The Line Of The Peredhel for Silmsmutweek 2025 by LadySternchen  

Day Five- Winter

“What ails thee, o King?”

Dior starts, drawing himself up a little straighter, before his befuddled brain realises that it is his own wife who has spoken, and who now regards him with a wry smile. He has no answer to give her, no words to express what he is feeling, a fear too vast, a grief too deep for words. Yet she deserves an answer, for though she has disguised her question as jesting, he still knows for her concern behind it.

“Everything?” he tries.

No lies there. All this feels terrifying. When he visited Menegroth before, the caves always sang, and the Elves very happy, and all was bright. Now the caves feel dark, as though the very stone is still mourning. Dior feels like an intruder on that grief, his coronation a violation. Before his minds eye, the Thousand Caves transform into a great curled up beast, hiding its head beneath a scaly wing, wanting to be left alone, to nurse its hurts in silence.

“I feel like a child playing pretend.”

Now that he has voiced it, Dior realises that this is probably the worst part of it. For the longest time, he has treasured the memories of his childhood visits to Doriath. The running through the endless aisles of Menegroth. The strolls through the woods with his grandmother, listening to her telling him of herbs used for healing, and teaching him to listen to the Music of Arda in every stone, every tree. To sing songs of enchantment. The playing pretend, wrapped in the King’s mantle, sitting on his grandfather’s throne. His legs did not reach the floor then, and oh, they all laughed about it.

It is this memory that comes back to haunt him now more than anything else. Now that he really is King, the throne feels cold and alien. Will he ever cease to feel like an impostor? Will he ever manage to think of the King of Doriath as himself?

Nimloth glides over to him, sitting down on his lap. She does a much better job at being Queen. Maybe it because nothing and no-one can ever rival Melian, and so the pressure of comparison does not fall on her. Maybe it is because to her, taking the crown is an privilege, a way to honour Melian, not a constant thorn in her flesh.

“Well for the moment, we are children playing pretend. How could we not be? We both sat on Elu’s knee as he held court, both begged Melian to braid flowers into out hair so that we would not need to wear circlets. But we will grow out of it. And Dior, no-one cares, I promise. We have been received with nothing but love and reverence, and every offer to help I can think of. They even follow my commands. Do you know how odd this is, having guards who shooed me away from the storage rooms bowing to me?”

“What were you doing in the storage rooms?” Dior asks, amused.

Nimloth huffs.

“What do you think I did? See if there was anything tasty to be found. Oh, that reminds me, we will have to keep an eye out for the boys. Once they are done being intimidated by Menegroth itself, they will certainly find a way to steal food as well.”

Dior even manages a small smile at her remark. Yes. That does sound familiar, and not only regarding his sons.

“That’s it,” Nimloth says softly, leaning closer to kiss his cheek “There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for.

“I miss them so much. And I miss Ossiriand, too, and my parents. And I cannot stop thinking that surely, the old age of Mortals must soon come for Adar, and he will wither away and die, and Naneth, too. If only I could have remained with them for the years that are yet given to them.”

“I miss them too,” Nimloth says, leaning her head against his “All of them. But I know how proud they are of you. You may not feel it, but you look like a King alright. The crown fits you well, it is time you accepted that fact, and relaxed a little bit.”

Dior closes his eyes, willing himself to believe her words to be true.

Her fingers are playing with his hair now, a sensation that sends shivers down his spine, but the good kind, a relief from all the tension he is feeling at the moment. Then he feels her breath at his ear, and her lips brush his neck. If he did not know better, he would say that she is trying to seduce him. Next moment, he knows that she is trying to seduce him. Her other hand has found a way into his robes, he feels her cool skin against his chest and his cock’s reaction to it. But they cannot possibly…

“Nimloth…” he pants, gently pushing her away “We can’t. Not… here.”

Does she have to look so beautiful when she laughs? It does not help his situation.

“Why not? We are alone here, there is no-one watching, the children are looked after… I’d even say this is the one place within Menegroth that guarantees us privacy just now.”

Without his command, his hands begin to undo the clasps of her robes, no doubt driven by his cock’s will rather than his own.

“Yes but… we can’t… we can’t fuck on this throne.”

There is a very curious grin on Nimloth’s face as she watches him undress her despite his words, as though she is debating with herself whether or not to say something. Then she leans closer, and kisses him in a way that makes his head spin. It is long since they last had the chance for such intimacy, what with one thing and another, and he cannot even begin to put his longing for her into words. To feel close, to feel safe. She is his haven, his rock, his soulmate.

“Well” Nimloth said at length, when they break apart for a moment to breathe “I’m quite sure we are not the first couple to fuck on this throne. And it is high time you claimed it as your own.”

It is lucky, really, that Nimloth’s kisses him again with passion, successfully preventing Dior from realising what she just said. 

Chapter End Notes

Yeah, Nimloth totally traumatised Dior with that last sentence xDDD