A Planned Event
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
5,886
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
5,886
Reviews:
18
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 3
Chapter 3
A knock resounded against the heavy wooden door, sounding more like a thumping. Laegon opened the weighty door of the healing room to see one of the guards. The guard was seemingly out of breath from having run all the way there, while searching for the where-abouts of the king. “Is my king with you?” huffed the guard breathlessly.
Hearing the commotion, Gil-Galad was already at the side of the healer. “What is it?” He asked in concern.
“My liege,” bowed the guard, I bring word from a merchant ship at the docks, “Gondolin has fallen, all is lost…”
Shocked gasps were heard uttered by the king, healer and nursemaid. Cirdan walked up the winding steps to stand next to the guard. “Aye, it is true...”
“W...what of Turgon?” muttered Gil Galad, in shock.
“He fell…” whispered Cirdan.
“Idril?” Gil’s voice now shook.
“She, Tuor and a handful of others are safe and have declared you the new High King.” Cirdan put a hand, as support, onto Gil-Galad’s shoulder.
“I...I do not want this…” whispered their new High King as he swayed on his feet.
Cirdan sighed heavily in acknowledgement “I know, my friend, I know, though you haven’t a choice in the matter. Our people need leading and it is you who are destined to do so.”
Gil-Galad looked deeply into the shipwright’s wizened eyes, “I need time alone.” He stated and then walked down the winding steps…. the three watching him leave. Cirdan then turned to Laegon, for he knew that the king would be fine after some time alone.
“How are our patients?” asked Cirdan as he began to follow Laegon back into the room.
“Well enough physically, though I wonder about the mind of this one…. strange.” answered Laegon quietly. Together they stood close to the bed and watched as the dark-haired one put his son back into the cradle. Erestor then turned those dark eyes on them suspiciously.
The nursemaid went to touch the babe, to straighten his blanket, but before she could do so, Erestor lurched forward and slapped her hand away. “You may not touch my son!” he hissed at her.
The maiden held her now stinging hand against her. “How dare you!” she yelled back.
“That was unnecessary,” replied Laegon, “she is only offering her help.”
Erestor turned eyes filled with hate towards all in the room. “If she touches my lord’s son again, I shall do much more than slap her feeble hand.” These words were uttered with poisonous calm, which had much more of an impact to the three staring at this strange Elf, this Elf that had befallen into their care. The Elf before them spoke with a strange accent; for the more he spoke, the more his dialect surfaced, a dialect that was spoken within the Hidden City.
Cirdan pulled up a chair and sat closer to this mysterious Elf. Erestor just watched him warily and held his gaze. Stroking the hair on his chin, the shipwright, being old and wise, shown this Elf no fear and held himself in such a manner that commanded respect, for he felt that the Elf before him would react to that in a more positive aspect.
“What is your name, Elf?” Cirdan asked with authority.
“Erestor.”
“Erestor, why were you wondering alone in the bogs in your advanced condition?”
“I was lost.”
Cirdan sighed in frustration, and leaned forward. “Gondolin has fallen, all was lost.” Cirdan watched as the Elf before him struggled to keep his emotions in check, the only sign was a slight trembling of his chin.
“You were there, were you not?”
Silence.
“Were you with the survivors led by Idril and Tuor?”
Erestor began to breath heavily; he fell back and closed his eyes tight. “It is alright now, you are safe here,” offered Cirdan as he laid his hand on Erestor’s arm to try and comfort him.
Erestor pulled away as if he was scalded. “Do not touch me! I am not yours! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” he screamed, waking the babe once more, who began to wail. For a moment the nursemaid inched towards the infant, but thought twice about it.
“We shall leave, but will return shortly.” Offered Cirdan as he stood and gestured for the others to follow him out. As he began to walk out the door, he turned back to the strange Elf on the bed who was leaning over to pick up his son. “We are not your enemies.” He said as he closed the door behind him.
Erestor hurriedly picked up his son and kissed the full head of chestnut hair. Laying the infant on the bed before him, he quickly and with near desperation, unwrapped him of the blanket and changing cloths. Looking his son over, he delicately lifted up the small testicles and began to cry heavily. Changing the infant he swaddled him once more and held him to his breast, rocking him gently. The infant quieted and stared up at him with dark eyes, eyes that looked old already. “You will have the chance I never had…” he whispered and began to sing an ancient song…one that was a favorite of the babe’s father.
TBC….
A knock resounded against the heavy wooden door, sounding more like a thumping. Laegon opened the weighty door of the healing room to see one of the guards. The guard was seemingly out of breath from having run all the way there, while searching for the where-abouts of the king. “Is my king with you?” huffed the guard breathlessly.
Hearing the commotion, Gil-Galad was already at the side of the healer. “What is it?” He asked in concern.
“My liege,” bowed the guard, I bring word from a merchant ship at the docks, “Gondolin has fallen, all is lost…”
Shocked gasps were heard uttered by the king, healer and nursemaid. Cirdan walked up the winding steps to stand next to the guard. “Aye, it is true...”
“W...what of Turgon?” muttered Gil Galad, in shock.
“He fell…” whispered Cirdan.
“Idril?” Gil’s voice now shook.
“She, Tuor and a handful of others are safe and have declared you the new High King.” Cirdan put a hand, as support, onto Gil-Galad’s shoulder.
“I...I do not want this…” whispered their new High King as he swayed on his feet.
Cirdan sighed heavily in acknowledgement “I know, my friend, I know, though you haven’t a choice in the matter. Our people need leading and it is you who are destined to do so.”
Gil-Galad looked deeply into the shipwright’s wizened eyes, “I need time alone.” He stated and then walked down the winding steps…. the three watching him leave. Cirdan then turned to Laegon, for he knew that the king would be fine after some time alone.
“How are our patients?” asked Cirdan as he began to follow Laegon back into the room.
“Well enough physically, though I wonder about the mind of this one…. strange.” answered Laegon quietly. Together they stood close to the bed and watched as the dark-haired one put his son back into the cradle. Erestor then turned those dark eyes on them suspiciously.
The nursemaid went to touch the babe, to straighten his blanket, but before she could do so, Erestor lurched forward and slapped her hand away. “You may not touch my son!” he hissed at her.
The maiden held her now stinging hand against her. “How dare you!” she yelled back.
“That was unnecessary,” replied Laegon, “she is only offering her help.”
Erestor turned eyes filled with hate towards all in the room. “If she touches my lord’s son again, I shall do much more than slap her feeble hand.” These words were uttered with poisonous calm, which had much more of an impact to the three staring at this strange Elf, this Elf that had befallen into their care. The Elf before them spoke with a strange accent; for the more he spoke, the more his dialect surfaced, a dialect that was spoken within the Hidden City.
Cirdan pulled up a chair and sat closer to this mysterious Elf. Erestor just watched him warily and held his gaze. Stroking the hair on his chin, the shipwright, being old and wise, shown this Elf no fear and held himself in such a manner that commanded respect, for he felt that the Elf before him would react to that in a more positive aspect.
“What is your name, Elf?” Cirdan asked with authority.
“Erestor.”
“Erestor, why were you wondering alone in the bogs in your advanced condition?”
“I was lost.”
Cirdan sighed in frustration, and leaned forward. “Gondolin has fallen, all was lost.” Cirdan watched as the Elf before him struggled to keep his emotions in check, the only sign was a slight trembling of his chin.
“You were there, were you not?”
Silence.
“Were you with the survivors led by Idril and Tuor?”
Erestor began to breath heavily; he fell back and closed his eyes tight. “It is alright now, you are safe here,” offered Cirdan as he laid his hand on Erestor’s arm to try and comfort him.
Erestor pulled away as if he was scalded. “Do not touch me! I am not yours! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” he screamed, waking the babe once more, who began to wail. For a moment the nursemaid inched towards the infant, but thought twice about it.
“We shall leave, but will return shortly.” Offered Cirdan as he stood and gestured for the others to follow him out. As he began to walk out the door, he turned back to the strange Elf on the bed who was leaning over to pick up his son. “We are not your enemies.” He said as he closed the door behind him.
Erestor hurriedly picked up his son and kissed the full head of chestnut hair. Laying the infant on the bed before him, he quickly and with near desperation, unwrapped him of the blanket and changing cloths. Looking his son over, he delicately lifted up the small testicles and began to cry heavily. Changing the infant he swaddled him once more and held him to his breast, rocking him gently. The infant quieted and stared up at him with dark eyes, eyes that looked old already. “You will have the chance I never had…” he whispered and began to sing an ancient song…one that was a favorite of the babe’s father.
TBC….