes? How could I bring grief to those fair and valiant and spare those who are undeserving?"
Elrohir shuddered, wrapping himself tighter into his blanket.
"That is – horrible, my lord. How can one live without a heart?"
"I do not live, Elrohir. I am Death, remember?" Námo reminded the young Elf.
"You must be very lonely," Elrohir stated, and Námo cocked his head, smiling again.
"It is time for you to sleep, little flame. Exciting days are ahead of you."
Elrohir yawned, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He sank back on his cushions, and, already half asleep, he saw Námo disappear.
"I will see that I can do my best for Elladan and ada from my small chamber," he murmured into the empty room, then his eyes glazed over in reverie, and he was fast asleep.
"I know you will," Námo said, pulling the blanket up and covering the young Elf with it, careful not to touch him.
Then he returned to the Halls of Waiting, noticing with great confusion that somewhere in his chest a tiny flame had begun to burn when he realized that he had just been given a spare room in Elrohir's heart.
* * *
"Day four is over,
day five is to come
where a lord and a king
will behave rather dumb"