Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: One
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. We do not make any money from fanfiction.
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, Thranduil/OFC, 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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August, Tirion, Aman

It was a beautiful day in Tirion... one that certainly warranted a walk in the trees outside the city gates. Erestor had taken the opportunity to escape the familiar stuffiness of the grand library of the Noldor, shed his black robes in favour of leggings and a loose shirt, and reacquainted himself with the sights and sounds of nature in the dying heat of late summer.

Upon arriving in Aman so many millennia ago, Elrond's Chief Councillor had spent most of the peaceful time in quiet contemplation and studying all he could in the extensive accounts of the Vanyar, Noldor, and Teleri. But, old habits were hard to shake, and still he found himself most at home when in the company of those with whom he could intelligently argue and banter about Ages past.

His feet led him to wandering and, far off the beaten path, he found himself in a large field of sweeping tall grasses fragrant with seasonal flowers. As a gentle wind stirred the grasses into a peaceful series of waves reminiscent of the rise and fall of the water on the open Sea, the dark-haired Elf made his way over to a small copse of large apple trees, delighting in the way a pair of squirrels bickered and chased one another, bounding from one limb to another before disappearing in the high branches of a far tree.

Chuckling, Erestor followed a sudden whim and began climbing the eldest, largest tree of the group. He was not the most graceful Elf to have climbed a tree, but when he came to a comfortable branch a small distance from the ground, he sat amongst the bountiful boughs. With a vibrant smile, he reached up and picked a pink-hued apple of exceptional beauty, and, after letting his hands and eyes examine the texture and colouring of the fruit, he took a large bite. The crisp flesh made a delightful sound as it was torn, yielding a soft scent and sweet tartness that exploded across his taste buds. Humming warmly in pleasure, he closed his eyes, chewing and swallowing before moving to take another bite from the delicious fruit.

Thranduil had been seated in the tree for hours now, quietly enjoying what little of nature Tirion had to offer. It had been his eldest daughter's idea for him to spend the autumn and winter seasons in Tirion, away from Laicanan. Bainwen had informed him that he spent too much time engrossed in politics, realm affairs, and bedroom affairs, and a small sojourn to the Noldorin city would serve him well.

He thought she merely wanted him to shed his dislike of the Noldor so that he might accept his youngest daughter's husband more.

Having arrived only a week earlier, Thranduil was already tired of the city walls and the serious Noldor. He found their customs and ways far too restrictive, and it inhibited his ability to find nightly company. Not that he was ever turned away, but he loathed the song and dance he had to perform each time he sought an Elf to grace his bed.

He was lost in these thoughts when the Noldo arrived. When he showed arrived and *climbed* the tree!

Thranduil smirked at the not-so-graceful manner in which the Noldo moved from branch to branch, shaking his head. Thranduil watched Erestor as the Elf ate his apple, seemingly oblivious to his presence. After a while, he called down from his higher perch. "Your kind doesn't tend to climb trees."

Erestor, having gone at least a full millennium without a substantial scare, started so suddenly that he nearly fell from his perch on the branch, teetering with a small flail as he dropped his half-eaten apple. When he regained his balance, he looked down unhappily at the fruit now sitting far below on the grass strewn roots.

He would have recognized that voice anywhere and purposefully put on his best visage of annoyance, his eyebrow raised appraisingly as he glared up at the blond through the leaves. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by 'my kind'? Do be a bit more specific. The last time I looked, I was an Elf, same as *you*."

Slowly, he made his way up through the branches, climbing carefully along the trunk of the tree. "Ah, but I forget myself," he said with a flourish of his hand as he reached for another hold. "Greenwood Elves are said to be part squirrel. Or was it part some other vermin? Perhaps part tree frog?"

His eyes were the only indication that he jested, the stormy depths glimmering with his mirth as he finally pulled himself onto the same branch as the blond. His pretence fell as he gently nudged Thranduil's shoulder with his own, scooting out a bit onto the sturdy bough. "Well met, Thranduil," he chuckled with a smile. "Rumour of your conquests has begun permeating the streets of Tirion. I thought for once they would not allow you admittance, you being a barbaric Wood-Elf and all." Reaching above, he picked another suitable apple and, after shining it on his friend's tunic in subtle retribution for startling him so, took a bite.

Thranduil waved his hand at Erestor, and then wiped the non-existent dirt off his tunic. His knee gave a gentle bump to Erestor's, careful not to knock the Noldo off balance.

"We are neither squirrels nor frogs, you insufferable bookworm," he said, his own sparkling eyes belying his tone. "And your 'kind' are the bloodthirsty jewel twits, remember? I would bet all of my beloved Laicanan that between scribbling on your parchments and running little errands for the Peredhel, you sit in your wardrobe and polish your stash of gems."

He tugged a stick from the tree and pierced Erestor's apple, snatching it away to take a bite of his own. "Aman needed our barbaric ways," he continued proudly after licking apple juice from his lips. "You prissy Noldor would fade from boredom if it were not for us."

Thranduil frowned, nodding to Erestor's greeting. "The number of notches on my bedpost is not growing as quickly I had hoped, as those within the walls of Tirion seem to be more preoccupied with propriety than with pleasure. It is a sad state affairs I seek to remedy before taking my leave come Spring."

Erestor rolled his eyes, purposefully taking them off Thranduil's lips, to which they were inexplicably drawn when the blond's tongue darted out to lap at the juice of *his* apple.

"This coming from the dreaded Elvenking? Need I make reference to a certain incident involving the Arkenstone of Thrain? I may, as you say, possess a few prized trinkets, but at least I do not hoard my treasures in a dank cave... nor on my person," he smirked, raising a hand to poke deftly at Thranduil's chest, his finger brushing against metal under the fabric. "Best to leave such things to the avaricious, pale-haired, barbarians of the forests."

Snatching the apple back by pulling it off his friend's makeshift spear, he took another bite. "And if the notches of your bedpost were an accurate measure of your conquests, I do believe there would be no bedpost left to speak of! At least we Noldor exercise some semblance of restraint and a certain level of propriety."

"I used the Arkenstone as *leverage*. Nothing more. Mind your history, Councillor. It's not as if I *kept* the thing," Thranduil remarked. He was still bitter over having to bury the damned thing with Thorin.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow when Erestor poked at the ring under his thin shirt. "Come now, pretty Noldo, you know how much you like the jewels I hide beneath my clothing," he said with a lecherous wink. "Your restraint and propriety cease to have any bearing the moment my hands enter your breeches." He snatched back the apple. "Take it again, meldir, and I will be forced to declare war on your overly shiny head."

Erestor eyed him, but said nothing more of the Arkenstone, knowing instinctively when he was probing too far for amicable banter. "My enjoyment of your treasures is not under debate, meldir," he grinned wickedly, though he knew he had just been put on the defensive. "However, using a single Elf's indulgence in your supposed skill, for the sake of protecting your delicate self-esteem and as a means for assessing the population as a whole, is most unwise and statistically unfounded."

Lies... complete lies. But wasn't all fair in love and -- Erestor grabbed the apple again with a soft jab of his elbow into Thranduil's side -- war?

"Get your own," he commanded with an exasperated look, though it quickly turned mischievous. "Or are you too lazy to reach above your golden head and pick one yourself? Should I call for Rhovandir so he may wipe your royal ass as well?"

"I never needed help with my backside," Thranduil said with his nose in the air. He reached up and snatched an apple from the tree. "Dear Erestor, I must say that I have bedded enough Elves to know the truth of my *supposed* skills. Why, was it not you who told me you had never experienced a more talented throat than mine?" Thranduil bit his apple, and then, with his glittering eyes on Erestor, he licked slowly at the juice running down his wrist.

Erestor may have been too old to blush easily, but Thranduil's comment brought him the closest he had been in many long years. His eyes keenly took in the sight of the blond's tongue as it lapped at his wrist from between lush lips.

"My dear Thranduil," he said noncommittally with a raised eyebrow, "you must have misunderstood. I meant the throat of your chamber's fireplace; the narrow portion just before the flue and dampener. It regulates the heat of your room here in Tirion like no other."

But he knew that was a stretch, and, tilting his head back, he emitted a heartfelt laugh before leaning forward to place a relatively chaste kiss on his friend's lips, tasting the juice on the soft skin, but keeping his movement superficial. "It is good to see you again, meldir," he said with a warm smile as he took another bite from his apple, wiping the small trail of juice from the corner of his mouth with a finger before absently sucking the digit clean. And there was absolutely no drawing out of the movement... none at all. "I am sure you missed me," he smirked once releasing his finger from between his lips.

Thranduil's eyes followed the motion. His blood rushed a little hotter. Which, he was certain, was Erestor's intent.

"Quite. I may have a talented throat, but you... you have a talented tongue." Thranduil tossed his half-eaten apple to the ground.

"Hazard of having learned from the best," Erestor grinned, finishing off his own apple with a final bite and dropping the core to join the other discarded apples beneath them.

Thranduil braced his hands on an upper branch, bringing his body as close to Erestor's as he could, balanced perfectly. "The question I have for you is, have you missed me?" he breathed, a small, knowing smile on his full lips.

Erestor felt the blood in his veins begin to heat as Thranduil came closer, the Elvenking's proximity reeking of raw sensuality. "Aye," he said honestly, his eyes twinkling with friendship and the sparks of awakening desire. "Like a favourite wine that is denied until a rare occasion presents itself, you have been scarce and I am glad to be in your company again."

"It is only through self-denial that you haven't been able to indulge," Thranduil purred. "I have been without company for the past week. Perhaps you might like to rectify that?"

Erestor hummed pleasantly at the thought. "Perhaps, meldir... though I would prefer we be on solid ground. Up in the boughs of trees, I am liable to fall and break my neck. I doubt my tongue would be of much use after such an injury," he teased affectionately, darting out said tongue to swipe across his friend's lips, so close to his own, their mingling breath fragrant with the aroma of the sweet apples.

The Noldo couldn't help himself.

With practiced ease, Thranduil covered Erestor's mouth with his own, confidently sliding his tongue against his friend's for a moment, a brief tease before he drew back. "Another sad trait of your kind," he murmured, his eyes dark. "Lack of adventure."

The sensation of Thranduil's lips against his own, the scent and taste and texture of the blond's mouth, was familiar and welcome... and all too brief for Erestor's tastes. "Not lack of adventure... just lack of stupidity," Erestor corrected with a fond chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over his friend's lips as he gazed with dusky grey eyes into Thranduil's deep cerulean ones.

Leaning a little more forward, the Noldo let out a startled yelp as his hand slipped from what had seemed a firm hold on the branch they were sitting upon. Thrown completely off balance, he toppled forward, then pitched backwards off the bough, his eyes wide as he felt nothing but air beneath him for a terrifying moment that seemed to last an eternity as he fell.

Thranduil was quick.

Having lived millennia in the boughs of trees, he knew the dangers better than any. His hand shot out and he grasped Erestor's wrist tightly while skilfully balancing between the two branches. "You," he ground out, "are an embarrassment to Elves. Falling," he continued, pulling his friend back up, "out of trees."

Erestor held tightly to the Elvenking's wrist. He certainly was not a warrior, but so many millennia writing had at least provided him with a firm grip. His heart pounded in his chest, the temporary fright lingering even though he knew Thranduil would not let him fall.

And even from his compromised position, he could not help but retort, "'Twas *you* who said the Noldor should not climb trees." Could he help it if he had been raised in the stone dwellings of Lindon and spent most of his extensive years in other Noldorin refuges? The only trees he had to climb were those in Thranduil's own realms!

With a small grunt of strain, he grabbed onto one of the branches and moved to pull himself up with Thranduil's aid, his dark braids slightly undone and falling into his face.

"As if the Noldor ever listened to the Sindar," Thranduil muttered, hoisting Erestor the rest of the way up. "I swear, Erestor, do you seek to make my heart give out? I can't imagine trying to explain to the Peredhel if you had fallen!"

Thranduil pointed to the ground.

"Out of the tree. Now. Before you *do* fall and kill yourself."

"Just keeping you on your toes," Erestor managed as he was hauled up onto the branch. "Would hate for you to die of boredom, you know." He took a few deep breaths, keeping a firm hold on the branches of the tree to ensure he did not fall again. With a small, almost sheepish smile, he nodded and began to carefully descend from the tree, looking for and testing each foot and hand hold before making a move.

With a final swing, he dropped from the lowest bough, landing on his feet with at least a certain measure of grace. "Aye, you would have had to explain yourself well, else Elrond would charge you with the crime of pushing an Elf out of a tree with barbaric intent." He tsked at Thranduil, trying to make light of the situation, though he was very aware that he could have been seriously harmed.

Thranduil climbed down from the tree as if he were an animal born to do so... and perhaps he was.

"It's not my fault you City-Elves have no sense of self-preservation." Thranduil wrapped his arms around Erestor, holding him close, and he murmured, "Be more careful next time. I do not wish to lose my first, and oldest, Noldorin friend."

Erestor watched his friend, shaking his head with a half-smile. Thranduil was at home in the trees; Erestor marvelled that the Sinda ever came to dwellings outside his forests. Erestor lifted his arms to encircle the blond's neck and shoulders. "Thank you, Thranduil. I shall be more careful," he promised softly. "But you, of all Elves, should know I am graceful only when on the flats of my feet."

Thranduil's lips quirked in amusement. "Also quite graceful on your back. Or on your hands and knees. Or even astride my lap, if I recall correctly."

"Hmm..." Erestor murmured in a show of thoughtfulness. "It seems your memory has become a bit fuzzy in my absence from your realm. Perhaps a bit of a reminder is in order." Very subtly, he shifted his torso, their hips colliding for a brief moment.

How easy it was for them to reconnect! Erestor fully appreciated the fact that he was granted Thranduil's intimate touch on occasion. What had started as a single night between two Elves who had just met in the courts of Lindon, became a friendship that had truly stood the test of time. The familiarity between him and Thranduil was something that had not lessened over the years. Erestor found a great sense of companionship in Thranduil's presence, in the strong arms and hands of his Sinda friend.

Thranduil moaned softly, his hands resting on Erestor's hips as he leaned in and nosed the soft flesh of the Noldo's throat. "I do believe it is high time to reacquaint myself with your superb debating skills and sharp tongue," he said softly against the skin before sucking a small bit into his mouth. He did not leave a mark, not yet, but teased Erestor with tongue and teeth before releasing the flesh. "And I do believe it has been too long since you knew my firm hand and skilful tactics."

Erestor cursed. The damned Elf knew him too well, knew how easy it was to set him on edge when just the right attentions were paid to his neck. With a small moan that vibrated through his throat, he tangled his long fingers in Thranduil's hair, the texture silky and heavy like spun gold.

"Aye..." a sigh of pleasure interrupted him. "I do believe we shall stay up all evening reviewing various battle scenarios until we are both completely satisfied." He brushed his fingers along Thranduil's ears, the metal piercings gracing the lobes moving ever so slightly under his attention before he pinched lightly at the sensitive tips. "Your estate or mine?" he asked quietly, a smile blooming on his face.

"Mine," Thranduil purred. "My conference table is bigger." Everything about Thranduil and his life was... bigger. "Try not to fall on our way to the estate."

Erestor pulled away with an overly dramatic scoff. "I swear, I am never going to live it down. Careful," he advised, "lest you antagonize me enough that I withdraw my offer to fine-tune your battle manoeuvres."

Thranduil laughed, slipping his arm around Erestor's waist again and leading them back to the gates of Tirion. "My dear Erestor, you are ever eager to admire my broadsword. I doubt I shall ever antagonize you enough that you will turn down the opportunity."

"And I would dare say no one polishes that broadsword quite like I do," Erestor smirked. "Best not to jeopardize your place on the waiting list. You are lucky I could fit you into my busy schedule."

Erestor chuckled as they walked, Thranduil's arm a comfortable weight at his waist. "It is good to have you in Tirion, meldir."

"Blame Bainwen for that," he said with a shake of his head. "She thinks spending a couple of seasons here will soften my dislike of Eirien's husband." His youngest daughter had been married to the Noldo for centuries now. He was sharp, decent, kind, and adored his daughter. Still, Thranduil held a simmering aversion towards him simply because he was Noldorin.

Erestor sighed with a smile. "Even in the peace of Aman... you and your foolish prejudices. Lalvenor is a worthy Elf who cherishes Eirien above all else, along with their four children." Erestor did not think a journey to Tirion would in any way help Thranduil's chronic distaste for the Noldor, but stranger things had happened.

Walking the streets of Tirion, they made a striking couple. Thranduil was tall, proud, blue-eyed, with golden hair loose and wild. Erestor was slimmer, slighter, with hair of midnight and keen eyes like storm clouds.

"I would never marry a Noldo," Thranduil said with finality, "and it baffles me why my daisy married one herself."

"The same reason your kinsman Celeborn married Galadriel," Erestor chuckled, kicking a pebble out of his path as they continued down the streets at a leisurely pace towards Thranduil's estate. "Love does strange things to Elves."

"I will never love again." Thranduil's eyes were hard as he stared straight ahead. His wife had been everything to him. Beautiful and lively and full of unconditional, quiet love. "Not like that, anyway," he qualified. Because he did love Erestor, though in a much different way. He had for millennia, in fact.

"I am no fortune teller," Erestor said with a sad smile, "nor do I have the gift of foresight like Elrond. I do not know what the Song still has in store for either of us." He paused, looking up at Thranduil as he brushed a plait of black hair behind his ear. "I do hope you shall find love again. Your wife brought out the best in you. It would be a shame if that were lost forever."

Thranduil had changed drastically after the death of his wife. While he had certainly regained some semblance of his life and was no longer insane with grief, Thranduil... was simply not the same. Such a tragedy would have hit any Elf hard, but for Thranduil, who had a tendency to hold on to the past with a firm hand, it was utterly devastating.

"I will wait for her," Thranduil murmured mostly to himself.

He had waited this long, what was another Age?

TBC...