Amin

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is LOVELY art by Leanan2000 that accompanies this story! To see it, go to http://anira0.tripod.com and click on the "AMIN" link....trust me, it's worth it!

***Ereinion’s hands roamed over his body, the High King’s tongue bathing every crevice, sampling every inch of his pale skin.

“Erestor. . .morier. . . “

His voice like the rustle of moonlight upon silk, his touch a pleasantly burning brand of fire. . . his lips. . . lushly warmth perfection. . .

Eyes. . .so green. . . like the dark tendrils of unfurling fronds. . .staring into his own. . .staring into his entire being. . .sinking. . .deeper. . .drowning. . . *****


“Good morning, my Lord!”

Erestor groaned as the servant drew his draperies, sending rays of unwanted brilliant light streaming into the room, scattering across the dark confines of the comforter.

“Ugh,” the advisor grunted, shielding his eyes with the back of one hand before snapping, “close that at once!”

The young Elf hesitated uncertainly. “But, Lord Elrond insisted. . .”

“I do not CARE what Lord Elrond has decreed. . .now CLOSE them this instant!” Erestor barked, tossing his messily braided hair over one shoulder as he hid his head beneath the pile of pillows that adorned the bed.

“Y-yes, my Lord. . .” the servant stammered, hastily drawing the curtains shut once more. “Shall I have your breakfast brought up to you?”

“Yes, yes. . .fine,” Erestor mumbled from the mountain of cushions, waving his hand in a dismissively irritable gesture. “Just leave me be!”

The youngster nodded, swallowing hard as he raced to vacate the room, leaving the grumbling advisor to dwell in misery beneath the mound of feathered squares.

Once the door was eased shut again, Erestor peered from beneath his downy refuge into the murky gloom of his chambers. Scant peels of sunshine curled the corners of the heavy drapes, their insistent outline reminding him that daylight had in fact arrived whether he was loathe to admit it or not.

A harsh cough heaved his chest, reminded him of exactly why he had chosen not to rise in the first place. He sounded considerably worse and should seek the council of a healer before the sickness further invaded his lungs, yet he was stubbornly certain it was nothing a hot bath and a healthy dose of sage tea would not cure. And perhaps some well deserved rest.

After trekking across some rather hostile terrain with very little sleep and enduring the calculated mischief of impish Elflings, the advisor was not surprised that his body had succumbed to illness so quickly. Immortal or not, a combination of fatigue and several hours of damp clothing in frigid wind were enough to befall any being with a nasty chill. Why else would Elven kind have need of healers with skills for recuperating the ill?

The door creaked open once more, eng ang a scathing glare from the incapacitated advisor.

“I thought I told you NOT to. . .!” His irate ranting was brought up short by the appearance of the last Elf in all of Arda he wished to see looking as he did.

“Good morning, Lord Erestor. I trust you slept well?” Familiar green eyes studied him from afar, the faintest hint of merriment dancing within their depths.

“I. . .”

*Control yourself, you grand fool of an Elf! * he chastised himself inwardly. * Look as if your appearance has no bearing on making an impression!*

“Yes,” he said at last, his voice regaining its subtly smooth Gypsy purr. “Very well.”

The High King approached him with graceful, gliding steps and seated himself upon the edge of Erestor’s bed quite closely, hands folded within his lap, his unerring expression of wise serenity pervading his nobly crafted visage.

“Baelvan tells me that you are not feeling your best, Advisor,” Ereinion said as Erestor struggled to cover his bare chest with the nearest sheet.

“It is noth. . it. . .eh. . .”

*No, no, NO! * Erestor pressed the handkerchief against his nose, vainly struggling to ward off the impending explosion of air.

“Let it go, morier,” Ereinion urged, laying a hand upon Erestor’s chest far too close for his comfort. A deliciously unexpected surge of heat rippled through him and his control over his sinuses was forgotten.

A rather explosive and inordinately loud sneeze tore from his chest, resounding throughout the chamber most indecently foll by by a dainty sniff and a demure, “excuse me”. Ereinion found the combination most humorous and was unable to conceal a small chuckle, for he had not expected such an enormous sound to erupt from the rather petite advisor.

“Eh? What is so amusing?” Erestor asked, his tone irritably congested.

“Nothing, my dear Erestor. Nothing at all,” the Noldor King replied, patting his leg fondly. “Perhaps you would care to pay a visit to my healer, Katril? He can further assess your. . .condition. . .and possibly offer some assistance?”

The last thing Erestor wanted was to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed, especially to be poked and prodded by some unknown healer, yet he did not wish to seem ungrateful.

“I thank you for your offer to aid, my Lord, but I fear that all I am in need of is rest, for it will mend my tired body,” Erestor said politely, his usually silken Gypsy purr dulled by his stuffy nose.

Although the High King did not look even remotely convinced, he did not press the issue, and for this, Erestor was grateful. Sleep was a far more pleasant option and a lack of it quite possibly part of the reason illness had befallen him in the first place.

“Very well then, Ere, bu, but I must consult with you regarding the founding of Imladris. Lord Elrond speaks very highly of your esteemed knowledge of the subject. Perhaps after you have had a bit of rest?” The High King reached forward and pushed a loose strand of Erestor’s unruly hair behind his ear, a gesture that reminded the advisor of the passionate kiss they had shared on the previous night.

Fingers slid along the angular curve of Erestor’s jaw as the hand came to rest upon his cheek briefly before resettling upon his forehead.

“Quel kamia, morier,”** Ereinion murmured, the coolness of touch growing to a comforting warmth which drew Erestor closer still to the siren song of slumber.

A gaping yawn seized the advisor as his eyelids grew heavy, the verdant green of the High King’s gentle gaze fading pleasantly into his memory as sleep swiftly overtook him at last. He would not recall later how his own hand had moved to grasp the tips of Ereinion’s fingers as they fell away from his pale skin and drew them close to the thrum of his heart.

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

Quel Kamia, Morier - "Sleep well, dark one"
Galu- "blessings"