Amin

Dawn broke over the kingdom of Lindon, the air holding an unusual warmth, the sun seeming more radiant that the day before. The scent of crisp, Autumn foliage was carried along the wind which whispered tales of Winter’s chill, but not before one last day of beauty.

The first rays of sunlight streamed through the pale gauze of the silvered curtains, lighting upon Erestor’s face, brushing his cheek with a kiss of warmth.

And a contented smile parted his lips.

“Good morning, morier. . .”

Erestor had not even noticed that his lover was awake, much less coherent enough to speak. He turned in Erenion’s embrace, snuggling against his chest with an almost dreamy sigh.

“Good morning, my King. . .” he purred, nuzzling the noble chin affectionately.

A gentle kiss graced his lips as the Noldor gathered Erestor into his arms, breathing in the scent of the advisor’s unbound hair as if it were a rare perfume.

“I am glad that you are still here,” the High King said, his gaze lighting upon the sapphire of Erestor’s dark eyes.

It was all Erestor could do not to melt into a swoon within the arms that held him, so fondly gentle were the verdant eyes of Ereinion Gil-galad.

“I would never leave you,” Erestor said, the words spilling from his lips before he had time to temper their meaning in a more tactful way.

Ereinion did not speak, but rather ran his fingers through the thick silk of Erestor’s hair, pulling him closer. By the Valar, how he loved this Elf. Loved every inch of his haughty, snobbish demeanor, which had proven to be the greatest of facades. Beneath the chilly snide mannerisms lurked a heart so tender, that Ereinion wondered if any besides himself had ever seen it.

It mattered not if Erestor spoke his feelings aloud, for the High Kind was content simply with the look of complacency in his eyes. Apparently, the dark advisor needed this as much as he.

Erestor leaned against his new lover’s chest, Ereinion’s arms wound around his lithe frame protectively. Never had he felt so at ease in the embrace of another, so safe. And so wanted. Strange tendrils of warmth unfurled within Erestor’s body as the High King coiled a wayward strand of his hair around one finger before tucking it behind the advisor’s ear, smoothing the thick tresses with a gentle stroking motion of his hand. The simple action brought a deliriously blissful smile to Erestor’s lips and he sighed complacently, turning so that he could further curl into the strong arms that held him so closely, his cheek resting against the pale softness of Ereinion’s smooth skin.

“I remember my mother bringing me to the lands east of here when I was but an Elfling,” Erestor murmured, breathing in the heady scent of wild coriander that lingered within the silk of the Noldor Elf’s ebon tresses, “but, you were not yet King. Turgon held the throne. I do not believe you were even within the borders of this land, for had I met you. . I would have. . .” the advisor stopped short, allowing the unspoken sentiment to linger unfinished, choosing instead to bury his face within the sable softness of Ereinion’s hair.

“Yes,” the High King said, “my Uncle ruled after my father was slain, for I was but a child-prince. . . far too young to undertake the duties of ruling a land as vast as this one. It was only after his death during the Fall of Gondolin that I was summoned to assume the duty as High King, but I was no more than an awkward youth with very little experience in such matters.”

The gentle caressing moved from Erestor’s head down to his shoulder, the warm fingers tracing a path down the length of his arm and then back up again. “Do you know, ear ear Erestor, that this kingdom had not yet been discovered? Only Cirdan and myself survived the enslavement of the Haven of Falas and we fled into exile for many years before founding Lindon centuries later.”

Erestor knew the tale well, for he had studied it endlessly from the scrolls housed with Lord Elrond’s study. His interest had been gr his his thirst of knowledge endless and thus, he had begun to examine all aspects of Arda’s history that he could possibly find from tales of the Valar to the history of Men. Yet, the account of how Ereinion Gil-galad had come to rule was by far one his favorite studies.

“I am familiar with the story,” Erestor said, “but I would very much like to hear it told from your lips some day if you will indulge me.”

“Of course, morier. I shall tell you anything you wish to know,” Ereinion said, trailing his fingers lightly over the rounded cap of Erestor’s shoulder. “But for now. . .I would rather you silence my lips with your own. . .”

The subtle sensuality of the request sent a tingle of delectation down Erestor’s spine as the High King tipped his chin upward and held his gaze within the verdant depths of his emerald eyes. . .waiting.

By the Valar, but Ereinion was radiantly beautiful with his cascades of raven hair draping his pale skin like a finely woven cloak of silk, his expression one of serene regality. Erestor shifted in his arms so that he could enfold the finely chiseled warrior’s body within his own embrace, the tip of his tongue tracing the elegant jawline, the noble chin and then the sensually full lips which parted willingly at his touch.

“I must have you,” Erestor purred, licking at the creamy flesh of the regal neck. “I must have you as you have had me.”

Ereinion’s gaze was warm desire, his green eyes glittering in the rising light of dawn.

“I am yours to command, morier. . .” the High King said, stretching languidly across the rumpled sheets, wisps of his ebon hair clinging to his shoulders like trails of inky shadow, trickling downward into a pool of alabaster skin.

Surrender was never a game that Ereinion played with a lover, but this time… this time. . .he would give himself completely to the one that sought his affections. This time, the High King would yield.

* * * * * * *TO BE CONTINUED