Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Five
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn, Chloe Amethyst
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Fifth Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.

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November, Tirion, Aman

Gwindor let out a long breath as he closed an excessively large tome, the sound echoing in the nearly-silent air of Tirion's expansive library. He had been at this for hours, catching up on the history he had missed over the last six Ages, and he was more than ready for a break.

The task of reading through the latter part of the First Age had been more emotionally daunting than he'd first expected. There were a few times he had broken down, setting the old text aside so as not to smudge the elegant script with an errant tear as he quietly sobbed. The fates of the Elves of Gondolin and Sirion had been particularly overwhelming... and he hadn't even finished the First Age yet.

He set the treatise carefully on the mahogany desk and stood to stretch briefly before sitting a few steps away in an inviting alcove with a window overlooking the flower garden outside. Reclining on the sunbathed cushions, he allowed his mind to wander over the events of the past. But such thoughts always led him back to his own folly and the repercussions of his actions, and it was not long before he was shedding tears again, the wet tracks glistening down his cheeks as he silently stared out the window at the flowers swaying in the breeze.

Erestor groaned as he lifted the six heavy books, frowning in consternation. Even in Aman, he had research to do, documents to prepare, and meetings to attend. Whoever it was who had told him that Aman was paradise, an ending of all toil, deserved a swift kick in the backside. He made a mental note to do as much to Glorfindel when next they saw one other.

He walked along the dusty stacks, always in awe of the collection Tirion's grand library contained, when he noticed the forlorn-looking Elf on the windowseat of one of the vast history sections. Erestor had never been one to mind his own business, as it was his business to know everyone else's, and with a grunt, he set his books on a nearby table. He approached the dark-haired Elf, frowning to see tears on his cheeks. "Excuse me," he murmured. "Are you all right?"

Pulled suddenly from his musings by the voice addressing him, Gwindor's distant eyes refocused and flickered over to meet the gaze of the Elf standing close to him. Tall and slim, the Noldo's long black hair made a stark contrast to the pale, sharp features of his face, a face that looked at him with open concern.

Lowering his dark eyes and wiping quickly at the wetness of his cheeks and chin, Gwindor's voice was soft as he bit back his tears. "I am... as well as may be expected." He disliked drawing attention to himself. "I hope I did not disturb you."

"As well as can be expected? In Aman, I have high expectations." He smiled, seating himself on the seat with the other Elf. "Perhaps you will tell me what it is that causes you to weep in a place as marvellous as this?" Erestor could never imagine shedding tears in a *library*, as it was one of the most joyous places he'd ever found himself.

"I..." Gwindor hesitated, knowing the black-haired Elf meant no harm, but would not leave until he explained his tears. "I was recently reborn. I stopped following Vairë's tapestries after the fall of Doriath. The history after that point has made me... emotional. Much happened in my absence... much I feel responsible for."

Erestor lifted an eyebrow elegantly, and he did not comment on the Elf's reborn status. Instead, he said, "How can you be responsible for events that happened after your death?"

Gwindor sighed, a sad frown marring his youthful face. "Perhaps not wholly responsible. Nevertheless, things were set in motion by my folly and seemed to ripple larger and larger." He drew his knees up to his chest, encircling them with his arms. "If only I had not brought him to Nargothrond..."

The scribe surveyed the hunched over Elf with sharp, intelligent eyes. "If I may ask, who are you?"

He thought briefly to lie... but lying had never been a habit of Gwindor's, nor was he very good at it except when great need pressed him. "Gwindor Guilinion," he said, meeting the other Elf's gaze for a moment, "formerly of Nargothrond."

Erestor knew the name. How could he not? He schooled his features carefully, adopting the same neutral, pleasant expression he did in the council room. "Lord Gwindor of Nargothrond? I know the name, and the history, well." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Though I fear I cannot recall, in all that I have read, where the end of Beleriand was caused by one Elf's actions."

Gwindor swallowed thickly, his jaw clenched. "Had I not brought Túrin to Nargothrond, many lives could have been saved, and Nargothrond spared the counsel that led to her downfall. I could have taken him anywhere... why did I choose *there*, where I knew I would be outcast and suspected of being a spy of Morgoth?" His voice died out, and he clenched his jaw harder, attempting to keep the tears from welling in his eyes again.

"May I give you some advice, a task I have been woefully underpaid to perform to this very day?" Erestor said gently with a wry smile.

The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Gwindor's mouth. A councillor... He should have expected as much in such an expansive library. With a nod and a small gesture, he indicated that the Elf could continue as he wished.

"Worrying about choices already made does nothing but rot what is within. You can spend decades asking yourself what would have been different had you done this or had you not done that, but truly, you have chosen your course. As did every other Elf of that time." Erestor clasped his hands in his lap, his voice soft, but full of wisdom both learned and earned. "You have been offered another opportunity to enjoy a life you did not have the chance to enjoy before, without the oppressive darkness of Morgoth and without the dire choices of Lord and Land." He smiled once more, his grey eyes bright. "Do not squander this new life on old regrets. It is a poor state to live in."

Gwindor listened, and instinctively he knew that the councillor had lived long enough to impart true wisdom of this sort from experience and years of scholarly observation. "I do not wish to squander what I have been given," he murmured, his deep eyes showing he understood the advice, "but some wounds do not heal with the restoration of the body." Looking down at his left hand, which he had lost long ago in the struggle to free himself from the torment of Angband, he slowly smiled. "I know I have been given a gift. I shall try to cherish it fully. I... just need time."

"I do believe there is plenty of that here," Erestor said with a quiet laugh. "And perhaps no, the wounds do not heal easily, but friendship, sunshine, and laughter will aid in the healing of those hurts."

"I had ample exposure to sunshine on my journey from Mandos," he managed to chuckle quietly. "The friendship and laughter have yet to be found. My host has been most..." But a word to describe Thranduil would not come, so Gwindor just sighed and shrugged, his smile lingering on his lips.

"You may find friendship and laughter with me, for I am an Elf who enjoys both," Erestor said with a grin. "Your host?" He tilted his head. "Who are you staying with in Tirion?" Erestor would have thought Gwindor had chosen to stay with family, not an unknown individual.

"King Thranduil has 'done the Noldor a favour' by opening his door to me," Gwindor said, sarcasm and irritation evident in his tone. "He has his moments of kindness, but the rest of the time I am left to ignore his bottomless resentment for the Noldor and his unattainable expectations as an employer."

Erestor had to swallow his laughter as his dear friend was so expertly described in so few words. "King Thranduil?" he asked, mildly. "I have... heard of him. He is a... firm taskmaster from all accounts."

"Firm?" Gwindor scoffed quietly. "He is wholly unreasonable." Not to mention insensitive, unwelcoming, stingy, and a complete git... but Gwindor did not wish to be unkind by saying so much. "He'll likely scold me when I return, regardless of it being my day off."

"Really? That harsh? Well, he is a king. Perhaps those in his kingdom tend to do as he bids when he bids? I have heard that Laicanan is a *very* different place than Tirion." Actually, he had more than 'heard'. He had visited several times, and he knew the realm to be just as free and wild as Greenwood had been. Just like its king was. "What duties do you perform? There are rumours of what the Elves in King Thranduil's service do." It was a subtle way for him to find out if Thranduil was bedding the Elf, though Erestor doubted it. The disdain Gwindor spoke of Thranduil told him more than words ever could.

"All kings expect their orders to be followed, but most give some sort of incentive... inspire those who follow those orders to do so gladly without being made to feel less than they are," he pointed out quietly. Lowering his legs, he leaned back against the glass of the window, arms folded as the sunlight brought out the reddish tint of his dark locks. "I cook for him. 'Tis a skill I learned in Nargothrond before my death."

Erestor lifted an eyebrow again. "I remember vividly the last... negotiations King Thranduil and I participated in. I must say, I was quite satisfied with his performance under such pressure." It took all Erestor had not to smirk, and he knew should Gwindor ask Thranduil about him, Thranduil wouldn't hesitate to explain Erestor was a regular bed-mate of his.

"I shall add that to his long list of attributes," Gwindor mumbled, still narked. "He is lucky I enjoy cooking so much. But, then again," he paused, looking at his hands, "I suppose I enjoy the challenge. I have yet to hear a compliment to my cooking pass his lips. Working toward hearing such a thing has kept me imaginative with my recipes." At least there was *something* positive.

"If you dislike being in his employ so much," Erestor said, his previous internal humour dissipating, "why remain?"

Gwindor sighed, answering as honestly as he could. "I'm not certain. Something keeps me from leaving when such thoughts cross my mind. I cannot explain it. But in any case, I have nowhere else specifically to go. My family, so far as I know, remains in the cold embrace of the Halls. I have no reason to turn down the offer of lodging and stability."

Erestor knew that 'something' well. Whatever else Thranduil was, he was terribly charismatic, with a silent draw no one Erestor had spoken to could qualify. Not even Rhovandir. "Hopefully, the icy woodland king will warm in your company," he suggested. "If you take such pride in your cooking, then the meals must be exquisite."

"Of my skills with blade, forge," Gwindor shivered slightly, "and food, it is the last I most enjoy. Even from King Thranduil, I have heard no outright complaints." And he deemed that worthy of note, for some reason.

Erestor smiled faintly. "If there was cause for complaint, I am certain you would have heard by now. Silence is praise enough, I would think, when dealing with Thranduil."

"Perhaps you are right," Gwindor conceded with a half-smile.

"Of course I am right," Erestor chuckled. "In all my long years of serving Lord Elrond, I think I have been wrong a grand total of twice."

"Elrond..." Gwindor squinted for a moment, before the memory came to him. "I just read about him and his brother Elros. The book alluded to them both becoming great rulers after their time with Maedhros and Maglor. So you were councillor to Lord Elrond?" he questioned with his first genuine smile of the day. "By what name may I call you?"

"I am his Chief Adviser, even in Aman," Erestor said proudly. "I am called Erestor. I left Lindon with Lord Elrond during the Second Age to defend Eregion, and then to aid in the foundation of Imladris. Once that occurred, I helped to run that last refuge before the Sea."

Gwindor's brow furrowed and he reached for a thin, but large, book that contained several maps of Arda throughout history. Flipping the pages carefully, he quickly found one that contained the foreign names he did not understand. His smile quickly returned, and he looked over at Erestor, a spark of interest and awe in his charcoal eyes. "You... sailed to Aman then?"

Erestor nodded. "I was born in Lindon during the thirtieth year of the Second Age. I served as a scribe under King Gil-galad until I left with Elrond." He had been instantly drawn to the Herald. Elrond's quiet dignity and calm wisdom had been like a beacon to Erestor, who had found solace among books and scrolls and maps. "I had never seen Aman until I arrived here at my Lord's side."

A look of restrained, childish excitement came over Gwindor, and he bit his lip. "What is it like?" he asked, blushing slightly when he had to clarify the vague question. "What is it like to live for so long?"

The scribe was silent for a long time, considering the question seriously. "Long. Very... long. Too much strife and sorrow, which has lessened since coming to Aman."

Gwindor nodded, a wistful look on his face. "If it was anything like what I experienced, but expanded over millennia... I can't even imagine." He paused for a lingering moment. "In some ways, I was blessed with a short life... but there are so many things I never got to experience, due to the constant wars and ill fortune. I... look forward to living a bit longer this time."

"From what I know of your history, Gwindor, my life has been very, very different from yours." Erestor paused, and then he said, "If you wish to speak to an Elf who can relate more to your experiences... you may wish to speak at length with Thranduil."

"Though I'm sure he would not hesitate to talk of himself more," he said with a sad smile, "I do think I would only bore him." Thranduil was not the most approachable Elf Gwindor had ever known, and he had greatly disliked crying in front of the blond.

Erestor's eyes sparkled with fondness. "He may surprise you, Lord Gwindor. He may just surprise you."

"I shall take your word for it," Gwindor sighed, his smile a bit more cheerful. "Thank you for your counsel and kind words, Lord Erestor. If the mood ever strikes you, please feel free to visit me at King Thranduil's estate. I would be happy to cook for you sometime."

A smile graced Erestor's face. "I think that would be lovely."

The smile was mirrored on Gwindor's face, the expression bringing the younger Noldo's features to life. He did not feel so alone in that moment, and with his spirit renewed, he reached for the large history text he had set aside earlier. Opening to the page where he had stopped, he gave Erestor a grateful smile before diving once more into his studies.

Erestor stood, hefting his armful of books off the table. As he walked away, a thought occurred to him. "Oh, and Lord Gwindor?" He looked over his shoulder at the other Elf. "Should you ever wish company, or to *hear* the history rather than read it, I am always available."

Gwindor nodded, his smile still bright and grateful. "Thank you for the offer... And, please, no more 'Lord', Erestor. Such titles are not needed between friends."

"No, they are not, Gwindor." Erestor gave him a nod before turning and exiting the section, sighing to himself.

Thranduil had a cook? A cook he was overly critical of?

How... odd.

TBC…