Amin

He was tired of socializing. Something about the way Ereinion greeted each individual and thereby, treated them as his equal regardless of station was puzzling to Erestor. Not that the advisor was cruel to those below his rank, but he was nearlearly as genuine about impartiality as Ereinion Gil-Galad had shown. Erestor had worked hard to achieve the position of Chief Advisor in the House of Elrond and it was not a title he took lightly. Respect also went along with such things and the patrons of Rivendell certainly gave him that. He rather enjoyed it. Some would even say it had gone to his head at times, but ego was something the advisor prided himself upon. And he certain had no shortage of it!

The breeze had suddenly grown a bit too chilly for his liking and he sniffled, muttering under his breath about Elfling mischief as he reached into his tightly fitted robes for the handkerchief he had been forced to carry for more than a day now. While it was uncommon for Elves to fall ill, traipsing about in wet robes for more than three hours during the breath of Autumn’s chill was enough to make any being feel under the weather. And a fine job it had done!

Erestor grumbled a curse, realizing he had left the wretched cloth within his chambers, which was probably where he should have remained given the sourness of his mood. But he had very much wanted to attend the festivities if only for the excuse of seeing Ereinion but for a moment longer. Just why the Elven King unnerved him so was certainly beyond his reasoning, but the pull of Erestor’s attraction failed to diminish. In fact, he would dare say that it had grown. And that in and of itself was most annoying, but not nearly as annoying as the sneeze he felt coming on.

Ugh. How he despised these fits the vile illness inflicted upon him at the most inconvenient of times. Like now, seeing as how he had failed to bring that nuisance of a handkerchief when he was so desperately going to need it. No matter. It was not as if anyone was around to see him in the throf sof such treachery.

Pinching his nose shut, he stifled what would have proven to been quite a loud explosion of sound which made his ears pop. Most uncomfortable, and apparently, not the wisest of ideas for it failed to relieve the ticklish sensation even in the slightest. He succumbed to a second rather violent sneeze, unable to completely silence it followed by a third which managed to completely escape his efforts, resounding across the empty gardens in a most nerve rackingly loud eruption. A fourth would have taken him had it not been for the sudden touch of a hand upon his shoulder, startling the feeling away for the moment, which was even more aggravating than the actual action itself.

Erestor stiffened, his expression darkening considerably. Who in all of Arda would be foolish enough to intrude upon his misery when he so obviously wanted to be left alone?! Turning a scathing glare to the meddler who was certainly inviting more trouble than he or she realized, he nearly slid off the bench in surprise at the figure standing behind him.

“I think perhaps you may find this of some use?” Ereinion’s richly melodic voice intoned, dangling a neatly folded square of white before the advisor’s gaping mouth.

“I. . .eh. . .um. . .” Mordor fires, where had his ability to form a coherent sentence gone? Steadying himself with a slow breath, he accepted the proffered cloth graciously and said, “yes. Thank you.”

The Noldor King swept up to face him, his expression one of aristocratic peace as always. “You, my friend, sound quite horrid,” he noted, clasping his hands before him as he studied Erestor with gentle concern.

“I am fine. It is nothing,” Erestor murmured, dabbing at his nose with the edge of the handkerchief demurely. He desperately wished the High King would take his leave, for he suddenly felt the urge to sneeze again and certainly did not wish to do so with Ereinion standing before him.

Much to his dismay, Ereinion chose to seat himself beside Erestor with a rustle of heavy silk, hands folded calmly within his lap. “The air is far more pleasant in the gardens this eve than within my dining hall, for I fear it to be quite crowded,” the King said with a smile. “Although I much enjoy the company of my friends, the noise of the entertainment can be a bit tiring.”

Even through the congestihat hat dampened his keen senses, Erestor could smell the scent of wild bergamot that lingered within the dark tresses that flowed well past the Noldor Elf’s shoulders, reaching nearly to his waist. Although it was very similar in color to Erestor’s, the texture was far different. Where the advisor’s hair was wild and abundant with just a hint of lush wave, Ereinion’s was smooth and silken and not nearly as thick, giving it a glossy sheen that refracted Ithil’s light in a most becoming manner. Even Ereinion’s eyes were of the most verdant shade of green, fresh and vivid as the unfurling of young foliage to the first rays of the sun which were very much unlike Erestor’s cobalt blue orbs. The King quite exceeded his height as well, for the Noldor Elves were quite tall and although lithe and lean, Erestor was far from towering over the inhabitants of Imladris.

Suddenly, the advisor felt quite plain seated beside this exquisite splendor of an Elf, an emotion he had never once had to endure. An errant tickle against his neck reminded him of the wisps of hair that continued to wave freely with each gust of wind. Could the Noldor King have picked a worse time to be social? Erestor self-consciously smoothed his thickly plaited braid, knowing the action would do little to ease the jaunty tendrils of wayward darkness, but at least it gave him something to do with hands other than worry the handkerchief between his fingers.

“I trust you are comfortable with your accommodations?” Ereinion asked, interrupting Erestor’s repetitive grooming.

“Yes,” the advisor replied, his voice sounding with little more than a rasping creak. By the fires of Mount Doom. . . .! Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Yes, they are most suitable.”

The regal Elf beside him smiled and quirked a brow, a gesture that suddenly reminded Erestor very much of Lord Elrond.

Did all Elven rulers learn this gesture as part of their royal repertoire?

“I hear,” Ereinion began, “that you had a run in with Ryuath and his band of miscreants.”

Illuvatar’s balls! He had not expected the King to mention his unfortunate mishap with the ocean, which he would rather forget than discuss. Erestor frowned at the memory, the corner of his lip lifting in rather disgusted sneer at the thought of the impetuous Elflings and their insipid games.

“Surly little urchins,” Erestor muttered rather scathingly before he could stop the words from leaving his lips.

The King laughed rather robustly at the snidely uttered commentary and shook his head. “Oh, my dear Erestor. . .! How they must have addled you!”

“Humph,” Erestor grunted. “Ruined my favorite robes is what they did. I shall never get the scent of brackish mud from the fabric.”

“By the Valar. . .” Ereinion exclaimed, “surely you did not fall into. . .?”

“Yes, yes. . .” Erestor interrupted, waving his hand dismissively, the cloth waving in irritable surrender. “Quite amused the pesky vermin.”

Ereinion stroked his chin thoughtfully. Ryuath had not mentioned the Imladris advisor’s inadvertent swim. Someone would have to reprimand the Elfling. . .and severely! Perhaps he would do so himself if for nothing more than to frighten the youngster into some proper manners regarding guests.

“My apologies, Lord Erestor. I shall see to it that Ryuath is disciplined properly for his actions,” the King said.

The advisor was about to assure his host that such actions were not necessary, for Elfling mischief was both commonplace and natural especially in regards to strangers, but was suddenly overcome with the unpleasant realization that he had to sneeze again. . . and couldnaugnaught to stop it. Thankfully, he had just enough time to cover his mouth and nose with the handkerchief before bending into the force of the action, his lean body shuddering profusely.

Green eyes studied him with a mixture of concern and curiosity as a fierce blush burned its way upward to the pointed tips of Erestor’s ears.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, wiping his nose gingerly with the cloth, seeking desperately to regain the characteristic coolness of his demeanor

“Oh my. . .” said Ereinion, placing a gentle hand upon Erestor’s back. “Galu, mellon-nin.**”

Erestor flinched beneath the warmth of the Elven King’s touch. Part of him wished for Ereinion to stay, but more of him hoped he would take his leave. Another lock of hair worked its way from his braid, adding to the waving mass of strays that danced about with each puff of wind, which was also continually adding to his torment. A slight shiver coursed through him and he sniffled wretchedly, trying to discreetly stifle a coughing fit into his fisted hand.

“That does not sound good, Advisor,” Ereinion noted, his hand rubbing an absent circle against Erestor’s back as the coughing subsided.

By Elbereth, why was Ereinion Gil-galad suddenly so interested in his well-being when he had paid the dark Elf absolutely no heed despite Erestor’s efforts to gain his ardor earlier?

“It is nothing,” Erestor insisted stubbornly, blushing furiously as the Noldor King’s hand moved to his shoulder and then to tuck an obstinate lock of Erestor’s hair behind one ear.

The simplicity of the gesture sent a tingle of pleasure down Erestor’s spine and he nearly shivered at the slightest of touches, but rather averted his stare towards the sway of distant treetops, suddenly afraid of just what his eyes may reflect should Ereinion seek their gaze.

Ereinion’s hand descended tly tly upon his knee and Erestor felt his temperature spike several degrees shy of boiling. The Noldor King was so close. . .so very close. Bergamot traced his senses, outlining the subtle scent of maleness that rose from
the fairest of skin, sketching a portrait of fire within Erestor’s loins. The hand lifted, fingers brushed across the rubied swell of the advisor’s full lips; tilted his chin upward. Erestor fairly trembled beneath the soft fingertips that lifted his face towards the
heavens, for he saw not the stars, but rather the lush clarity of eyes the color of deepest emerald, strikingly intense yet infinitely tranquil. The warmest of lips covered his mouth and desire flamed throughout Erestor’s entire being, engulfing him in smoldering heat as he succumbed to it with a low moan of wanton pleasure that faded into a quivering whimper of plaintive need.

And it was over much too soon for his liking. The Noldor King withdrew his lips, but his touch remained, hand still cupping Erestor’s chin briefly before trailing the back of it across the softness of Erestor’s pale cheek.

“Good night, morier**,” Ereinion Gil-galad said with the kindest of smiles, rising with a swish of silk before gliding away into the melting darkness of the courtyard, leaving Erestor stunned and gaping in his regal wake.

* * * * * * * * * * * TO BE CONTINUED....

**Galu, mellon nin "blessings, my friend."

*morier- "dark one."