High King Gil-galad

*As if sensing that disconnect, that the High King of the Noldor has no authority over Maeglin, Ereinion almost seems to relax. He can be himself.*

... You were a Lord in Gondolin, yes? Glorfindel and Ecthelion alongside you, Balrog-slayers. Not a King, but you know how lonely it feels.

Uruk is the correct term, yes? *He fumbles it a bit, but the intention is pure, and heartfelt. He takes another sip, in friendship.*

So you are... aged, by your People and their standard? That... is so young, but I understand. Elves have been no benefit, but I, as High King, wish to make amends.

*Ereinion pauses, almost flustered at the question, and it's nothing short of charming.*

I--I am afraid to say, I may find you as fascinating as Elrond. You are so much older than me, and I am used to being eldest. And--

*Another pause, almost boyish, for a king.* ... You are handsome, and lordly.

Overzealous? *He almost balks at the term, kingly, righteous.* I have seen my People slaughtered by yours since near-birth, but to take parents from a child is cruelty, not overzealousness. Cruelty.

*Ereinion sips his drink, calming that Noldor fire.* ... So young. I forget Maeglin lived so little.

You are-- such a brat; I'm fascinated by proxy. *Elrond knows when he's flustered the king, knows how to fluster him, to back him into a corner.*

He is... older than I, and remember how old I am, all I have seen, and known.

*A pause, a funny one.* And. Damn it all, he's handsome.

*A chuckle.* Coffee is always on-hand. And I will have a dessert prepared for you, as I am not fond of sweets, but for you, it will be sweet.

*He pauses at the question for a long moment. Ereinion does not mince words.* Yes. I would welcome you. I long for friendship, and admit that, despite shame.

@lady-of-the-light.bsky.social My Lady, what a joy to see you. How fare you?

If you wish, I could... *Ereinion pauses, trying not to sound haughty, as he tends to.* ... find... recipes for Dwarven meals? If you prefer them. I simply wish to know you, cousin. You are so separated from us, and our generation of Noldo so small.

... Dwarfs like mead, yes? I can have some made.

Ah, casual. If things turn diplomatic, I am taken by the idea of truce. Too long have we been at odds with a People so close to us.

*There is still a tone of jealousy, one Elrond can so easily catch.*

He is... Adar, I mean--fetching; fascinating. A rare thing; unknown. You are so like your father.

*He laughs at the comparison, and drinks in return. To Glûg, this Elf-king is friend, clearly, and seeking to bond.* 7,000 is nothing to your Adar, and to my friend, Círdan. I may as well be a teenager, to them.

*Ereinion sits a bit closer, and he shines in his robes and rings.* .. How old are you?

*He laughs, humorless at the mention of critical deaths, but it is still charming.* Nearly 7,000 now, my new friend.

No Dark Lords would benefit us all.

*There is no anger or jealousy, at Elrond's pure honesty.* Poetry? You are quite taken with him, then.

I have been speaking with him, as well. He is as fascinating as you say. Perhaps he might come here, for a visit?

*Ereinion looks around CONFOUNDED, a hilarious look on such a serious High King's stern visage.* I... how....? Where did this.... oh, well. It must be a gift from one of my new friends.

*He chuckles, warm, again, openly enjoying the offered drink and fire, and company.* I would not say you were not handsome.

But I do wonder, if your lifespans match ours, or close to it. If... not ended early.

You avoid the sun as a kindness to your children, then? To share the dark they think of as home. What... kindness. There is a warmth to you. I can see why--

*A pause, especially after that comment, about Elrond.*

... I can see why he likes you, is fascinated. He is my herald, and more.

The worst thing about being ill is being tended to, because...

*He stops for a moment, ring-gilded fingers on the cane he currently needs to stand.*

... Because it makes me miss being a boy; it makes me miss being allowed to show weakness, and Papa Finno's soup, and his warmth, his kisses.

*He is fixated, visibly fascinated.* Do you avoid the Sun, now? Does it wound you? After so long in such dark places, does it... frighten you, or make you long for its warmth? *Ereinion knows he's pushing.*

Come to Rivendell, then. A surprise for my Elrond it will be. *'My Elrond', deliberate.*

Ah, you're far younger, then, than I assumed. *He smiles, almost laughing into his cup. He is kingly, regal, but the Feanorean brat is visible, in a most charming way.*

.. You are tall, yes. Pardon me for asking of your heritage, that was... insensitive. Uruk are Uruk; it is not my place to assume.

I would forbid any such behavior; Imladris is Elrond's, and Elrond allows no cruelty within. He houses Men, and they are treated as equals, not the way some Elves... *He searches for a word.*... infantiles them, as lessers.

If you hate it, you are no captive, and may leave. I offer only a dinner.

*Gil-galad finds himself charmed, surprised, in a good way, in turn. He enjoys more of the drink, his many rings clinking the mug.*

Our names are quite easy, despite dialects. *He pauses, not wanting to ruin such a friendship in making.* ... I know some Uruk were once Elves. Were you...?

+ Yes, the common name is Rivendell, and I'm sure you will be pleased to know Elrond will be present.

+ *As a heavy aside.* No one could change laws in Gondolin, as little as entering or exiting. Turgon made what he made, and hurt you through it. So, come, be welcomed by Elves, cousin.

*Maeglin gets a laugh, warm and sad at once, though to memories of his parents, clearly, and not the question.* Gondolin was an odd place; Turgon was an odd man, with odd ideals.

Not to belittle him, but Lindon, and Rivendell are easier. I would be delighted to show you a new sort of Elven land.

You knew our World before Sun and Moon, yes? Before... *It isn't a pause of awkwardness, but true reality, and respect.*

I am beyond young to you, then, and did not know the World as it once was, before the Sun. I would love to know more, if you wish to share.

*He laughs, warmly.* Other than Cirdan, you may be the eldest I've met. Come to Imladris: your Children are as welcome. Let us a friendship make.

You write so much. *A warm smile in return, true, only often in Elrond's grace.* Tell me all of it, and of your... fixation, of this Uruk-father.

*He drums ringed fingers on his desk at the comment; he is jealous.* ... Writing is not all you did there, Peredhel. I need not your special eyes to see.

My name is quite short, it's said rather swiftly! *He says this warmly.* Erei-nee'yun, the second half quick. No need for more.

As my position, I am demanded for politics, so such a night, peaceful, learning of you and people is a treat. Glûg, this night is an honor.

They're 401s, if that helps.

Grandfather, you are beautiful. What a lovely portrait.

Glûg. *He is contentious to pronounce it was said to him.* Call me Ereinion, not Gil-galad, then, if we are to be friends.

*He sips the offered drink.* We discuss similar things: weather, food. As High King, my time is often spent discussing politics, so believe me when I say how peaceful this is.