Perils and Heirs by Augustine  

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Perils and Heirs

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This meeting with the Elves of Lindon was more fruitful than Amelina could have possibly imagined. It was not that trade agreements bored her per se. They were not what she would call exciting either, but she knew very well how important they were to keeping the small kingdom running with everyone fed and clothed. However, something unexpected and unlooked for had caught her eye.

At seventeen, her parents were shopping her around to the royal young men in earnest now. None had interested her. Her parents were unlikely to force her wholly unwilling into a marriage, but she knew she was at the point that she needed to think strategically. The young men she had met with were just - not what she was looking for. Life with them seemed like it would be dull. She felt a spark with none of them. Their kingdoms seemed like it would just be more of the same. Her role would be queen mother, and likely little else. That was not for her. She was a diplomat, an athlete, and in a pinch, a warrior. Motherhood was expected of her, and she was not opposed to it, but she wanted something more exciting first.

A handsome young Elven-king could certainly be exciting. Like something from the stories she had read.

Her father was the one negotiating at this summit, but she diligently read the notes that had been prepared. She was here to learn. The Elven-king was very young, by Elven standards anyway. An advisor had told her they were close in maturity.

She had heard of Elven beauty of course, but had not expected what she saw when they were introduced to his court.

His hair was long and gleaming, bone structure finely wrought like the most delicate of silver statues. Tall and long limbed, he was like a slender tree. Desire burned in her. She knew Elves were much stronger than Men. For all his slight figure, he could probably also press her up against any vertical surface as well… Amelina bit her lip, lost in fantasy.

It was not purely sexual. The rational part of her reasoned that learning to rule an Elven kingdom would be the adventure she sought. A possible escape from the constraints of the life of a queen of Men.

She had caught his eye before the meeting went to a break. He had exited to a side door immediately. Amelina was not about to let this opportunity go to waste.

---

Gil-galad had been so relieved when a break was called in the meeting. Three years with this crown, and he still felt like a very inexperienced leader. He had been briefed thoroughly on all possible angles of this trade negotiation, but it was still just immensely stressful. He had not yet grown used to everyone just looking at him all the time. He had never thought of himself as shy before, but he had also never realized how nice it was to exist unobserved for a single moment. He had needed to step away from the others and take a few deep breaths.

He missed the sea. He missed the simplicity of what life had been with Círdan. He missed fish for dinner, rather than the complexity of so many formal meals with court. It was not like that life had been perfect by any means, but so far being High King was somehow more stressful than being a refugee, and he was not sure if that made any sense.

The conditions here were obviously much better on the fronts of food, warmth, and shelter, by the fact that none of those things were something he had worry about. If he were honest though, he would like to trade these silk robes back for his well broken in linen tunics and trousers that he had before. What had even happened to them? It had all been such a flurry when word had reached the Isle of Balar that Turgon was dead and he was going to be crowned High King next...

The clothes probably would not fit him anymore anyway. He had been past fifty when he took the crown, but had shot up several more centimetres since then. Even the sleeves of his garments had needed to be lengthened recently. He was currently feeling very awkward and gangling, too recent to his new height to be graceful again yet.

He turned as he heard a door open behind him. Even from the footsteps he could tell it was not an Elf entering the hallway. The Mannish king's daughter stepped through the door. Strange that she should be alone for one so young. The briefing had told him she was all of seventeen, which he struggled to wrap his head around the fact that meant she was roughly his peer developmentally, despite being around four decades his junior.

She curtsied to him and inclined her head. He bowed back to her with a smile. It would be nice to spend time with someone who was something like his "own age." It would likely not be long before she was queen of her own kingdom. Building an alliance with her as well as her parents would be an efficient use of this summit.

He felt some of the stress in his shoulders melt away, not needing to worry so much about "doing royalty right" around her as he did her parents who had decades more experience in running a kingdom than he, even if they were younger than him by over a decade.

"I wish to speak with you about the future," she began. Good, they were on the same page of building a relationship for whatever kingdom she would rule.

She drew closer.

"My future, and your own."

He nodded.

"I will likely be married off soon, and I wish to have a say in my destiny."

Gil-galad could understand that. Wanting a say in one's own destiny that was. He had agreed to take up the crown, but the idea of marriage just made him shudder. It was not for him.

"I have met with many princes of the kingdoms of Men. They have not appealed to me."

He was not quite sure what to say. He knew Mannish marriage practices were quite different from Elvish ones, but was not sure he knew enough about those differences to say anything appropriate and inoffensive.

She continued to draw closer to him.

"So I have set my sights further afield. I want something new, something exciting. Something exotic."

He did not particularly understand where she was going with this.

"You must be looking to establish your legacy."

Well that was an abrupt shift in topic. Mortals were strange folk though, and royalty was even stranger, so maybe that was normal for her.

"I am," he said. "I took up the crown three years past, and I am still working towards what I hope I can do for the Noldor. I am grateful to you and your family for coming to help establish an alliance to that end."

"An alliance is exactly what I have in mind," she said, her voice sounding a little strange. Lower than before.

"A handsome young king like yourself, you must be in search of a queen to bear your heirs. You must have many suitors from across the Elven realms."

It took all of his decorum not to visibly react. He wanted to retch at the idea of "a queen to bear his heirs," the act of begetting children really just - repulsed him. He shook his head, and found his voice.

"I... no. Not as such."

"Really? I find you quite pleasing to the eye, I would think you would have women throwing themselves at you." She winked at him, smiling in an oddly predatory way. He was becoming rapidly more uncomfortable with the conversation.

She took his hand, caressed it. He let her, mind rapidly trying to work out what was happening and how to diplomatically make it stop.

"I know Elves do not age, but you may still die in battle, or of other causes. How else did you inherit this crown?"

He really could do without the reminder that the previous High Kings in Middle Earth had lasted between decades to a few hundred years in their rule before death.

"I would help you secure your dynasty. I am strong of body, an accomplished athlete among Men. I could give you heirs worthy of the Elven throne. It would unite our kingdoms as never before."

His mind slid to a halt, and his breath became shallow. He wanted to pull his hand from her grasp, but suddenly his body was not obeying his mind. He simply froze.

He knew he was likely going to die as High King. Were heirs expected of him? No, he could not, he would not. But who else was there of Finwë's line? That was the whole reason he had inherited the crown before he came of age... There was not anyone else…

She stepped closer again and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him backwards. He took a step back. His legs were still working somewhat at least.

"You seem like you might like to be led. I like to be in control, would you like that? I have heard Elves are different in the bedroom, and I would like to see it for myself. I would take good care of you. If Elven women have not been courting you, would not I be a better option than who they might arrange?"

He did not like that, he would not like that! Her voice was a low purr. Dangerous. He felt nauseous. She was walking her fingers up his body, fingering the fabric his tunic. He stepped back again and found himself against the wall. Something broke inside of him and his breath stuttered. His heart pounded in his ears, and he wanted to cry out for her to stop, but there was no breath in his lungs. She had a palm on his chest and pushed off of him as she stood up on her tiptoes.

And then she was kissing him. He felt detached from his body, he wanted to shove her off, to speak, to scream, but no part of him moved with his will. Her hands were moving over him. Stop. Stop. Stop! Stop! STOP! He could not speak. He could not move.

She removed her mouth from his own. Gil-galad took a deep gasping breath, eyes squeezed shut, heart thundering and head spinning. She was speaking, but it was not registering in his mind beyond scattered words. His ability to understand Mannish languages apparently had left him. Something about his ears? Incomprehensible.

Then he felt her pressing on his chest again as she stood back up on her tiptoes and he felt teeth on the side of his ear, just below the point. She bit down.

Something shifted inside of him. The pendulum swung, the dam broke, and he could move again. Muscle memory retrieved the small dagger hidden within the fold of his tunic. He held it before him, resting the point on her chest.

"Get. Off." His voice did not even sound like his own.

She fell back with a yelp, eyes wide, now looking scared like he felt. She screamed, and doors flew open, Elves and Men piled out. Gil-galad and the princess both froze in place as their respective courts rushed to them. Amathorn, his chief guard, stood before him, looked in his eyes, and gently but firmly clamped his hands on Gil-galad's shoulders before steering him down the hall. He was quickly surrounded by a sea of guards and hustled deeper into the palace. Someone took his hand, and he clutched his dagger tighter. They did not try to remove it from his grip, but his wrist was gently spun so the blade was pointed at the ground.

His breath quickened. He could not breathe before, and he could not stop breathing now. Shallow raspy breaths that quickly started to burn in his chest. He felt a change in the guards around him, speech he again could not fully process, and suddenly he was being pushed through a doorway.

He could not stop gasping for breath. The dagger slipped from his fingers and thudded on the floor. Tears filled his eyes. His body was not his to control again, he was detaching, and there was something drawing him away with a promise of freedom, somewhere he could not be touched. Somewhere that this intense pressure that had been building since he had been told he was to be crowned the next High King of the Noldor could not reach him either. It felt like a sigh of relief. He started to follow, his fëa content to fly.

He abruptly impacted with... something... and was shaken back into his body.

Amathorn was standing before him again. Gripping his shoulders.

"Ereinion. Please. Stay here with me. You are safe now, whatever happened. We are with you. No one here is going to harm you, and we would lay down our lives to defend you. Slow your breathing. I need you to stay in your body."

He was crying now, but Amathorn was helping him slow his breaths and he could feel himself regaining control. His hands worked again, and he clutched Amathorn's robes.

"Send for Círdan!" he heard someone say.

"Yes, please." his voice was hoarse, and cracked.

Amathorn pulled him close into an embrace. "We will get him here as soon as possible. Just relax and breathe with me. You are safe now, I promise."

His awareness was growing again. He was hearing more. More guards entered the room. Someone asked what had happened and was told to hush.

Gil-galad was a crying, sniffling, mess, and he was starting to realize just how mortifying that was in front of what seemed to be the entirety of his personal guard. He took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself, to regain some semblance of the dignity he was supposed to possess.

Amathorn sensed the shift. He led Gil-galad to sit in an alcove of the room and instructed the others to give him space.

Amathorn's fëa washed over him, offering comfort, like he had when Gil-galad was still small on Balar, a recent refugee. Círdan had entrusted his safety to Amathorn as his personal guard. Gil-galad broke down sobbing again, fighting every sob, trying to regain control. Amathorn cupped his cheek.

"Oh little Star," he murmured. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are very, very young and an insurmountable burden has been placed upon you."

"I can't," Gil-galad gasped. "I can't do it."

"Do what, my Star?"

"I can't get married! And produce heirs! I just - I can't!" His control broke and he was sobbing again.

Amathorn looked deeply troubled. "Ereinion, what happened? Why are you saying that? Did she touch you?"

"Yes!" he cried. "She said I needed to think about heirs and then she kissed me and bit me, and I could not move, I could not - I could not - " he was breathing too rapidly again.

Amathorn placed his hand on Gil-galad's chest. "You and I are going to breathe very slowly, together. Can you do that?"

He nodded, even if he was not sure that he could. Time passed in an incomprehensible manner, but eventually he was able to slow his breathing to match Amathorn's.

"Good," he said softly. "Now you said that she bit you. Where was that? The mouths of Men are highly infectious, if she broke the skin it will need to be seen to."

"My ear."

"Which one?"

"Left."

"May I touch it?"

Gil-galad nodded. Amathorn leaned forward to inspect and brushed his fingers against it softly. "It is a little red on the side, but the skin does not appear to be broken. Did she bite anywhere else?"

"No, that's - that is when I pulled the dagger you have me carry."

"Good. You did very well. I am so, so sorry that no one was there with you. You will not be let out of our sight for the next century now, you understand?" He let out a pained little laugh.

Gil-galad let out a shaky breath too. It was almost a laugh.

"I understand. I will not complain about being cosseted anymore."

"Oh," Amathorn reached out and squeezed Gil-galad's hand. "You can complain all you like, you are entitled to that." His expression darkened. "Truly. You have been put into this position far too young. It is not fair to you to be burdened with so many things before you even come of age." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "But I swear to you, you will not be forced to marry against your will. Elves do not do that, even to their royalty the way mortal kingdoms do." His voice dropped even quieter. "And if anyone tries, I promise you that I personally will spirit you away to safety. No one will ever touch you in that way against your will again, I swear it."

Gil-galad's heart stuttered again at an oath being sworn, but as the words washed over him he felt warmth spreading throughout him. He leaned in towards Amathorn who wrapped one arm around him, pulling him into an embrace.

"It will still be some time before Círdan arrives, my King. Can we take you back to your chambers and speak further there? We do need to know precisely what happened as you pulled a weapon on a princess. It was self defence, but we are going to have to sort that diplomatic situation out."

Gil-galad pulled away and buried his face in his hands, deeply mortified again.

"It is alright," Amathorn soothed. "Let us go to your rooms, we can have fewer guards there. We can sit by the fountain and have some tea until you are feeling ready to tell me more about it. How does that sound?"

That sounded wonderful, actually. The only thing better would be if he were able to go into his bedroom and shut the door and bury himself under a blanket like he would have in childhood.

Amathorn had helped him with a few blanket forts in the early days at the Isle of Balar when his mother's brutal death was fresh and he was just ... twitchy and overwhelmed.

Then at least he had an excuse. He was a child then.

You are still not an adult now, a small voice in his head mocked. You are an adolescent pretending to be High King and everyone is about to realize what a fraud you are, pulling a dagger on a princess because she overpowered you. A seventeen year old Man overpowered you. You will be dead in a matter of minutes if you pull something like that in real danger.

Amathorn was clasping him by the shoulders again.

"I need you to stay with me, my Star. Please. Your fëa feels as flighty as a sparrow and it is not your time to meet Námo, I promise. May I please take you to your chambers?"

Gil-galad nodded, and Amathorn squeezed his shoulders before letting go.

The halls Amathorn led him into were empty, and it was eerily quiet. They saw no one else as his pack of guards moved him deeper towards his private rooms. His guards started to split off, six at the first door demarcating his personal space, four in the vestibule where he sometimes had visitors. Two entered the first room in his suite, and two remained outside the door to the last area before his bedroom where only Amathorn's first officer followed the two of them. He still did not know her very well, she was new. It had been a political appointment to make another trusted faction of the Noldor feel represented high in his court, and to quell the distaste for the fact that his true head of the guard was Sindar rather than Noldor.

He did not really want to speak about this in front of her, but he understood that Amathorn needed a second witness, and someone who was not as close to him was a logical choice.

No matter what his new Noldor advisors might tell him, he was never giving up Amathorn as his chief guard. He saw little reason for his Sindar ethnicity to be a factor. From an early age he had come to associate Amathorn's bright silver colouring with ultimate safety and care. Amathorn had been his shining silver shield against everything from Orc arrows by day, and when Círdan was unavailable, the night terrors that had plagued him for years after his mother's violent death.

Amathorn now sat him on the edge of the fountain that was just outside of his bedroom. Gil-galad missed the sea. He missed Círdan. At least it would not be as long as usual for messengers to reach him, he had left Lindon only this morning. Riders travelling at speed would be able to overtake him quickly.

Amathorn stuck his head out the door and asked for a calming tea. Then he came back and sat with him, clasping his hands.

"How are you?"

"Shaken. I am - I am sorry I reacted in this way, it was unbecoming. I -"

"No Elf is calm under unwanted sexual advances. You have nothing to apologize for. We should not have let an adolescent Man near you alone. Men are different from us, many are governed by their hröa, especially at that age."

Gil-galad shook his head.

"She was not, she was not lewd like I have seen Men behave before. She was logical at first, she was offering to bear children -" his words choked off, bile rising in his throat as he thought again about having to beget heirs, he thought of having to touch her like that and almost retched.

"If you are going to be sick, let me find something for you. Do not use the fountain, it would be harder to clean than you might think."

It was good that Amathorn said that. Growing up first on the coast, and then an island, his first thought for an unobtrusive place for something that needed to be disposed of would be the largest body of water he could find.

He controlled his breathing and brought his body back down.

"I will be fine," he said.

Amathorn squeezed his hand.

"Alright, so she proposed heirs to you, was this a marriage proposal?"

"Yes, she wanted a political alliance. And... She said she wanted something exotic." Something about that word made him feel just ...gross.

Amathorn similarly made a face at that word.

"Yes, the Men find us exotic, sexually. For some reason we are more appealing to them than those of the Dwarven race. Perhaps it is because we are both Children of Ilúvatar. I do not know."

"I was terrified," Gil-galad said quietly. "I do not know why I was so scared, but I could not move. I have been in danger of death before, you have been there with me, and I did not react like that. I do not know what came over me then, nothing like that happened the day I met you when I -" he broke off, unable to put into words the day that Amathorn had pulled him from the rubble in Falas, out from under the broken body of his mother who had thrown herself over him to protect him from the falling stones as the masonry collapsed. Amathorn found him covered in her blood and coughing on dust, sobbing too hard to speak. While he had been disoriented and absolutely overwhelmed he had still been able to move his body. To wiggle himself out just far enough that Amathorn could reach his arm and pull him from the rubble. He held tight once Amathorn lifted him up and ran for the boats escaping Falas. He had very nearly died that day. Why had this, in the safety of his own home, with no threat of death set him in such a spiral?

"I think," Amathorn said slowly, "that sexual violence is even more unnatural to us than death. There have been far more kinslayers than Elves who have forced themselves on another sexually, and that is why our fëa might abandon our hröa for Mandos if that is happening."

Everything ground to a halt when clarity hit him of exactly what had been happening when he felt like he was going to float away.

"That was... that was what was happening?"

"I believe so, and Star, Ereinion, I am so sorry that I forced you back into your hröa like that. I was only able to because of the bond we had in your childhood, I can touch your fëa with my own in that way. I felt you start to detach and it was reflex, I could not let you go. I am so sorry, I am sure that hurt."

"It certainly was not pleasant," Gil-galad's mind was spinning. "But it was not painful. Jarring perhaps, it felt like ramming face first into stone. From horseback."

"That sounds pretty painful to me."

Gil-galad smiled at him weakly. "It beats the alternative, I suppose. I really am trying to break this streak of dead High Kings."

Amathorn laughed, a little brokenly, and squeezed his hands again. There was a knock on the door and Gil-galad startled.

"The tea, I assume," Amathorn said, rising. He crossed the room and opened the door just enough to accept the tray, closing it immediately again with quiet thanks. He returned to their seats on the edge of the fountain and placed the tray between them.

Amathorn moved through the ritual of pouring the tea. First for Gil-galad, then for his officer, and finally for himself. She had been standing awkwardly across the room up until this point, but she approached to accept her cup of tea with a bow of her head. She took it a few paces away to a nearby chair.

Gil-galad drank, and allowed the taste to wash over him. He could detect several different herbs known for their calming effects. It was not an unpleasant mixture, but he could tell the components had been selected for function first over a cohesive flavour. It had more likely come from the healing halls than from the kitchen.

He really hoped that he was not going to be asked to sit for an examination. He was fine now, was he not? She had not broken the skin. Unconsciously his hand reached for his earlobe.

"I do not know why Men are so fixated on our ears, especially sexually" said Amathorn. "Ours are not so different from their own, but this is not the first time I have heard of that, not even the first time I have heard of them biting there."

Gil-galad shuddered.

"I am glad she did not break the skin. I know the last thing you want right now is a healer poking and prodding at you."

Gil-galad nodded his agreement, and took another sip of tea.

Amathorn turned to his first officer. "I believe that is enough information to give the initial report. I will not leave him until Círdan arrives. Please let us know if there is anything else required of us."

She nodded to Amathorn, bowed to Gil-galad, and left, still without speaking a word. She spoke very little. That likely had something to do with why he was having trouble getting to know her. The door snapped shut, and Gil-galad set aside his tea and let himself lose all of his decorum.

---

As soon as the door shut, Gil-galad toppled forward into his arms. He was sniffling again, and Amathorn held him to his body with one hand, and wiped tears with the other.

"Come, let us sit you somewhere more comfortable. Would you like to get out of your formal robes? You will not be leaving your rooms again today I think."

Gil-galad nodded, still making little sounds while he tries to stem the tide of more tears.

Amathorn went to Gil-galad's closet while the young king started working his way out of the many layers of formal garments. Amathorn selected the softest and most unadorned tunic and trousers he could find that were not actually sleep clothes. He would give him that dignity.

Gil-galad's breath was still shuddering and discordant while he changed. Amathorn busied himself pulling out some extra blankets knowing that Gil-galad still utterly rejected the idea that it was normal for a king to have servants to help dress him, and not even he nor Círdan had been able to help him with that for decades without being squawked at. He certainly was not going to push the subject of being touched on him now in any case.

He was fairly sure that he would still be allowed to tend to his hair, but Círdan would be more of a comfort in that so he left the suggestion of taking his braids out for Círdan's arrival. He did however help him take off the crown so that the hair picks would not snarl and muss. Gil-galad's shoulders lifted a little being able to set it aside.

Amathorn then set about removing his own armour, and draped himself under part of one of the larger blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. He held the loose end of the blanket up, inviting. Gil-galad finished changing into his more comfortable clothes, and flopped boneless on him in the way only adolescents could. Amathorn hummed, and pulled an arm around him.

They say silently for a moment.

"I am going to break Finwë's line," Gil-galad said quietly. He looked down at his hands clenched in the fabric of his trousers. Amathorn felt shame and regret boiling off of his fëa.

"There does not need to be any shame in that."

Gil-galad shook his head. "But I will be failing the Noldor if I die without heirs."

"They will have to figure it out. You certainly will not be the first High King to do so."

"The only reason I was crowned, as an adolescent with a murky claim at best, is because there were few others, and none willing."

"There is no one else willing and eligible now. That could change if by ill fate you die. If that were to occur, I hope that it is a long time from now."

"It still feels like a failure. Knowing that there is no one else but still refusing to marry. And we do not know if I am the first. Fingon could be my father. My mother never said who my father was, and that seems to be one of the popular theories."

"He could be," Amathorn agreed, "but if you feel strongly about this, it makes little difference what has happened in the past. You get to decide your own destiny in this, even if not in other matters."

Gil-galad made a face.

"You do get to say no to things you know," Amathorn continued. "You have given up quite a lot. The second half of your adolescence for starters, to serve as High King. If a marriage would make you unhappy, if the act of begetting would make you panic, you do not have to do those things."

"I do not want to do those things."

"Then you will not have to."

Gil-galad was silent for another long moment.

"Círdan has never married," he said eventually.

"He has not. And he is older than the Great Journey."

Gil-galad's lips quirked towards a smile. Slowly his eyes turned towards Amathorn.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you ever wanted to be married? To have children?"

Amathorn paused for a moment, gathering his words.

"I have never met someone I would want to marry. The idea does not repulse me the way it seems to for you though. I would like to have children, but it is not elleths who interest me, so I am unsure how that would happen." He squeezed Gil-galad's hand. "Helping Círdan watch over you has brought me joy. That can be enough."

Gil-galad rested his head on Amathorn's shoulder. "You have always made me feel loved. Feel safe. If you do ever find an ellon you wish to marry and raise children with, I would trust any child to you who was in need of surrogate parents."

Amathorn warmed at both the thought, and at Ereinion's support of such things. They had not really spoken of it before, but he had been an observant child. Amathorn would not be surprised if Ereinion had suspicions, living very close to him for the past forty years.

Amathorn shifted slightly into a more comfortable position as Ereinion snuggled closer.

"What is going to happen with the summit?"

Amathorn let out a breath. "I am not a politician, so I cannot say for sure. I would guess though that as early as we are in the summit, and the distance the Men travelled to be here, it would be rude to have the rest of the negotiations be done via a member of your council."

Ereinion nodded slowly against him.

"We can keep your proximity to Amelina at a minimum. I do not believe that either court would like to two of you alone together ever again."

Amathorn felt a shudder pass through Ereinion. He tightened his arm around the adolescent.

"Perhaps her court may not even want the two of you in the same room again. You might not have to face her beyond your formal apologies to each other."

"I can face her," his voice was small. Indicative of how young he still was. Amathorn thought for what must have been the millionth time how unfair it was to place High Kingship on the shoulders of one so young.

They stayed like that for a long moment before Gil-galad sat up. "Círdan is near." A few minutes later Amathorn could feel his approaching presence as well, with a soft knock of Ósanwe against his mind.

Amathorn and Ereinion met him at the door to the bedroom, and his embrace of Ereinion was swift. Amathorn quietly made his exit to give them privacy.

---

Círdan was holding him like he had when he was still a small child. It was so comforting that Gil-galad could not bring himself to be embarrassed about being cuddled this far into adolescence. They were wrapped in soft blankets reclined on his bed, his head pillowed on Círdan's chest. Círdan was stroking his hair with one hand, and had the other arm wrapped around his torso. He was speaking softly about nothing in particular, mostly gentle descriptions the sea. Amathorn was standing guard outside the door, and Gil-galad could feel the protectiveness rolling off of his fëa. Círdan's fëa was stroking against his own, much like how his fingers were running through his hair. He was pretty sure that the intention was to lull him to sleep, and he was willing to comply. Bone numbing exhaustion had hit him shortly after he began feeling safe and calm again in his chambers with Amathorn. And now, being held and gentled by Círdan, drowsiness was taking over.

Círdan began humming something from his childhood, and Gil-galad let his eyes unfocus and his mind move towards reverie. He was pleasantly warm, curled up against the sound of his foster father's heartbeat - the only father he had ever known, and secretly the one he cared more for than the nér who had sired him. Ereinion may be his name, but he considered himself Círdan's son first.

His drowsiness was growing, and he felt safe to let himself slip from consciousness. The last thing he was aware of was Círdan pressing a kiss on the top of his head.

---

Círdan watched his son's sleeping form for a while before reaching towards Amathorn with Ósanwe.

He is asleep. I will remain here and see that his rest remains peaceful. That, and I cannot exactly move, he is on top of me.

Thank you, came Amathorn's reply, he is more exhausted than usual, he needs this.

Círdan grimaced at the casual reminder of how his boy was regularly being run ragged. Amathorn seemed to pick up on the shape of his thought and agreed, he is too young for this.

Is he breaking? Círdan asked.

Outside of today? No. His fëa is stressed but strong, his hröa is tired but whole. He can handle this, it is just - it is unfair to burden an adolescent with kingship.

He's barely grown. Círdan agreed. Is he still growing? He seems taller than last I saw him.

He is. Amathorn confirmed. He's grown quite a bit since you last came to Lindon. As it turns out feeding him like a king rather than a refugee put more height on him.

Hopefully that continues. He is still small for a Noldo, Círdan mused, looking down at the mess of gangling limbs curled half next to and half on top of him. Especially of Finwë's line.

I think it will. And he will broaden once his body stops playing catch up with height. He is in that fifties and sixties awkward stage. Just because those decades were millennia ago for you- Amathorn teased.

Yes yes, ancient Círdan, born under starlight, in the fourth generation of begotten Elves. You have said it all before. You know you are not that much younger than the sun yourself. One day the young Elves will find you ancient as well.

I hope Gil-galad and I both live to see that. Amathorn sobered the mood.

You have been training him well, Círdan soothed. From the sounds of it he handled himself admirably today with that holdout dagger.

He did. He has grown much more comfortable with it in the last year. I have already been thinking he is ready to start intensive lessons with a new weapon. I would like him to become more proficient with a longsword. I think it would suit him well as a mid range weapon. He will argue that his spear can be used at mid range, but I want him to have a greater breadth of experience. And cutting drills with a longsword will put muscle on him too, so you can stop fretting about his gangling limbs.

Círdan hummed and stroked a stray lock of hair away from Gil-galad's face. A vision flashed before him for a moment, Gil-galad, much older and fully come into his own. He stood tall and proud, kingly. Broad with strength. The style and adornments of his robes told that this was a time of peace and prosperity. Another elf was with him, whom Círdan did not recognize. He looked young, he may not have been born yet. There was something about him too that was not… fully Elven.

Although it was only a flash of a moment, he saw deep love in their eyes and body language.

Círdan could take heart in knowing that whatever storms Gil-galad had to weather in his youth, it appeared there was a dawn on the horizon of calm waters.

So, Amathorn entered his mind again, it appears this is the end of the line of Noldor High Kings.

It appears so, Círdan agreed. Unless one of the remaining Fëanorians takes an interest.

Perish the thought. Amathorn seemed to shudder.

Celebrimbor is not too bad. If he had a child…

Celebrimbor loves nothing as much as the forge. He will not marry.

Círdan chuckled. I have faith in Gil-galad of course, but at his age it is a pity Galadriel was unwilling. She is a natural leader, but as I understand it she wants to forge her own realm. Perhaps one day she will have a child who is more interested in the responsibilities of Noldo crown than she is.

I do not think she will ever slow down enough to endure a year of pregnancy. If she could be a father, certainly, but a mother-

Nerwen. Círdan supplied wryly.

Exactly.

She may surprise us. If she views it as a challenge rather than a hindrance.

In any case, I hope we are not putting another child on the throne. I hope we have all learned from this… Amathorn trailed off, fuming slightly.

It will not be our decision anyway. Two Sindar, Círdan reflected, how did we end up responsible for the one of the last of Finwë's line?

The rest are all too busy fighting or crafting.

Ai. Although I seem to recall you fighting being exactly how your path crossed with his.

Círdan felt Amathorn's simmering anger melt into an old sadness. I would have never thought, hearing a child crying in battle and going into the rubble after them would have led me here.

I am forever glad you did. I had lost track of him and his mother. If it were not for you -

I know. Amathorn was silent a moment. He was so small. No one should have been able to survive that. And his mother - the state of her body under the rubble still haunts me. I did not even realize who she was, she was just -

She is with Mandos or already released into the Blessed Land, Círdan soothed. No doubt she will be very grateful for your rescue and care of her son.

He was covered in her blood. Amathorn was distant, fëa sick. Blood and dust - that is why I did not recognize him until we got to the boats and he had rubbed some of it off his face. I -

I know. Peace. He is safe now.

It still haunts him. He was old enough to remember. It makes me sick to think how easily he could have died there. Amathorn's fëa seemed to shrink back. How easily he could still be killed now. I am so afraid of failing him.

Círdan hummed sympathetically. Do you think it is any easier for me, being so far away? Royal guards chased me down on horseback. I feared he had been fatally wounded.

No, only sexually assaulted, Amathorn replied bitterly. In his own home, while I stood in the next room.

You were not wrong for giving him more space. I know he has struggled with constantly being the centre of attention. He is not like the other High Kings who were born princes of Aman. We did not do a very good job in instilling him with royal… hmmm…

Entitlement?

I was looking for a nicer word, but yes. Somewhere between being taken from royal life before his second begetting day and me putting him to work on a fishing boat, he did not quite develop the temperament to be entirely comfortable as the focus of everyone around him at all times.

The connection went slack between them as they both broke off into their own thoughts.

Have you eaten? Círdan asked.

Not since morning.

You should go do so, I will let you know if he is close to waking and you can send someone with a tray for him.

And you?

Amathorn got the impression of Círdan's smile.

And me.

---

It had been a very good idea of Círdan's for Amathorn to go and find something to eat. He did not realize how hungry he was until he sat down in the Guard's mess. Revived now, he was making his way back to Ereinion's rooms. The guards under his command were perfectly capable without him of course, but he would feel better if he could be there.

"Sir?"

Amathorn turned, and was surprised to see the Mannish princess, Amelina, behind him.

"My lady, you should be with your court. No doubt they are worried for you after what happened."

She made a face. "They are, but I needed to talk to you."

"Me?"

"You are the head of the King's guard, are you not?"

"I am…"

"Oh, good! There are not many with silver hair here, but I did not want to confuse you with another. I thought I saw you with your king earlier."

The fact that she had noticed him taking the lead with Gil-galad in the chaos of her own court surrounding her and whisking her away spoke of astute observational skills. If only she has used those observational skills to see the adolescent Elf she was kissing was panicking and not interested in her propositions.

"I wanted to apologize to you personally," she continued, "some things have been explained to me in the past few hours. Things I did not know of Elves."

Ah, well her former ignorance was not really a surprise. Men rarely understood them in that way.

"Similarly I apologize for a weapon being drawn on you." As much as Amathorn did not regret it, that was the right thing to say.

"May we speak somewhere more private?" She asked.

Amathorn raised an eyebrow, only slightly. "Would your court be amenable to that?"

"From what I have been told, I have nothing to fear from you for my honour."

Well, that was true.

"Even so…"

The princess let out a frustrated sort of growl and grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards an open door.

Amathorn could see how this sort of energy had led to… that, when mixing in the hormones of adolescent mortals.

She made to shut the door, but Amathorn stopped it with his hand. She relented but threw herself into a chair with a huff.

"I will get right to it," she said, "Because it sounds as if both of our lands wish to continue diplomatic relations, I would like to hear on this subject from you, not filtered through my advisors, none of whom are Elven. Would that be permitted?"

"As much as I would prefer we do this with other members of your court present, I understand your desire for this to be private. Elves will almost always wish to share in our knowledge. You are free to ask any questions, do not feel that you must restrict yourself to the usual court proprietary."

"I have already left that well behind I think," she grimaced, putting her head in hands. "I'm so sorry. He is, from what has been explained to me by my advisors, he is younger than I thought he was? I thought we were peers?"

"Yes and no. Elves and Men develop at different rates in different ways. For emotional maturity and physical growth, he is your peer in his late fifties and you in your late teens. In terms of other mental maturity, he is older than you comparatively just by the nature of decades more lived experience." The sheer amount of trauma he had endured in his earliest developmental years… Amathorn pushed the thought aside.

"Elves typically are considered near full stature at fifty. He spent many of his developmental years a refugee, and now in peace time with better resources he is still catching up, so like you he is still growing. Regardless of that, we are not considered adults in our fëa- our minds, our spirits, until our first century is complete. That is also the earliest point of sexual maturity."

Her face burned red, but she stammered out, "So he is several decades away. It is like he is what, fifteen comparatively? Please do not say any younger. I could not live with myself."

"That is where it becomes complicated. To my understanding Men have, I believe you call it a sexual awakening? In your mid-adolescence? Where spirit matures into sexuality along with your body?"

"That is a way of putting it."

"Elves do not experience that."

He watched the cart wheels grind to a halt in her mind.

"So how - but you still… couple?"

"Many do, but that development in the mind, in spirit, lays dormant until a romantic partner is found. The body reaches reproductive maturity, but there is no physical sway until that emotional bond develops."

"And at what age does that… start?"

Amathorn gave her a small smile. She was asking good questions. "That depends entirely when you meet a partner that may suit you. It could be around one hundred years, it could be around a thousand or more. One of our oldest here on these shores never has, and that is not unusual either. Some never do."

"And until then, nothing? No sexual feelings? Curiosity? Experimentation?"

"Typically, no. The Mannish baseline for youthful experimentation and desire is the very far end of the Elven range of experience. For most Elves Gil-galad's age, the thought will never organically cross their mind, something else external would have to bring it up."

The princess put her face back in her hands. "I assaulted a child."

"He is near adulthood like yourself. I mean no offence by this, but you are also erm, quite young. You did not know any of this, clearly."

She looked up at him. "He really is not okay, is he? I misread everything about the situation, I did not realize he was terrified until he pulled the dagger, and even then I did not understand."

"He will… recover. He will need some time. He will not be returning to this summit for at least a day." Amathorn felt he has already aired too much of Gil-galad's personal business already. She did not need to know he was currently being babied by his foster father and probably would be treated like glass well into the next month. He debated if she needed to know how close his fëa had come to splitting from his hröa.

"I am so, so sorry."

"There is more," Amathorn decided that the full truth was probably the best choice since they were laying it all out. "He was terrified, his- his fëa, his spirit, that is what will need to heal. We cannot withstand as much as Men for unwanted sexual contact. The instinct is for our fëa to split from our hröa when under that kind of stress."

Amelina's face drained of colour. "What does that mean?"

Amathorn cleared his throat. "Quite simply, death. If the fëa splits off and does not immediately return to the hröa, it… leaves, to where we go if we are killed."

"And your king, he, he-"

"That is why he pulled the dagger. To us, his life was under threat."

"I am so sorry. He would be right to never want to see me again. You said you are telling me this because the intention is to continue diplomatic relations between our people, but I cannot fathom that your king would ever want anything to do with me again."

"He is unlikely to hold it against your people. I am a bodyguard and a warrior, not a diplomat, but I believe his intentions and actions will remain civil. As I told him earlier today, I expect that the two of you will need to make your formal apologies publicly, but then have no reason to be around each other if it makes either of you uncomfortable."

Amelina rubbed at her face. "I cannot believe I made such a mess of things."

"You are young," Amathorn reminded her. "And I would guess this is your first contact with Elves? You had no reason to assume we would be different from Men. We express interest and consent in our minds, something few Men are capable of even with a deep bond to the person they are trying to commune with. The two of you were operating on different sets of societal norms. I confess I probably have large gaps in my knowledge of your species, but I expect that your actions would have been more acceptable among Men?"

"Possibly," she sighed. "I was too brash. I was caught up and did not think that he may not reciprocate my interest. Or that Elves might communicate such things on a metaphysical level first. Looking back on it now, there were signs. But I thought he might want to be chased. In the stories I heard, Lúthien led Beren through the forest for days." She looked down. "I thought Elves liked to be chased."

Amathorn did not particularly want to start the finer details of that tale, as it was a long one, and Círdan was beginning to stir in the back of his mind. He opened himself to the Ósanwe.

He will awaken soon. Have you had a chance to eat and rest?

I have. The princess found me. It sounds as though she has received some education in the past hours on Elven sexuality.

Oh?

She is apologetic. I am diplomatically making our apologies as well. How is Ereinion?

His fëa seems more settled. His rest was peaceful.

Amelina was looking at him with her head cocked.

I will return soon with supper for you both.

Amathorn turned his full attention to the princess in front of him.

"Are you needed elsewhere?" She asked.

"I will be soon. May I escort you back to your people? Unless you have further questions."

"You may. And I will endeavour to seek you out again if I do. Thank you for your time and candour."

Amathorn gave her a small smile.

---

Gil-galad awoke in Círdan's embrace. It was pure comfort and safety. His foster father kissed his forehead and when he pulled back his eyes were crinkled in a smile. Gil-galad returned a smile of his own. He sat up.

Amathorn arrived shortly with a tray of food. He waived off Gil-galad's efforts to share with him as well as Círdan saying that he had already eaten. They sat themselves again around the fountain while he and Círdan ate. In truth he was not all that hungry, anxiety was biting at him about having to face court the coming day. He was not looking forward to meeting with his political advisors this evening either to plan what he was going to say.

But for now, he was with the two Elves he felt safest and most comfortable with. He still felt overwhelmed and more than a little of a fraud as High King, when not even he could say with certainty what his claim to it was. But he could find peace in this moment, and that was enough.

---

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: I am not trying to villainize the princess here (outside of the fantasy racism of thinking Elves are "exotic"). She's just a teenager who did not know enough about Elves/there are enough cultural differences between them that she completely misread his body language. She thinks she's in a girl-taking-charge fae romantasy (I have never read romantasy, so I'm just taking a guess here at what that looks like, and I thought it would be interesting to turn the trope on its head that no, the fae are not actually interested in a human) and he's in a horror movie. Her name, Amelina, comes from a very cursory search of old Germanic names as the Northern Mannish language is based around archaic Germanic languages.

If you liked Amathorn, this is the first thing I wrote with him, but second thing I have posted. I have another oneshot of his first few years in Valinor that is a prologue to something that is still WIP. The Elven Life Cycles section of LaCE about rebirth rather than re-embodiment really intrigued me as something I'm surprised we don't see more of in the fandom because there are quite a few Elves who could probably use a factory reset. The Nature of Middle Earth digs into it deeper, and examines more of the implications, which are all deliciously messy. That fic is the set up for Gil-galad's rebirth fic which is coming… sometime. I have a terrible habit of writing extremely out of order on long fics.