City of the Rising Sun
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,187
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,187
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 2
City of the Rising Sun
Chapter 1
Turgon sat on his balcony and watched as the moon slowly ascended the night sky.
In the last four weeks the king and his most trusted advisers had worked from sunrise to sunset to select the finest masons and carpenters in Nevrast. This night the final two masters joined the group of elves who would start to build the foundations in the secret valley.
The king took a sip of wine from the goblet in his hand and listened to the music coming from the garden. The flute’s soft melody floated in the balmy air, making everyone who heard it feel enchanted.
Turgon knew who mastered so beautifully the instrument. Every night the same silver haired elf entered the royal garden to play music for the enjoyment of the dwellers in the palace, although no one knew for whom the serenade was played.
A gentle knock made the king turn from the garden.
‘Enter’ said the ebony haired ruler. The door opened and a smiling elf entered the king’s chamber.
‘He is playing with such passion is he not, my lord?’ inquired the visitor.
‘Indeed he is, Glorfindel. I do not know for whom he plays, but any elleth would be very happy to receive such gift each night’ replied Turgon.
The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower stepped out to the balcony. ‘Rumor has it, that Haldir gave his heart to someone who’s out of his reach’ said the golden haired elf.
‘Oh! The gossips of the palace! I hope that this time they’re mistaken, for I’m very fond of Lord Ithlidin’s son. It’s a cruel fate to love someone from afar. He is but two hundred years old but his skills with a sword and a bow are exceptional’ said the king.
Glorfindel glanced down to the garden to catch a glimpse of the young Sinda.
‘Haldir has many talents no doubt, my liege. He is loved and admired in the city by everyone for the young warrior has a good heart and sharp wit. Lord Ithlidin’s son is always among the first to offer a helping hand and the last to retire at the end of the day’ said the golden haired Noldo.
King Turgon nodded his head and turned his gaze back to the night sky.
‘The sight of Isil* leaves me in wonder and longing each time when I lay my eyes upon it. Unlike Anar* it keeps changing its shape and makes each night unique and unrepeatable’ said the king keeping his gaze on the sky. ‘It’s been only fifty seasons since Tilion steered The Last Flower of Telperion* to the sky, but its silver face never ceases to enchant me’ sighed the Noldo ruler.
Glorfindel sat beside his liege and dearest friend.
‘One day the Valar will forgive our trespassing and we will return to the Blessed Lands, my king,’ offered the elven lord.
‘I hope that you’re right, otorno*’ said Turgon, emptying his cup.
‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right. You should’ve learn that by now, meldo* ‘ Glorfindel poked the raven haired Elda, trying to lighten the other elf’s mood.
The king’s face lit up and the older Quendi smiled at his companion.
‘You remind me of it every single day, elfling. You are too cheeky for your own good. Mayhap, I shall forbid you to address me so freely if you don’t behave yourself,’ chuckled Turgon.
The golden haired elf was happy to see his friend’s carefree smile and leaned over to refill Turgon’s cup with wine.
‘I’m sure that you are quite aware that I can be no longer addressed as elfling, Fingolfinion. Mayhap old age already clouds your memory my friend, but you’re no more than two hundred years older than I. We’ve both passed our fifth millennia’. replied Glorfindel.
The king’s laughter filled the air and the music in the garden halted for moment.
‘Five millennia wasn’t enough to curb your tongue in front of your elders, but Valar help me I won’t have you any other way’ admitted Turgon.
‘Of course not. Who would tell you things that others are afraid even to think about? Secrets that none are aware of? You would be lost without me, my liege’ the younger Noldo playfully nodded.
‘Bah! Secrets? You can’t even tell me for whom this soulful music is played each night’ exclaimed the king.
‘Not each night, meldo. As it happens, I have a strong suspicion of the identity of the recipient serenade’ answered Glorfindel with a wink.
Turgon turned his full attention to the golden haired elf as his curiosity was piqued.
‘Share your suspicion, Glory. It is your duty to inform your king about the comings and goings in my realm’ urged the raven haired elf, using his companion’s childhood name that only the two of them knew.
Glorfindel took a sip of his vine, slowly savoring it’s taste then suddenly the expression on his face became serious.
‘I was debating with myself if I should inform you about this without anything to prove my theory. Recently I spoke with one of my guards and his words strengthened my conviction about the matter’ began the younger elf.
The king gestured to Glorfindel to reveal his claim.
‘I don’t know how to present this news to you gently, Turgon, but I’m almost convinced that Haldir Ithlidinion is in love with you’ answered the golden haired Quendi.
To be continued…
Translations:
Since this is the First Age all elvish words are in Quenya.
Isil – Moon
Anar – Sun
Otorno – sworn brother (no blood ties)
Meldo – friend
The Last Flower of Telperion - The elder of the Two Trees of Valinor, called the White Tree, which shed silver light on the domain of the Valar. His leaves were of dark green, shining silver beneath, and his boughs were decked with brilliant flowers that shed a rain of silver dew.
Telperion endured throughout the Years of the Trees, but came to an end in the dreadful event known as the Darkening of Valinor. Even though the elder tree did not survive, he was not the last of the White Trees. Yavanna had made an image of him in Tirion, called Galathilion, from whom the White Trees of Númenor and later of Minas Tirith were descended. More importantly, one of Telperion's flowers survived the Darkening, and was set aloft by the Valar; this was the light we call the Moon.
Courtesy of the Encyclopedia of Arda
Chapter 1
Turgon sat on his balcony and watched as the moon slowly ascended the night sky.
In the last four weeks the king and his most trusted advisers had worked from sunrise to sunset to select the finest masons and carpenters in Nevrast. This night the final two masters joined the group of elves who would start to build the foundations in the secret valley.
The king took a sip of wine from the goblet in his hand and listened to the music coming from the garden. The flute’s soft melody floated in the balmy air, making everyone who heard it feel enchanted.
Turgon knew who mastered so beautifully the instrument. Every night the same silver haired elf entered the royal garden to play music for the enjoyment of the dwellers in the palace, although no one knew for whom the serenade was played.
A gentle knock made the king turn from the garden.
‘Enter’ said the ebony haired ruler. The door opened and a smiling elf entered the king’s chamber.
‘He is playing with such passion is he not, my lord?’ inquired the visitor.
‘Indeed he is, Glorfindel. I do not know for whom he plays, but any elleth would be very happy to receive such gift each night’ replied Turgon.
The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower stepped out to the balcony. ‘Rumor has it, that Haldir gave his heart to someone who’s out of his reach’ said the golden haired elf.
‘Oh! The gossips of the palace! I hope that this time they’re mistaken, for I’m very fond of Lord Ithlidin’s son. It’s a cruel fate to love someone from afar. He is but two hundred years old but his skills with a sword and a bow are exceptional’ said the king.
Glorfindel glanced down to the garden to catch a glimpse of the young Sinda.
‘Haldir has many talents no doubt, my liege. He is loved and admired in the city by everyone for the young warrior has a good heart and sharp wit. Lord Ithlidin’s son is always among the first to offer a helping hand and the last to retire at the end of the day’ said the golden haired Noldo.
King Turgon nodded his head and turned his gaze back to the night sky.
‘The sight of Isil* leaves me in wonder and longing each time when I lay my eyes upon it. Unlike Anar* it keeps changing its shape and makes each night unique and unrepeatable’ said the king keeping his gaze on the sky. ‘It’s been only fifty seasons since Tilion steered The Last Flower of Telperion* to the sky, but its silver face never ceases to enchant me’ sighed the Noldo ruler.
Glorfindel sat beside his liege and dearest friend.
‘One day the Valar will forgive our trespassing and we will return to the Blessed Lands, my king,’ offered the elven lord.
‘I hope that you’re right, otorno*’ said Turgon, emptying his cup.
‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right. You should’ve learn that by now, meldo* ‘ Glorfindel poked the raven haired Elda, trying to lighten the other elf’s mood.
The king’s face lit up and the older Quendi smiled at his companion.
‘You remind me of it every single day, elfling. You are too cheeky for your own good. Mayhap, I shall forbid you to address me so freely if you don’t behave yourself,’ chuckled Turgon.
The golden haired elf was happy to see his friend’s carefree smile and leaned over to refill Turgon’s cup with wine.
‘I’m sure that you are quite aware that I can be no longer addressed as elfling, Fingolfinion. Mayhap old age already clouds your memory my friend, but you’re no more than two hundred years older than I. We’ve both passed our fifth millennia’. replied Glorfindel.
The king’s laughter filled the air and the music in the garden halted for moment.
‘Five millennia wasn’t enough to curb your tongue in front of your elders, but Valar help me I won’t have you any other way’ admitted Turgon.
‘Of course not. Who would tell you things that others are afraid even to think about? Secrets that none are aware of? You would be lost without me, my liege’ the younger Noldo playfully nodded.
‘Bah! Secrets? You can’t even tell me for whom this soulful music is played each night’ exclaimed the king.
‘Not each night, meldo. As it happens, I have a strong suspicion of the identity of the recipient serenade’ answered Glorfindel with a wink.
Turgon turned his full attention to the golden haired elf as his curiosity was piqued.
‘Share your suspicion, Glory. It is your duty to inform your king about the comings and goings in my realm’ urged the raven haired elf, using his companion’s childhood name that only the two of them knew.
Glorfindel took a sip of his vine, slowly savoring it’s taste then suddenly the expression on his face became serious.
‘I was debating with myself if I should inform you about this without anything to prove my theory. Recently I spoke with one of my guards and his words strengthened my conviction about the matter’ began the younger elf.
The king gestured to Glorfindel to reveal his claim.
‘I don’t know how to present this news to you gently, Turgon, but I’m almost convinced that Haldir Ithlidinion is in love with you’ answered the golden haired Quendi.
To be continued…
Translations:
Since this is the First Age all elvish words are in Quenya.
Isil – Moon
Anar – Sun
Otorno – sworn brother (no blood ties)
Meldo – friend
The Last Flower of Telperion - The elder of the Two Trees of Valinor, called the White Tree, which shed silver light on the domain of the Valar. His leaves were of dark green, shining silver beneath, and his boughs were decked with brilliant flowers that shed a rain of silver dew.
Telperion endured throughout the Years of the Trees, but came to an end in the dreadful event known as the Darkening of Valinor. Even though the elder tree did not survive, he was not the last of the White Trees. Yavanna had made an image of him in Tirion, called Galathilion, from whom the White Trees of Númenor and later of Minas Tirith were descended. More importantly, one of Telperion's flowers survived the Darkening, and was set aloft by the Valar; this was the light we call the Moon.
Courtesy of the Encyclopedia of Arda