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“Should we be concerned?” he asks as their daughter latched onto Elrond and refused to let go of him.
With Finnellach now an adventurous young man with his endless trails of sweethearts and stories of his bravery at war, they turned to their younger daughter, Gilraen, who had become infatuated with Elrond ---who had lost the softness of youth and became a great commander and lord as the war raged on. He had not come to Lindon in recent years, Gilraen had been but a babe in arms the last time he was here and the High Queen would not accept any excuse as to why their former ward would not attend Gil-Galad’s begetting day feast.
He had not wanted to celebrate his begetting day, but the realm needed a boost in morale and the High King did miss his kingdom and his family. Gil-galad had already grown unaccustomed to his myriad of kingly robes and lost his patience with the delegates from Númenor. Lord Kemen would have been tossed off the cliffs by him if murder was not so wrong.
“No, she will get bored of him eventually or dear Elrond will let her down gently.” Erinti Lothíriel shook her head as they pretended not to be amused by the Herald’s discomfort at having the little princess of Lindon telling all and sundry that Elrond Peredhel was to be her husband ---even if he was already betrothed to Celebrian and would marry once the war against Sauron ended. “I used to do the same to Mablung for half a century and before that Oromë.”
“So, what your husband is hearing is that you have always had a preference for hunters and warriors, particularly those good with spears.” The king teased hoping they’d finally get their chance to leave the festivities and celebrate in a much more private matter.
“Why do you think I steal away to join you at your war camp, the sight of you in armor does things to a woman.” The queen admitted knowing the bloodlust from battle made for very wild encounters. Sometimes they don’t even care if he is covered in blood and grime as they do the beast with two backs.
“That explains the gift, dear one.” Gil-galad wished they could invent a reason to leave, like some missives from the frontlines or anything convincing. “The vambraces will replace the ones you broke last time you came to me rather nicely.”
“As will the silk you brought to replace this dress I am wearing.” They still flirt as if they’d only been married a few decades and not a three thousand years. She’s as old as the known universe and he is the last High King in Middle Earth, what a pair they make. “What do you say we leave Elrond to fend for himself and celebrate the night anyway you wish, aran mhuinI?”
“I thought you would never ask, bereth mhuin.”