Title: Many Meetings (Part Two of the All that is Gold series)
Author: Lily Winterwood (evil-sherlock-holmes on Tumblr, lily_winterwood on AO3)
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes, DI Lestrade, Anderson, Sally Donovan, Lord Elrond
Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Casefic, AU set in Middle-earth.
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Summary: In the halls of Imladris, Hanncome 'John' Watson of Bywater discovers not only beauty beyond measure, but also the past of his new companion, Sílchanar Eregnirion. Middle-earth AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC adaptation of Sherlock or Middle-earth.
Notes: Character names have been changed to adapt to Middle-earthian naming customs. If it's not obvious later on, Sílchanar Eregnirion is Sherlock, Maechenebon is Mycroft, Lestedir is Lestrade, Meluithel is Molly, and Amdirphen is Anderson.
Many Meetings
Dusky twilight set in over the hidden valley of Rivendell, the setting sun giving way to the silvery moon. Inky purple coloured the sky, and the tiny pinpricks of stars resembled small jewels in the great fabric of night.
Hanncome Watson of Bywater and his companion had left Bree several days ago, heading East at a gallop and only stopping for the hobbit to get quick bites of food. He had nodded off on the last leg of the journey over the ford of Bruinen, but now as the horse bearing him and his companion began to make its descent into a steep valley he awoke, looking around him with wide eyes.
The hobbit stretched slightly, arousing the attention of his companion seated behind him. Sílchanar Eregnirion was his name, and he was a tall dark-haired Elf with piercing eyes that shone with all the colours of the sea. During Hanncome's stay at Bree they had become friends while the Elf investigated the mysterious killings of four Dwarves.
Sílchanar was a 'consulting Ranger', in his own terms. Hanncome thought – and with good reason too – that he owned one of the sharpest minds in all of Arda.
"The Last Homely House is ahead, John. You've been asleep for hours," Sílchanar told him, smiling as he used the hobbit's nickname. Hanncome nodded, feeling excitement curl and rise within him the lower they descended. Up ahead he saw twinkling lights.
Then, out of the blue, voices erupted from the trees.
"A, Sílchanar! Lend and?"
Sílchanar said nothing, merely pressed on in the gathering darkness. John looked about him, trying to figure out where the speakers were.
"Friends of mine," Sílchanar muttered in explanation. "Well, I say 'friends'…"
"Man câr hí?" someone asked at that moment, and a tall ellon with a grey cloak dropped out of a nearby tree, landing on his feet to the side of the road.
"Ú-bêd edhellen," Sílchanar growled at him.
There was a burst of silvery laughter, almost like the tinkling of bells in a spring breeze. John watched in awe as several more figures stepped from the trees, both male and females, evidently in the middle of some sort of entertainment if their instruments were anything to go by.
"Man i eneth dîn?" asked an elleth with brown hair and kind eyes; she wore flowers in her hair and her face shone pale in the light of the moon. She looked up at John, smiling, but her eyes quickly diverted to Sílchanar, who regarded her coolly.
"Am man anírog istad, Meluithel?" Sílchanar wondered, and Hanncome by now was feeling very lost.
"What does she want?" he asked his companion.
Sílchanar looked down at him. "Your name."
"Oh." John smiled at the elleth. "Hanncome Watson of Bywater at your service, Miss…?"
"Im Meluithel," she replied, smiling back at him, before diverting into Common Speech much to his relief. "You are far more pleasant than your companion."
"I guess that's Lamaendir for you," John replied, and suddenly the elves became very, very silent.
Sílchanar shifted uncomfortably astride their horse, Rochael. Said horse, being aptly named 'wise horse', stamped its hoof and whinnied softly, as if laughing awkwardly. John gulped, and looked around at the stony faces around him.
"I've said something out of line, haven't I?" he mumbled.
"He told you to call him Lamaendir?" the first ellon demanded, a quiet shock settling about his features.
"Er, yes?" the poor Hobbit wondered. "Why, is that –?"
"The last person who called him that was his mother, before her passing over the Sea," Meluithel whispered almost reverently, although it didn't take the sharpest mind in Arda to notice the hint of jealousy in her eyes.
"It's just a name," snapped Sílchanar, seeming to have come to his senses. With a firm pat, he urged Rochael into a fast trot down the rest of the descent into the valley. When they came to the narrow, parapet-less bridge, Sílchanar dismounted and helped John down as well. Silently, they crossed the narrow bridge before mounting again, and finished the rest of the journey in uncomfortable silence. John couldn't help but notice that Sílchanar still seemed uneasy with the extremely awkward situation from earlier.
When they passed through the gates leading into Imladris, John sighed as he noticed the hard glint in Sílchanar's eyes and the way he looked everywhere except at his companion.
"If you don't want me to call you that, I won't," he muttered as Sílchanar dismounted at the stables and helped him down.
"Do whatever suits you," replied the elf, but John could see the tension in his jaw; the barely veiled anger towards something John couldn't quite put his finger on.
He stopped at the exit to the stables, placing himself in front of the ellon – which really would have done little to hinder him, considering their height disparity. "It affected you, though. Me calling you that name –"
"It was not your fault. It was their reaction." Sílchanar heaved a sigh. "It's nothing."
John had a sneaking suspicion that this incident wouldn't be the last as he followed the elf into the Last Homely House.