Amin

Author: EmberVixen

Pairing: Erestor/ Ereinion Gil-Galad (sequel to "Forsaken Master"

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: LOTS of romance and angst.

Summary: Erestor's smooth methods of seduction suddenly falter upon meeting the noble High
Elven King of Lindon, Ereinion Gil-galad. What is it about this Elf that unnerves him so? After all, he is
just another Elf. . .isn't he?

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em....don't make money off 'em. . .and don't intend harm from 'em. Nuff said.

AUTHORS NOTE: I am not sticking to a Tolkien timeline here and am rearranging a few things to suit
my fictional needs. I am aware of the proper Ages for such events but have chosen to ignore them
because I simply do not give a damn about historical accuracy when fun is the motive.

Now, on with the story!


“Do not frown so, advisor! Let the wondrous beauty of Arda fill you senses, for this is a journey of joy, not of hardship!” Lord Elrond sang out, gesturing to the dense woods with the grandest of smiles as he inhaled the scent of nature’s bounty deeply.

A fine sheen of powdery grime covered the fine black velvet of his robes and try as he might, he simply could not brush it away. Erestor grunted. Wondrous beauty, indeed!

“My Lord,” Erestor began, flicking at an obstinately clinging burr upon the cuff of his sleeve, “I am thrilled that you are most taken with our surroundings, but I am afraid all of this fresh air is putting me in the foulest of moods. Perhaps I have had too much of it for one afternoon.”

“Nonsense!” Elrond said, waving his hand dismissively. “There is no such thing!”

A wayward vine saw fit to tangle itself within Erestor’s inordinately long braid and the advisor growled in annoyance, yanking the leafy foliage from its treetop home with a savage jerk. Nature was not his greatest pleasure, however it was most certainly proving to be his greatest pain!

“You are far too pampered for your own good, Erestor,” Elrond continued, “which is why I insisted you make this journey in my company rather than by way of carriage. You will be in the comfort of the High King’s hospitality soon enough.”

They had been traveling for several days now and although their woodland kin had been more than willing to accommodate them wherever they chose to rest, Erestor greatly longed for the comfort of his bed. And something other than Lembas to eat!

He had heard many tales of the vastness and beaut the the Noldor Elves’ kingdom, but had been far too young to remember actually seeing it himself, although he had been there for some time during his early years. The only bit of knowledge he had retained was the memory of the Great Sea of Belegaer. Vaguely, he recalled clasping his mother’s hand as she had held him in the wake of the salty spray of morning tide, telling him tall tales of what lay beyond the incomprehensible fathoms of water, stories that had both frightened and intrigued him. As soon as he was able, Erestor had immersed himself in books, seeking to learn all that he could about Arda and its true nature. Like a porous sponge, young Erestor had soaked up knowledge beyond his wildest dreams. Surprisingly, his mother had not been so unwise after all.

His gaze traveled back to Elrond. The Imladris Lord had woven bits ofenerenery throughout his ornate braids, flowering sprigs seemingly sprouting from his dark hair in addition to shedding his royal robes and adoring himself in an obscenely verdant tunic with tan breeches, his usually booted feet clad only in sandals. Erestor thought him to look rather like a foolish Elfling preparing to skip merrily around the May Pole before Beltane, but he would keep such comments to himself. Having chosen not to abandon the clothing of his station, Erestor had decided to make the journey to Lindon properly dressed and mercilessly suffocating for it. Not that he would ever mention this fact to Lord Elrond, for he would most certainly never hear the end of such an admission. Despite the coolness of the Autumn air, Erestor’s robes were positively stifling. Black velvet was a horrid choice for a sunny day, regardless of temperature!

Lord Elrond had taken to singing some pointedly obnoxious bardic tune about the whip of the wind and the spray of the sea all twined with the glory of eveningtide. How annoying. . .

“Erestor,” Elrond prodded, giving the sulky advisor a sharp poke in the ribs. “Lift your voice in harmony with mine! I know that you can sing, for I have heard you.”

The dark Elf sneered. “I do not sing, Heru. Nor do I know what you are singing at this very moment, so therefore, I could not join you even if I wished it,” he lied.

Erestor knew perfectly well both melody and lyric to the song, but he would rather cast himself into the Fires of Mount Doom before frolicking his vocalwesswess with that of anyone within earshot.

He secretly wondered if Lord Elrond had partaken of too much miruvor. . .

Thankfully, as the woods became waning and sparse, a gilded sentry approached the wandering pair, the pale silver of his cloak billowing behind him.

An escort, Erestor assumed. Good. He could certainly use a good meal and a hot bath. . . and a break from the mellifluous tidings of Lord Elrond!

The Elven guard greeted them with a flourish and Erestor summoned an air of politeness despite the treachery of his present temperament. Matters of formality always came before one’s own personal attitude.

The journey to the Kingdom of Lindon was blissfully short, the air having cooled substantially for such a minor distance of travel. At once, Erestor was suddenly grateful for the thickness of his formerly oppressive robes. Lord Elrond, however, did not appear to notice the drop in temperature as he conversed avidly with the sentry who had apparently escorted him some time ago to the very same place.

The passageway through the sheer faces of the Blue Mountains were as he remembered them, even though much time had passed. In fact, time had not worn away the mysterious, crystalline glimmer upon their craggy walls, but had rather enhanced it, perhaps even added a touch of shine. For the moment, the discomfort of his long journey was forgotten, for the magnitude of Nature’s earthen monument was still grandly mystifying and utterly impressive to behold.

Erestor relaxed as the gates to the Kingdom came within their view. Soon enough, he would be able to strip his boots from his feet and breathe easily for a moment before introductions were made.

Tales of Ereinion Gil-Galad had reached Erestor through various sources, yet not once had his appearance been mentioned. Erestor had a feeling he would no more know the High Elven King from Mandos if he were standing before him. Perhaps the only clue would be a diadem of some sorts, although it was rumored that the Noldor ruler rarely wore such regal accents other than a simple circlet, for he preferred to think of himself as an equal rather than above his people in some manner.

His skills as a warrior were nearly as legendary as that of the Balrog Slayer, Glorfindel, having fought hard for the Kingdom he had founded between the sea and mountains both physically and emotionally as well.

Erestor could only imagine what such an Elf would like, battle worn and quite possibly painfully plain in appearance. Surely he would not be as lovely as Lord Elrond or King Thranduil, for few actually were, in Erestor’s rather lofty opinion.

Lord Elrond was apparently well known amongst the Noldor Elves, for they greeted him with warm recognition, showing Erestor the same courtesy although he was certain that none knew of his existence until that very moment.

Erestor noted the differences in attire as well, for the Noldorians dressed in clothes far lighter than the robes and tunics of their woodland cousins. Loose, flowing tunics and dresses of every hue clothed them. The advisor thought the silken vestments far too chilling for such a climate, for his own robes were suddenly doing a poor job of keeping him warm, but his kin seemed oblivious to the temperature. In fact, they appeared to delight in the frigid winds that sent the folds of their clothing soaring into the breeze behind them.

It was not until they had nearly reached the center of the Elven commune that Elrond’s gaze fell upomeoomeone especially familiar, an almost boyish grin parting his lips. Erestor’s eyes followed those of the Imladris Lord almost boredly and stopped short upon the ob of of Elrond’s eager stare.

By the Gods, certainly this could not be. . .? The beauty was far too great, the aura of kindred bolenolence uncannily serene, the hands, smooth. . unscarred. . .and upon their slender fingers, a distant shimmer of a jewel that Erestor had never believed he would see so closely.

The majestically striking Elf glided towards them in a swirl of billowing sapphire silk, the playful gusto of the ever-present wind lifting his unbound tresses as if they were wings of liquid onyx, revealing the full beauty of the royal visage.

“Lord Elrond,” the magnificent creature greeted the Imladris ruler, his voice liltingly rich, “ever is thy site a joy, my very dear friend.”

One graceful hand lifted to assist Elrond in his dismount, a gleam of darkest blue twinkling amidst the faint rays of the sun. Erestor sucked in a breath. Vilya. The Ring of Air was most legendary in its powers. . .in fact, the very existence of all of Elvendom hinged upon Vilya and its two cousins.

Erestor watched as the two Elves embraced fondly and shared a chaste kiss before Lord Elrond inclined his head towards the advisor’s mount.

“This is my Chief Advisor, Erestor,” the Imladris Lord introduhim him with a smile. “His knowledge of Arda’s history is the most extensive I have ever known.”

Elrond’s regal companion approached with the most exquisite of smiles and proffered the same hand he had extended to Lord Elrond earlier.

“Ah, yes. . . Lord Erestor. I have heard much about you through the years. . .the Scholar of Imladris…”
kingking the advisor’s fingertips within his grasp, he brought the pale hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

Erestor shivered involuntarily as the supple lips met with the chilled skin of his hand and quickly busied himself with dismounting the dappled stallion upon which he was perched so that the sudden flush that colored his cheeks might be missed. Once upon the ground, he turned hesitantly to gaze at the noble Elf that stood before him. The green of the other’s eyes was like none that Erestor had ever seen. . .their clarity like the fresh youth of new foliage bathed in morning dew, the skin so smooth, unmarred by time or scar. . .

Erestor swallowed almost nervously, annoyed with himself for even feeling as such. Why in all of Arda should one unnerve him so? It was not as if he had never seen great beauty before.

But it was more than that. . . there was something. . . something within the depths of those emerald eyes. . .something in the other’s demeanor. . .something. . .

A nudge from Lord Elrond brought him out of his gaping trance.

“Erestor,” Elrond said, a hint of amusement warming his voice, “this is Ereinion Gil-Galad. . .the High King of Noldor. . .”

At once, Erestor straightened, drawing upon the coolness of his usually aristocratic air, although the effort seemed feigned even to himself.

“Mae govannen, Heru en amin,” he said formally, lowering his gaze respectfully.

The High King chuckled. “There is no need for such ceremony, Erestor. You may call me Ereinion as Elrond does. . .or Gil-galad if you prefer. I need not hear the decorum of my full title to know that I am still King of these lands.”

Erestor tried to conceal his surprise as the Noldor King winked almost affectionately at him before linking arms with Lord Elrond.

“Come, let us adjourn to the dining halls. . .I am certain you are eager for something other than lembas, are you not?”

Erestor unconsciously licked his lips at the suggestion. Yes. . . his appetite had been suddenly been quite piqued. . .

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