THE DOOMSMAN

The river was rather cold on Elladan's bare feet as he dangled them in the water.  A half-steady beat of the wooden boat knocking against the shoreline was joined with the soft hum of insects.  Dragonflies darted over the water, catching sunshine in their rainbow wings.  They winked here and there like a hidden message some wiser elf might discern.  Elladan was barely paying attention.

He was lying on his back on the grass, feet in the water.  His pants were rolled up to his knees, but that did not save them from the occasional splash of water as the boat knocked particularly hard into the foam.  Under the heat of the day, he had discarded his shirt so that the sun might better kiss his flesh.  The half-elf's eyes were closed to her brightness, his hands intertwined beneath his head.

Námo was to come today, though Elladan had no idea when.  They had parted rather awkwardly yesterday.  The differences between them had been made so stark by the perception each carried of their union that it seemed no understanding could be reached.  But now after his talk with Oromë, Elladan did not feel so hopeless.  He wanted Námo; it was as simple as that.  If it was going to take more effort to have him than a normal relationship, then Elladan was willing to make it. 

Effort did not trouble him.  It was the patience part that had him a little worried.  Elladan was anything but patient.  He hoped it would not take long for Námo to figure out whatever it was he didn't get about elven relationships. 

There was no real sound, no shadow hovering through his eyelids, but Elladan felt it all the same.  A gentle push on his awareness, as if someone was quietly tapping at a door.  He was too unskilled to feel it in his soul, where it originated, so he did not immediately recognize that the push did not come from the external world.  Accordingly the half-elf opened his eyes and turned his head instinctively to the right to where he thought the noise had come from.

Námo stood a few feet away, looking rather out of place in his thick formal robes.  His hood was down, in deference to the half-elf's unspoken wishes.  Even so, his face was as much a mask as shadow but Elladan thought he saw a faint hesitation in his onyx eyes. 

"I am here as bid, but I have no wish to disturb you.  You seemed very relaxed," the Doomsman said quietly, his voice without any inflection.  Elladan scrambled to his feet.

"No! Well I mean yes, I was relaxed, but I was merely waiting for you.  I'm glad you're here," the half-elf said inelegantly.  It didn't produce so much as an eyebrow twitch in his stern companion, but Elladan found he was learning to read the other anyway.  Perhaps a touch of amusement behind those dark eyes? "I thought we might go for a boat ride."

Námo glanced at the rickety white boat.  Of course as elven made the boat was sturdier than she looked, practically impossible to tip over.  Still if Elladan could categorize his companion's lack of expression as anything, he could only call it dubious.

After a long moment of quiet, Námo turned resolutely back to the half-elf.  An air of gravity fell over them forcing Elladan to pay attention.  He really hated when the Valar did this, and he imagined Erestor would love to have a power like that.  He could be as long-winded and boring as he wanted and no one could tune him out.  It would be heaven for the stogie advisor.

"I wished to apologize," Námo said, his words causing Elladan to blink in surprise.

"For what?"

"For my behavior yesterday.  I handled the situation ill and thought little of your own feelings.  It was a grave mistake I do not intend ever to repeat," the Doomsman said, his voice darkening with promise.  Elladan blinked again, rubbing the back of his neck and giving his companion a half-smile.

"It's okay.  I know there's a lot going on for you right now.  It was no big deal.  No harm done."

Námo studied Elladan's face so intently the half-elf could actually feel the line of his gaze at it moved.  "If you are sure," the Vala finally murmured.  Elladan nodded brightly and the air of seriousness evaporated instantly.  Námo was amused, or at least Elladan assumed he must be.

The half-elf turned, crouching on his haunches as he reached for the boat bringing it parallel to the shore.  When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Námo looking intently at the ground.  Elladan followed his gaze, seeing he was looking at the large wicker basket the half-elf had brought lunch in.

Elladan colored slightly, though he didn't know why.  It was perfectly normal to take one's intended on a picnic.  Elrohir had taken Erestor on lots of picnics while they were courting.  No ulterior motive at all.

Elladan stiffened at the thought.  He did have an ulterior motive, but then everyone did when courting.  They all went through the motions, hoping to get a little physical.  But pussyfooting around and acting coy had never been Elladan's style. 

Abruptly he stood and advanced on the quiet Vala.  Námo blinked, showing the extent of his surprise, and even backed up a step, not sure of the sudden change in his companion.  Elladan took no notice of it, striding purposefully into the Doomsman's personal space. 

Quickly he reached out letting one hand slide through silk black locks until the half-elf had a firm, but gentle hold on Námo's head.  The other hand slid over rich velvet, coming to rest at Námo's back.  In a moment Elladan had him pressed firmly against his hard body.  Before Námo could react, the half-elf gently pulled his head down and sealed their mouths together.

He must wish to steal my soul from my outer shell, Námo thought as that was the only thing that could explain the tidal wave of sensations that flew through him: his soul was being sucked away.  Oddly it seemed a rather pleasurable event and Námo could not bring himself to impede his soulmate in any way.  He relaxed into the assault, letting Elladan do as he wished.  Perhaps if Elladan did not so completely command his senses, Námo would recognize this firestorm as a kiss.  At the moment his rational mind was quickly evaporating, leaving only sensations and fire. 

A warm tongue snuck into his mouth, furthering the conflagration.  The Doomsman had never paid much attention to how elves kissed, but the idea of using one's tongue in such a way seemed quite strange.  That it made his knees turn rubbery and his body tremble seemed far stranger. 

As the kiss progressed, Námo became aware of the strong body pressed intimately against him.  Elladan had a warrior's build, looking at times more like a Man than an Elf.  The arms wrapped around him felt impossibly strong, like steel bands.  A knee nudged delicately against his inner thigh, and Námo became aware for the first time in millennia of the flesh between his legs.  An unusual, foreign sensation ripped down his spine landing straight in his groin, which stirred. 

Perhaps Elladan felt the sudden alarm in his companion, as close to panic as a Vala could get, for he drew away.  Námo opened his eyes (though he did not remember closing them), and stared into the half-elf's desire-darkened gaze.  Elladan's lips were bruised, his cheeks awash with healthy color, his breathing fast.  Námo could not comprehend why the sight enticed him so. 

Elladan watched him with equal regard, their foreheads resting against each other.  Námo wondered what the half-elf saw, if his own lips were as full, his cheeks as pink.  He had no idea what his eyes, already completely black, would look like burning with desire.

Taking a deep breath, Elladan withdrew.  "Right then, boat ride," he said.  Nonchalantly he picked up the wicker basket and stowed it in the boat, seemingly completely untroubled by the kiss.  Námo wondered what he could be thinking.

Patient.  He had to be patient, Oromë said.  One little kiss on the second date seemed very patient to him.  Elladan couldn't help but smirk.

******

"You know I can't think of a worse idea in the history of the world."

"You're being dramatic again, Erestor."

"Well dramatics are called for in times such as these, Elrond."

"Hmm, if you say so.  What do you say about right here?"

"I say we give up the whole enterprise."

"You already said that, twice."

"Well it bears repeating.  It's as valid now as it was fifteen minutes ago.  Nothing could make this a more horrible idea, I shall give you that.  You have achieved the pinnacle of bad ideas."

"Honestly, you make it sound like I'm torturing you.  It's just a little gardening."

"Correction.  It's gardening and me, two words that should never go together.  I'm a scholar not a horticulturist.  I should be holed in some dark corner of the library, squinting at unreadable print and letting my back slowly twist into a very impressive hump.  I do not belong under the scorching sun, knee deep in mud!"

"Are you through whining?"

"No, I haven't begun my whining."

"Marvelous.  Why don't you dig the hole over there?"

"You know, I must protest."

"Isn't that what you've been doing since we got out here?"

"Very funny, my lord."

"Erestor you aren't getting out of this.  I spent nine hours locked in a room with Galdor.  Trust me, I'm completely whine-proof.  Now hand me that shovel.  I think these would go best here."

"Why isn't Glorfindel out here, or Celebrían for that matter?  She actually likes to garden."

"Because, my unfortunate scholar, neither of them knows anything about my healing plants.  Celebrían only works with plants that will produce pretty flowers, and her only concern is aesthetic.  Mine is to make sure my plants grow as strong and potent as they can.  Glorfindel . . . well, you saw what he did to that poor elm tree.  Best leave him far away from any plants."

"Yes, well did you see what I did to that poor unfortunate weed Celebrían gave me?  Impossible to kill, she says.  It must've been a record to turn brown so fast."

"I don't expect you to help tend my plants, only to help plant them.  You've done it every year since we got here, and I've never had a problem.  Come, my dear intellectual, you must admit your own talent at putting the theoretical into practice.  No one else could do this."

"Humph, well perhaps, but you could do it by yourself."

"And miss the opportunity for your charming conversation, not likely.  Put your back into it or we'll be here all day."

"Well excuse me!  You know, if you don't like the way I do things, I can stop."

"No, I'm good."

". . . is that Elladan whistling?"

"Sounds like it."

"Why is he so bloody cheerful?"

"Well, he's just come back from a date, so I assume it went well."

"A date?  With who, since when?  You've been holding out on me."

"Calm down, Erestor and stop being so rough with those roots.  They need a delicate hand."

"Dig faster, be gentler.  Make up your mind."

"I did make it up; do both."

"Hmph! So who's Elladan seeing?"

"Tauron says it is Mandos."

"Mandos!  The Doomsman? But, what . . . when. . . why hasn't Elrohir told me anything about it?"

"Probably because he doesn't know.  From what Tauron has told me, all of this is a rather recent development."

"Hmm, but isn't Mandos married?"

"He was, perhaps still is.  Best not to ask questions, I've found."

"Easy for you to say.  Tauron can tell you everything you want to know without you even asking."

"Just because he can doesn't mean he does."

"He does if you ask."

"That assumes I know what to ask."

"Don't be preposterous.  Tauron knows your heart better than you yourself do.  He knows exactly what you want to know and tells you."

"That may be true, but you're talking about a man who knows the outcome to conversations long before we've had them.  I honestly don't think he keeps track of what he's actually told me."

"That sounds a bit dodgy to me, like an excuse to get out of telling you things 'til you've ferreted them out."

"That's quite possible, but it only lends support to my argument that Tauron doesn't tell me everything."

"What, you let him get away with that kind of thing?"

"Do settle down, Erestor.  Elrohir will hardly thank me if I return you all wound up.  Besides, what fun would it be to know everything?  Ruins the mystery."

"Said like someone who can know whatever he wants."

"You overestimate my husband.  Now stop distracting me and don't pull so hard on those weeds; you'll leave the roots."

NEXT

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