[FINISHED]One of the best known original m/m romances in Russia, loved by many. It won the Russian Wattys 2015 Award, now it's available in English too.
Alva Ahayrre is a Creedan nobleman and a courtier, a beautiful and frivolous redhead...
"Hate autumn. Hate the stupid saddle. Hate the stupid horse. Hate to stagger around inside a stupid pile of metal."
Ithildin barely suppressed a smile. Sometimes Lielle had these bouts of spleen, and then he whined and complained to drive a hornet from its nest. A hornet, but not the calm and collected elf.
"The Enqins are excellent shots. You can't go into battle without armor." Ithildin was patient, as if talking to a child.
"Battle, my ass," grumbled Alva. "These Essanti demons and the cavalry do all the dirty work for us. We just sit behind the lines in the freezing wind. The cold and the damp will get me way before the Enqin arrows do."
Alva exaggerated: the guards did get some action too; only yesterday a large enemy troop crossed them; some they killed and some they took prisoner.
"Maybe this will lift your spirits," Ithildin smiled mischievously, leaned over to Alva and kissed him tenderly on the lips. He had long learned how to handle his lover's moods.
"Mmm ..." the kiss deepened. "I want you," mumbled Alva.
A week without sex, hell. This war left them with neither time nor energy for trysts. They would have to catch up once they returned to the camp. The campaign was at an end; it had taken only a month to scatter the Enqins across the steppe.
"A messenger," said Ithildin peeling himself off his beloved.
He pointed. In a few minutes even those with normal human sight could make out on the horizon first a black dot, and then a wildly galloping rider waving a messenger's flag.
"Peace! Peace!" he was shouting from afar.
The Enqin leader Targhai finally had to drop the proud nomad act and agreed to negotiate a peace treaty.
For the next three days, Taghai haggled with Kintaro and Marshal Brano Boressa over the size of tribute and the borders to confine the Enqins from now on. The Enqins' slaves and prisoners were let go. The spoils of war – horses, pelts, weapons – went to the Essanti, as the Creedan king had promised, and to these was added a share of cattle and gold given to the Creedans in ransom.
When the Creedan army returned to Trianess, with them went the Enquin Prince Fairiz (Targhai, his father, a stranger to false modesty, had styled himself "king.")
In spite of his youth – or because of it – the prince quickly took to his new life. He appreciated the opulence of the court, the soft beds, the delectable cooking, the sumptuous clothes, the attentions of the metropolitan lords and ladies. They were all seduced by his exotic beauty, truly barbaric haughtiness and a romantic "nomad warrior" aura.
Fairiz had been beautiful, no question, with his aquiline profile, piercing indigo eyes, raven-black hair and a chiseled body. He became the court's favorite new plaything for the next few months, and bed-hopped until he came under the wing of an all-powerful Chancellor Reza Rennarte, an imposing older man.
But Fairiz turned out to have a formidable competitor at the court. And one far luckier. Kintaro had been invited to spend the winter at the royal palace.
The high society fell to the barbarian chieftain as one. He was the legendary hero of the recent campaign, praised by both the cavalrymen and the Royal Guard. His unbridled temperament and unabashed, simplistic brutality drove the refined aristocrats mad with lust. They moaned "Savage!" and tumbled into his arms in droves.
The one truly sensational liaison, however, had been Kintaro's affair with the youngest princess Tion Talliran. If His Majesty the King Daronghi Dancennou had found the romance objectionable, he hid the fact carefully. After all, it was his great-grandmother, Emris Elledwen, who had eloped with a Belg Meytarn jarl visiting at the court, and, when her elder sister the queen died without an issue, returned to Creede with her husband, took the crown and ruled for thirty years.
The winter was flying by in a whirl of balls and celebrations. Sometimes, Alva attended together with Ithildin, as there was little chance of running into Kintaro there. They did cross paths with Fairiz several times. This youth, whom Alva had judged snooty and ill-mannered, had long hankered after adding a notch for an elf to his bedpost. Eventually, Chevalier Ahayrre had to take the Enqin pup aside and explain a few things to him. Since that time, the boy just glared dangerously at the two lovers, but did not dare to pursue the shining elf openly. Alva heaved a sigh of relief when Fairiz began to carry on with Chancellor Rennarte. One love scene, Wild Steppe style, had been quite enough, thank you.
Kintaro did nothing for a long time, and Alva hoped that the Essanti had forgotten all about him. Alva had nearly stopped thinking about him as well, except for an occasional frisson of longing, usually fuelled by drink, at the sight of the tall and broad-shouldered figure visible above any crowd. But he chalked it up to nostalgia.
Chevalier Ahayrre's hopes were dashed. Predictably.
Not a fanart, but a picture by Linda Bergkvist (Enayla), which inspired me for creating Ithildin. It's exacly how I see him (except for black hair, of course, and wings)!
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