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phynckeTitle: Foe of the Underworld
Fandom: Silmarillion
Part of: First Age Tales
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phyncke
Characters: Fingolfin/Ariannon (OC), Ringil
Beta:keiliss (all errors are mine)
Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Challenge: tripledogdare: Exalt, exalt, exalt!
Warning/Rating: R (slash)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: In this installment of the First Age tales from Fingolfin’s court, Ariannon amuses himself with the sword Ringil that fierce foe of Angband while he THINKS no one can see him.
arandur=king’s assistant or servant (quenya)
Ringil=Fingolfin’s broadsword, weapon, most likely forged in Valinor before the flight of the Noldor with Aulë’s skill in influence. The meaning of the name may be Cold Flame or Cold Star (quenya).
Foe of the Underworld
Ariannon held the shimmering sword over his head. Both hands gripped the leather hilt, his elbows at right angles, a fierce expression on his face, eyes gleaming dangerously.
“I am Ringil, foe of the underworld! Cold Star of Valinor!”
With a quick downward slice of the hard, icy steel, the elf heard a satisfying humming sound in the chamber, as the steel met the resistance of the air.
Alone for now in the king’s quarters, the arandur giggled softly and relaxed his stance, sparing himself a swift glance in the full length, ornate mirror. Not bad, he thought, not bad at all. He smiled briefly, then held the weapon low, arms taut, the broadsword straight out from his body at the pelvis.
“No orc shall live within my reach!”
The blade was freshly sharpened, polished to a glimmering shine, all traces of the last skirmish removed from its surface. After painstakingly cleaning off all bloody traces of foul creatures as well as any crusted mud, he had rewound the leather of the hilt and restored Ringil, to pristine condition. The shining, tempered metal caught the inconstant light of the lanterns, fairly glowing with power.
As the king’s assistant, Ariannon was responsible for the maintenance of all of King Fingolfin’s knives and shields, his armor, swords, and other equipment used for battle. He routinely checked on his lord’s stallion at the stables, made sure the leather of his saddles was properly cared for and maintained. He also had broader duties more vaguely defined, companion, and personal aid. In addition to these duties, he took it upon himself to ensure Fingolfin’s general wellbeing.
It was this last part that he especially liked. Their relationship was of a deeply, personal nature, though this was not known to any but them. Even the king’s own son, was not privy to that detail. Fingon thought Ariannon a very close friend of the family and compatriot. To the Hithlum court, he was simply the arandur, or king’s assistant. This suited them very well indeed.
He took his duties very seriously, usually.
“Take that!” Ariannon yelled with a diagonal slice with his right hand.
Fingolfin, at that very moment, was making his way up the corridor to his private chambers, pausing just outside the velvet curtained doorway. When he heard his love call out, he tensed, thinking the walls of the fortress had been breached, and Ariannon defended himself from evil intruders.
“And that!” The elf feinted a thrust forward.
The king peeked through the blue drapes at the sound of his assistant’s laughter, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his lover standing in front of the mirror in a battle ready stance, glaring at himself, red hair falling in wisps into his eyes.
“I am foe of the underworld!”
Indeed, Fingolfin thought, foe indeed.
The great bell sounded the end of the council meeting, causing Ariannon to straighten abruptly. He quickly looked to the left and right in guilty fashion. Sheathing Ringil in its plain, black leather scabbard, he placed it on its usual carved wood stand in the corner of the room by the bed to stand vigil none the worse for its dubious battle moments before.
The royal elf withdrew to carefully retrace his steps some distance back down the empty corridor. He waited what he thought was the amount of time it took him to come from the council chamber to his private suite, breezed up the hallway and through the velvet fabric, apparently ignorant of his lover’s hijinks.
“Ariannon, Council was dreadfully boring and I am so very hungry.” Fingolfin said, unfastening his formal raiment.
The younger elf stood nervously behind the king to assist him, glancing back over his shoulder at the silent sword. Fingolfin handed Ariannon his outer cloak and rambled on about the political meeting he had conducted that afternoon. He informed his lover of all such things, gaining his opinion on decisions and the various players at court. The king found his assistant’s observations astute, amusing, and helpful.
“Something wrong, Aira? You seem distracted today.”
The glances to the corner had not been missed; Fingolfin just chose not to mention them.
“No, my lord. Shall I get you something to eat?”
“Yes, that would be nice. A cold snack will do. Join me?”
“Yes, of course.”
Ariannon hurried to order a small mid-afternoon meal of cold meats, bread and fruit brought to the king’s chambers, along with a large pitcher of water. This would all be followed by a hot cup of soothing herbal tea with lemon to soothe the king’s throat. Fingolfin often times strained his voice in council sessions as the discord got rather intense and the arguments rather loud, escalating to a fevered pitch. The arandur was sensible of all such things and so provided a warm soothing drink. As he sat down to dine with his love, he thought his secret safe.
That night…
They made love with familiar intensity. Hands to shoulder, Fingolfin softly kissed Ariannon’s neck as he thrust deeply. Pleasure, good. Yes.
“Mmm.”
The image of Ariannon with Ringil sprang unprompted into his mind, thus he could not suppress the laughter which erupted. He chuckled softly but his movements became more uneven and erratic.
“What is it?” Ariannon turned his head to try and catch the king’s expression.
“Foe of the underworld…” Laughing harder now, Fingolfin pressed his forehead against his lover’s heated skin, his own shoulders heaving with mirth.
“You heard that?! Saw me?!” The younger elf wanted to die for shame, and burrowed his face into the pillow, cheeks now red with embarrassment as well as passion.
“Could not help it. Got out early.”
The king gasped for breath as he rolled to the side, withdrawing from his lover’s body to land on his back on the soft feathered mattress. The sheets around them were in disarray from their bed play this night. Fingolfin fought to control his errant thoughts since now was not the time for this, now was the time for romance and loving. His brain refused to cooperate as he pictured Ariannon standing firm with Ringil glimmering and a fierce expression on his face. The king’s laughter bubbled forth anew.
Ariannon lay quietly, turning away from his lover, deeply mortified that his silliness had been observed by Fingolfin himself. The sound of amused giggling behind him only served to deepen his chagrin and he longed for a hole to open up so he could jump right in.
After some moments, the royal elf calmed, finally noticing the stony silence from the other side of the bed.
“Aira?”
There came no answer and Fingolfin turned to see the stiff back facing him.
“Do not be upset, my love.”
Ariannon had never noticed the intricate embroidery on the sheets before, a blue pattern in the shape of the king’s crest, very Noldor, fine work really. He let his fingers trace the threads.
“I am not upset,” he enunciated clearly.
“No?” Fingolfin reached to caress the long line of his back and felt him tense. “You are, and now I see you don’t want my touch?”
“Why would you want a buffoon such as me?”
“I always want you. Today, I got out of Council early and I left Findekáno to finish the meeting. I came back here early, thus I did see and hear you. I thought that you were quite endearing and handsome.”
“You laughed.”
“I am sorry for that, but what you said was quite true. Ringil *is* a foe of the underworld, let us not forget that, and you are its caretaker. It is natural for you to forge some bond with the weapon. To me it is a very important thing that you understand its significance.”
Ariannon turned over to face his king, looking a bit sheepish, blinking.
“I was a bit silly, I imagine.”
“And I am not? You point that out quite often, Ariannon.”
The arandur pursed his lips but remained silent.
“Your silence speaks louder than any words you could say.”
Fingolfin leaned forward and kissed that very luscious, tempting mouth, hoping to entice Ariannon back into their previous activities. It was a soft, respectful caress, and the king drew back to observe his lover’s reaction. He could tell that Ariannon liked that as his eyes remained closed for some moments and then when they slowly opened were a deeper green than before.
“Come here to me and I will rekindle your desire.”
“It has never waned, my king.”
“Well then, let us start over tonight.”
And so the two lovers began their passion anew that night, as Ringil stood silent in its place of honor, as ever, foe of the underworld, dormant until its next battle.
Finis for now…
Related Stories:
Prologue: Walls of His Heart
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/84076.html
I Will Find You
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/230458.html
Interrupted
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/246058.html
Fandom: Silmarillion
Part of: First Age Tales
Author:
phynckeCharacters: Fingolfin/Ariannon (OC), Ringil
Beta:
keiliss (all errors are mine)Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Challenge: tripledogdare: Exalt, exalt, exalt!
Warning/Rating: R (slash)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: In this installment of the First Age tales from Fingolfin’s court, Ariannon amuses himself with the sword Ringil that fierce foe of Angband while he THINKS no one can see him.
arandur=king’s assistant or servant (quenya)
Ringil=Fingolfin’s broadsword, weapon, most likely forged in Valinor before the flight of the Noldor with Aulë’s skill in influence. The meaning of the name may be Cold Flame or Cold Star (quenya).
Ariannon held the shimmering sword over his head. Both hands gripped the leather hilt, his elbows at right angles, a fierce expression on his face, eyes gleaming dangerously.
“I am Ringil, foe of the underworld! Cold Star of Valinor!”
With a quick downward slice of the hard, icy steel, the elf heard a satisfying humming sound in the chamber, as the steel met the resistance of the air.
Alone for now in the king’s quarters, the arandur giggled softly and relaxed his stance, sparing himself a swift glance in the full length, ornate mirror. Not bad, he thought, not bad at all. He smiled briefly, then held the weapon low, arms taut, the broadsword straight out from his body at the pelvis.
“No orc shall live within my reach!”
The blade was freshly sharpened, polished to a glimmering shine, all traces of the last skirmish removed from its surface. After painstakingly cleaning off all bloody traces of foul creatures as well as any crusted mud, he had rewound the leather of the hilt and restored Ringil, to pristine condition. The shining, tempered metal caught the inconstant light of the lanterns, fairly glowing with power.
As the king’s assistant, Ariannon was responsible for the maintenance of all of King Fingolfin’s knives and shields, his armor, swords, and other equipment used for battle. He routinely checked on his lord’s stallion at the stables, made sure the leather of his saddles was properly cared for and maintained. He also had broader duties more vaguely defined, companion, and personal aid. In addition to these duties, he took it upon himself to ensure Fingolfin’s general wellbeing.
It was this last part that he especially liked. Their relationship was of a deeply, personal nature, though this was not known to any but them. Even the king’s own son, was not privy to that detail. Fingon thought Ariannon a very close friend of the family and compatriot. To the Hithlum court, he was simply the arandur, or king’s assistant. This suited them very well indeed.
He took his duties very seriously, usually.
“Take that!” Ariannon yelled with a diagonal slice with his right hand.
Fingolfin, at that very moment, was making his way up the corridor to his private chambers, pausing just outside the velvet curtained doorway. When he heard his love call out, he tensed, thinking the walls of the fortress had been breached, and Ariannon defended himself from evil intruders.
“And that!” The elf feinted a thrust forward.
The king peeked through the blue drapes at the sound of his assistant’s laughter, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his lover standing in front of the mirror in a battle ready stance, glaring at himself, red hair falling in wisps into his eyes.
“I am foe of the underworld!”
Indeed, Fingolfin thought, foe indeed.
The great bell sounded the end of the council meeting, causing Ariannon to straighten abruptly. He quickly looked to the left and right in guilty fashion. Sheathing Ringil in its plain, black leather scabbard, he placed it on its usual carved wood stand in the corner of the room by the bed to stand vigil none the worse for its dubious battle moments before.
The royal elf withdrew to carefully retrace his steps some distance back down the empty corridor. He waited what he thought was the amount of time it took him to come from the council chamber to his private suite, breezed up the hallway and through the velvet fabric, apparently ignorant of his lover’s hijinks.
“Ariannon, Council was dreadfully boring and I am so very hungry.” Fingolfin said, unfastening his formal raiment.
The younger elf stood nervously behind the king to assist him, glancing back over his shoulder at the silent sword. Fingolfin handed Ariannon his outer cloak and rambled on about the political meeting he had conducted that afternoon. He informed his lover of all such things, gaining his opinion on decisions and the various players at court. The king found his assistant’s observations astute, amusing, and helpful.
“Something wrong, Aira? You seem distracted today.”
The glances to the corner had not been missed; Fingolfin just chose not to mention them.
“No, my lord. Shall I get you something to eat?”
“Yes, that would be nice. A cold snack will do. Join me?”
“Yes, of course.”
Ariannon hurried to order a small mid-afternoon meal of cold meats, bread and fruit brought to the king’s chambers, along with a large pitcher of water. This would all be followed by a hot cup of soothing herbal tea with lemon to soothe the king’s throat. Fingolfin often times strained his voice in council sessions as the discord got rather intense and the arguments rather loud, escalating to a fevered pitch. The arandur was sensible of all such things and so provided a warm soothing drink. As he sat down to dine with his love, he thought his secret safe.
That night…
They made love with familiar intensity. Hands to shoulder, Fingolfin softly kissed Ariannon’s neck as he thrust deeply. Pleasure, good. Yes.
“Mmm.”
The image of Ariannon with Ringil sprang unprompted into his mind, thus he could not suppress the laughter which erupted. He chuckled softly but his movements became more uneven and erratic.
“What is it?” Ariannon turned his head to try and catch the king’s expression.
“Foe of the underworld…” Laughing harder now, Fingolfin pressed his forehead against his lover’s heated skin, his own shoulders heaving with mirth.
“You heard that?! Saw me?!” The younger elf wanted to die for shame, and burrowed his face into the pillow, cheeks now red with embarrassment as well as passion.
“Could not help it. Got out early.”
The king gasped for breath as he rolled to the side, withdrawing from his lover’s body to land on his back on the soft feathered mattress. The sheets around them were in disarray from their bed play this night. Fingolfin fought to control his errant thoughts since now was not the time for this, now was the time for romance and loving. His brain refused to cooperate as he pictured Ariannon standing firm with Ringil glimmering and a fierce expression on his face. The king’s laughter bubbled forth anew.
Ariannon lay quietly, turning away from his lover, deeply mortified that his silliness had been observed by Fingolfin himself. The sound of amused giggling behind him only served to deepen his chagrin and he longed for a hole to open up so he could jump right in.
After some moments, the royal elf calmed, finally noticing the stony silence from the other side of the bed.
“Aira?”
There came no answer and Fingolfin turned to see the stiff back facing him.
“Do not be upset, my love.”
Ariannon had never noticed the intricate embroidery on the sheets before, a blue pattern in the shape of the king’s crest, very Noldor, fine work really. He let his fingers trace the threads.
“I am not upset,” he enunciated clearly.
“No?” Fingolfin reached to caress the long line of his back and felt him tense. “You are, and now I see you don’t want my touch?”
“Why would you want a buffoon such as me?”
“I always want you. Today, I got out of Council early and I left Findekáno to finish the meeting. I came back here early, thus I did see and hear you. I thought that you were quite endearing and handsome.”
“You laughed.”
“I am sorry for that, but what you said was quite true. Ringil *is* a foe of the underworld, let us not forget that, and you are its caretaker. It is natural for you to forge some bond with the weapon. To me it is a very important thing that you understand its significance.”
Ariannon turned over to face his king, looking a bit sheepish, blinking.
“I was a bit silly, I imagine.”
“And I am not? You point that out quite often, Ariannon.”
The arandur pursed his lips but remained silent.
“Your silence speaks louder than any words you could say.”
Fingolfin leaned forward and kissed that very luscious, tempting mouth, hoping to entice Ariannon back into their previous activities. It was a soft, respectful caress, and the king drew back to observe his lover’s reaction. He could tell that Ariannon liked that as his eyes remained closed for some moments and then when they slowly opened were a deeper green than before.
“Come here to me and I will rekindle your desire.”
“It has never waned, my king.”
“Well then, let us start over tonight.”
And so the two lovers began their passion anew that night, as Ringil stood silent in its place of honor, as ever, foe of the underworld, dormant until its next battle.
Finis for now…
Related Stories:
Prologue: Walls of His Heart
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/84076.html
I Will Find You
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/230458.html
Interrupted
http://phyncke.livejournal.com/246058.html
