BLOWING VALAROMA

Author's Note: This is a work of Fan Fiction. I will not be receiving any payment for this work. The characters, settings, etc. all belong to the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and possibly New Line Cinema.

BLOWING ONE’S HORN

The forest was dim and its atmosphere was becoming stuffy as the young Celegorm wound his way through the underbrush, searching carefully, trying to discover from where the strange noise he had heard had been emanating. It sounded vaguely like peeping but he also heard a low growling and he was sure it must be an animal in trouble. Without regard for his own safety, being young and impulsive, he plunged deeper into the heavy growth on the forest floor. He was about to give up his search since he had come no closer to the sounds that had alarmed him, when a parting appeared in the densely spaced trees above his head, and a sudden shard of bright starlight pierced the heavy canopy of branches and pointed like a long white finger of bright revelation toward a large furry creature huddled and quivering under a bramble bush.

Celegorm approached the furry creature carefully, lest it be a wolf, but he soon saw that it was only a dog, albeit a large one, and it lay whimpering and staring at him with big sorrowful eyes as he came closer. At first he thought that the dog must have been injured in some way and he approached it very carefully, whispering words and baby talk in a soft, soothing voice. But when he came closer to it, the hound sprang to its feet and whined, and pawed at the ground beneath the bush. Celegorm placed his hand gently upon the dog’s back. “What is it, boy?” he asked softly. The hound whimpered and again scratched at the same spot on the ground. Celegorm then sank down to his knees, both of them sinking into the damp, musty soil, and he peered carefully under the bush.

He could hear something chirping weakly and with great care he reached under the brambles. His fingers touched something soft and feathery, but quite large, and it was very still.

“A bird!” he cried out to the dog. “Has your master shot a pheasant and you’ve lost it in the undergrowth?”

The hound continued to whine. Celegorm then took hold of the bird and pulled it out rather roughly, thinking that it was dead. The bird squeaked and pecked him sharply on the arm. “Ouch!” he cried as the piercing beak drew blood. The dog barked happily. When Celegorm looked down at the bird he drew back in surprise. “An owl!” he cried. “It is an owl with a broken wing!” He looked at the dog in wonder. “Why, this owl hasn’t been shot at all! You were trying to help him, weren’t you, boy?”

The hound whined in agreement and panted at Celegorm with his lolling tongue. Celegorm attempted to pat the dog’s back but recoiled in pain as he felt his arm hurting badly from where the owl had pecked him. It was a very large owl, with handsome brown and white speckles on its chest and with great big tufted ears. Celegorm quickly doffed his white shirt and, ripped it into strips. He used a small piece to wrap around the bleeding cut on his arm and when he had wrapped it tightly, he examined the owl closely. “I am going to try to set his wing”, he said to the dog as if it could understand him, and it whimpered in agreement to Celegorm.

Very carefully he drew the bird onto his lap. It was trembling from fear and shock. He tried to stroke it to soothe the owl as he felt its broken wing. “I think I can set this”, he told the dog and went to work gently setting the wing into its proper alignment. The owl, suffering from fear and pain, promptly defecated in Celegorm’s lap. Once he had set the wing successfully, he wrapped the owl in another scrap of shirt fabric, binding the wing tightly against the large bird’s side.

“Well, now I am going to have to get this bird to the apothecary’s”, he said. “It is closer to take it there from here rather than to go all the way back home. The alchemist should know as well as Ada or Nana how to help the owl and to see if I have done the right thing for it”.

Celegorm was a few years past his majority, but still a young Elf. He had been in the Woods of Oromë when he came across the dog and the owl, but it had not dawned on him that he could have sought the help of the Vala. He had not even considered where the dog may have come from, so concerned was he for the welfare of the owl. He fashioned a crude sling out of the remainder of his shirt in which to carry the bird, and set it inside the sling, and then slung the bundle carefully over his shoulder. “Come on, boy”, he said to the dog, “we are going to find help. I think we need to go this way”, indicating what he thought to be a northerly direction that would soon bring them out of the woods.

As they trudged along, Celegorm noticed the stench of the bird’s feces emanating from his trousers, which were also mud-covered at the knees from kneeling in the wet soil of the thicket. He considered removing the trousers but was a bit embarrassed at the thought of walking about in his underpants, even if no one else was about. “Oh, Valar!” he exclaimed as the wet, smelly pants were becoming unbearably uncomfortable. Finally, the decision whether or not to take them off was made for him when the flimsy shirt-sling he had made tore apart suddenly and the poor injured owl almost fell to the ground but for Celegorm’s quick action in catching it.

He had no choice now but to remove the soiled trousers. They were of a heavier material than the shirt and would make a better sling in which to carry the bird. They were of a more convenient shape as well, and he set the bird down in the crotch of the trousers after tying the legs of the pants together. After making sure that the new “sling” was secure, he hung it over his shoulder and continued on his way, the dog trotting along at his side. A bit of the bird droppings had soaked through to his underwear as well, right at the front, and that began to feel quite irritating to him. He slipped his hands below the waistband and adjusted them slightly so that the wet spot wasn’t right at the front anymore. He looked down at them, feeling the discomfort. They were not much more than a little scrap of almost transparent white fabric, just enough, really, to protect his tender parts from chafing when he rode his horse.

An idea came to him and he stopped to take them off. Celegorm was quite a well-built young Elf, more muscular and strong of body than his brothers, and with a nicely rounded, quite prominent rear end. He had thought that perhaps he could turn the underpants around back to front so that his front wouldn’t feel the uncomfortable wetness any longer. The only problem was that the back of the pants then did not adequately cover his muscular bottom and quite a bit of its fleshiness was actually exposed to view. Celegorm was terribly embarrassed walking about in such a state and he was very relieved that it was now night-time and it was dark, and that no one else was around to see him.

Celegorm, carrying the owl and with the large hound at his side, soon realized that he had been walking in the wrong direction through the woods and instead of coming closer to the edge of the forest, he had actually traveled deeper into it. Feeling cold and miserable, he stopped to look around and try to get his bearings. The dog nudged his hand and whined and whirled around in a circle, trying to encourage Celegorm to follow him.

“Good boy”, said the young Elf, “Do you know the way home, then? Lead on, if you will”. He began to follow the hound who turned to go in another direction. The ground was very rough for a while under Celegorm’s feet and many branches reached out to scratch him as he brushed past them. At one point he stumbled and a branch caught on the waistband of his underpants and ripped it slightly, causing them to become very loose. Presently Celegorm could see a faint light in the distance, and noticing that the hound was excited by this sight, he thought that it must be the home of the dog’s master. He obediently followed the dog, hitching up the back of his underpants over the protuberant mounds of his backside as he walked, because they kept slipping down and were in danger of falling off completely.

By the time they arrived at the side of the house in the middle of the woods, Celegorm was feeling tired, cold and hungry. His hair was tousled and had bits of leaves caught in its fair strands, and his face was streaked with a mixture of dirt and sweat. He was feeling very uncomfortable and yet he needed to find out if the homeowner could help him and the owl that he had rescued. The dog bounded forward with glee and putting its big front paws against the side door, pushed against it and the door swung open, hitting the wall behind it with a resounding bang.

Oromë was sitting alone at his kitchen table and was in the process of picking over the carcass of a roasted turkey to have as a midnight snack, when his kitchen door was suddenly slammed open and his hound Huan came bounding in. The hungry dog immediately smelled the turkey and began to beg in earnest, whining loudly and sitting on his hind legs with his front paws in the air. Oromë tossed him a few scraps of meat and then turned to the open door with the idea of going to close it before the cold breeze wafting through it cooled the whole house down. He stopped abruptly with a violent start as he looked upon the person who was standing just outside his doorway.

He saw a beautiful young Elf, carrying something fairly heavy in a sack by the way it was sagging, around his shoulder, and his arm was bandaged. A very beautiful, dirty and nearly naked young Elf. Oromë’s mouth dropped open as he took in the startling, yet not at all unpleasant sight. The Elf looked somewhat familiar, but Oromë couldn’t quite place him. The Elf stared back at Oromë in complete surprise, recognizing the Vala immediately and then his underpants fell down.

Mortified, his face turning a bright crimson red, Celegorm quickly turned his back to Oromë and bent down to pull up his torn, ridiculously inadequate underwear.

“Oh!” cried Oromë. “I have it! Aren’t you one of Fëanor’s young sons?” he asked.

“Why yes, I am Celegorm, My Lord Oromë , also known as Tyelkormo Turkafinwë.”

“You know, you bear a striking resemblance to your Uncle Finrod”, said Oromë, looking intently at Celegorm, taking a long look at the young Elf and absorbing every detail.

“Why thank you, my Lord, I will take that as a compliment”, replied Celegorm.

“And it was certainly meant as such. It certainly was”. The Vala cleared his throat loudly. “Come in! Come in! Don’t stand there in the open doorway in the cold! You’ll be all covered in goose bumps!”

Celegorm closed the door quickly, at the same time trying to hold onto his loose underpants which were in danger of slipping again, in fact they did slip about halfway down in both front and back.

“What brings you here in the middle of the night?” asked Oromë , suddenly very interested.

Celegorm cleared his throat. He never noticed before on any of the few occasions that they had met in the past, what huge bulbous eyes the Vala had. They appeared to be popping right out of his head at Celegorm and staring right through him. Yet he did not feel uncomfortable in the Vala’s presence. He felt rather warm and cozy. That was strange, he thought, but there was just something rather comforting about Oromë.

“I, uh, have here an injured owl”, he said, slipping the handmade sling off of his shoulder and bending down to retrieve the bird to show Oromë. With that action, however, the pesky underpants slipped right down to his knees. Celegorm handed the owl to Oromë, who was having a really hard time trying to concentrate on the bird, and hitched up his pants again in an exasperated gesture. Oromë, unable to look at the owl, placed it in his lap and just sat staring, fascinated, at the young Elf in front of him as he struggled with his errant underwear.

“Why don’t you just take them off and be done with it?” the Vala suggested.

“Pardon?” asked Celegorm.

“Oh! Where are my manners?” shouted Oromë, coming to his senses. “I will find you a robe to put on in a moment. But first, what is wrong with your arm, my dear boy?”

“The owl pecked it when I was trying to set its broken wing”, said Celegorm. “And if I were you I wouldn’t let it sit in my lap”.

“Oh, how dreadful! Take off the bandage and let me see it!” cried Oromë. Celegorm looked a bit hesitant.

“Come over here, young Celegorm! I can’t see it properly with you standing over there!” Celegorm approached the Vala slowly, feeling just a little odd that he was now completely nude, having divested himself of his torn underpants at Oromë’s suggestion.

Oromë very solicitously and slowly unwrapped the bandage on Celegorm’s arm and looked at the wound, pulling Celegorm a little closer as he did so. “Awww, that’s a nasty bite”, he said in soothing tones.

“It’s really not bad. It doesn’t hurt any more”, Celegorm shrugged, a gesture which was most pleasant for Oromë, being in close enough proximity to Celegorm that he benefited hugely from the closeness of that shrug. “Aren’t you going to take a look at the bird?” asked Celegorm.

Oromë struggled with himself to raise his gaze to Celegorm’s face. “The what?” he asked, feeling a little dazzled. He recovered himself quickly. “Oh, the owl, the owl. Yes – erm – you have done a wonderful job of taping his wing and setting it too! I think he’ll be as right as rain in a couple of weeks! Tell me, is this a piece of your shirt?” Oromë asked, examining the bandage. Celegorm nodded. “And are those your trousers?” Oromë indicated the makeshift pouch that Celegorm had carried the owl in to Oromë’s house.

“Yes”, said Celegorm.

“Well, aren’t you a wild little thing? Using all your clothing to help that poor little bird?” Oromë was greatly amused by this and not a little excited. Celegorm laughed.

“Well, young man”, Oromë placed the owl on top of the table and stood up, accidentally brushing against Celegorm as he did so. “I will go to fill a bath for you in a moment so you may clean and warm yourself. But first, let me find something for this owl to eat. Reluctantly, the Vala turned his back on Celegorm and went to the pantry to look for some seeds or rusks with which to feel the bird.

Huan, wagging his tail at Celegorm, wandered over to the Elf and licked his hand. Celegorm then sat down on the floor and began to wrestle with the dog. Turning around then and becoming transfixed, Oromë stood and watched them, forgetting entirely why he had gone to the cupboard in the first place. After rolling around on the floor with the dog for a while, Celegorm then acrobatically jumped to his feet. Oromë steadied himself against the table, saw the owl, remembered what he was doing, and retrieved some seeds and a couple of ears of dried corn cobs.

“The floor was cold”, said Celegorm, rubbing himself, holding his arms around his torso and wiggling from side to side in an effort to warm himself. Oromë dropped the corn on the floor. “That bath you mentioned sounds very good now”.

“Ah, yes! The bath! I will go to fill it right now!” cried Oromë, retrieving the corn and placing it in front of the owl.

“Don’t you have someone to do that for you?” asked Celegorm curiously.

“Ah. I sent everyone home earlier because there was nothing here for them to do. I am all alone here tonight, and was expecting to spend a very boring evening all by myself”.

“Except for me and Huan now”, said Celegorm, following Oromë to the bathroom.

“Ah, yes, just the three of us”, said Oromë, rubbing his hands.

“Huan is a wonderful dog”, said Celegorm, his bare feet padding along the corridor after Oromë.

“Do you like him? You can have him if you want!” offered Oromë.

“Really? Oh really? Do you really mean it?” cried Celegorm, jumping up and down.

This was almost too much for Oromë, but then the Elf threw his arms around the Vala and hugged him tightly. “Oh, thank you, Oromë! Thank you! Thank you!” And he proceeded to jump up and down while hugging Oromë at the same time. Oromë managed to extricate himself without doing anything foolish, and once he had the Elf in the bathtub, he staggered back down the corridor to the kitchen to make himself a large drink..

“Manwë save me!” he uttered. Once he had fortified himself, he got out a silver tray and set two crystal goblets on it, along with a large bottle of wine. Then he walked stiffly back to the bathroom.

“Celegorm, my dear boy”, he said. “When you have finished bathing, you may come down to my bedroom. I will show you where it is. I am going to let you sleep in my bed tonight”. With that he turned and started to walk out of the bathroom again, holding onto the wall for support.

“Oromë”, Celegorm called. Oromë turned around.

“Yes, dear boy?” he asked, his heart beating heavily.

“Are you going to bring me a towel and a robe?”

Oromë slapped his head. “Oh, yes! Yes! Silly me! Getting forgetful in my old age!” The Vala looked a bit disappointed, but went in search of the items requested.

Later on, when Celegorm was firmly ensconced in Oromë’s bed, still naked, as Oromë said firstly, that he could not find a robe, and secondly, he did not have a pair of pyjamas that would fit Celegorm, the Vala entered the room carefully bearing the crystal goblets and bottle of wine upon the silver tray.

“Oromë”, said Celegorm, watching the Vala approach with the tray, “There is something I have wanted to ask you for a long time now”.

“What is it dear boy? Anything that you ask of me I would be more than happy to give you”, he said, concentrating on the teetering tray and trying not to look at the naked Elf lolling around in his bed while he was carrying it.

“I would dearly love it if you would let me blow your horn”, said Celegorm. “You know, Valaroma”, he said innocently.

The sound of breaking crystal and a metal tray clattering upon the stone floor could be heard a mile away, if anyone else had been in the Woods of Oromë at that particular time to hear it.