Duty by Gabriel
Fanwork Notes
This is a part or snippet out of my Kingslayer Series.
A thank you to Dawn Felagund for extending the deadline for this challenge, several times and a special thank you to Alexander_Rae for his quick, helpful and last minute beta'ing. The "Prompt" for this story is a beautiful piece of art made by: Juhlat maalla (Party in the Countryside) I would like to dedicate this little snippet to a family member who passed away in the last week.
- Fanwork Information
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Summary:
High King Gil-galad visits Eregion for rest and respite.
Major Characters: Gil-galad, Original Male Character(s)
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Slash/Femslash
Challenges: Pride
Rating: Teens
Warnings: Creator Chooses Not to Warn
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 366 Posted on 14 July 2019 Updated on 14 July 2019 This fanwork is complete.
Chapter 1
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The king sat motionless in a green velvet chair by a picture window, staring absently out at the Rio Sirannon river, a tributary that flowed into the much larger Rio Gwaith. The spring sunlight danced upon the water, making the river appear to be made of light. And beyond emerald green plains with copses of holly trees.
“Gil.” A familiar voice nudged him softly.
“Gil!” The king jolted back to reality and the room. A hand touched his shoulder and long sure fingers squeezed it in reassurance.
Hithaearon, the king’s personal guard, friend and, if the gossip in Lindon was anything to go on, the king’s bed warmer, stood over him, an unreadable expression on his face. “They are waiting for you.” His eyes trailed over the king’s face, looking for any sign that proceeding with this engagement was not the best of ideas.
Gil-galad offered him a wan smile and nodded, “Very well.” He stood slowly and methodically as the other lifted his cloak from its home, lying over a settee and slipped it about his shoulders. The king suddenly sucked in a breath as Hithaearon fastened the cloak at the base of his neck.
The silver-haired warrior took a step back, his gaze moving over the king’s face. “You are in pain. I will call the healer.” He turned to leave.
“No!” Gil-galad responded, a little too abruptly, “I am fine.” he said, in an attempt to allay any fears. “I need to do this. I need to show our people that I will not be cowed by some imbecile extremist, with a dagger.” The king scowled as he rolled one shoulder gingerly.
Hithaearon looked him over, narrowing his gaze, “Well, if you are sure… But anymore signs of discomfort and I am calling a healer.”
The king took a breath in an attempt to prepare himself, “Of course.”
The silver-haired warrior adjusted his sword belt and smoothed his tunic.
“After you my king,” he said, gesturing towards the door. Gil-galad winced inwardly at the use of formality, but steeled himself, head held high and strode like the true king he was, out the door and down the cobbled path.
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