Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5669086.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Lord_of_the_Rings_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Legolas_Greenleaf/Thranduil
  Character:
      Thranduil, Legolas_Greenleaf
  Additional Tags:
      Parent/Child_Incest, Seduction, Underage_Legolas, Elven_Lore, Forced
      Relationship, Insane_Thranduil, Submissive_Legolas, mind-control,
      Penetration, On_Hiatus
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-08 Words: 1758
****** A King's temptation ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     There was a secret that Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of
     Northern Mirkwood, hid from the world.
There was a secret that Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of Northern
Mirkwood, hid from the world. Not even his closest consultants knew of it, to
such lengths had he gone to conceal it. It was a dark one, ugly and rank,
unspeakable among his own race and all other races in Middle-Earth.
And still, at night, when he alone roamed empty halls, it was the only thing
keeping him company. With every step it would reverberate within him, grow and
fester and take hold of his thoughts until he would find himself standing in
front of a closed wooden door, breathing hard with the burning weight of his
shame bearing him down.
Many a night, he turned away. Save for a hand briefly resting against
intricately carved wood, he barely paused there, his steps slowing but never
stopping until he found himself back in his lonely rooms, heart beating with
the elation of having forced back the dark urges for another night.
But it was inevitable that there would be a time when even the strength and
will of a King would wane. The door was heavy, but opened soundlessly as
Thranduil pushed it open. His first glance at that much desired face stole his
breath. There was no doubt in his mind that there was no fairer being in all of
Middle-Earth than the one he was gazing upon at this very moment.
He looked so innocent. There was not a trace of falsehood to be found in him
when he was awake, but in sleep he seemed to be glowing with an inner light
reflecting his pure, gentle soul. No true evil had ever touched his precious
son, even if the youngest Prince of Mirkwood was no stranger to the pain of
loss.
“Ada?”
Thranduil slowly turned. His son was looking at him, his blue eyes wide,
reflecting the light of the moon shining in the high windows. Legolas, his
youngest, the one child that looked so much like his mother.
Never would Thranduil admit to having a favorite amongst his children, but
there was no denying the special fondness he had always felt for this last
little piece of her his love had given him before a stray Orc arrow had stolen
her away from him. Legolas was so like his Anairë, both in temperament and
manner that it was hard to believe he had never truly known her.
As he was now, to a human, Legolas would have appeared to be about thirteen
years old. Even if in reality he had just turned forty, he was still but a mere
babe in the eyes of the Sindar. Not a child exactly, as Elves could walk and
talk before even a year had gone by and quickly reached a point in their mental
development that would deem them adult by human standards.
But there was a reason that Elven children were only considered to be of age
when they reached their first century. It took that long for them to overcome
adolescent instincts and for their personality traits to consolidate. Before
that – especially in the first five decades of their life – an Elven child was
as prone to manipulation and deceit as any other youth. It was a well-kept
secret amongst their kind and they went to great length to ensure to keep their
offspring hidden to shield them from anyone who would exploit such fragility of
mind.
Which was why this wicked longing had been so steadfastly denied by the Elven
Kind. The very thought of taking advantage of an Elfling like that was
abominable, and so Thranduil had pushed it down deep, buried it under parental
guidance and distant affection, spending as much time as he could away from his
youngest son.
It worked for a while, giving his son precious years to prosper and with every
passing moment, Thranduil’s hope that he would be able to withstand temptation
until Legolas had outgrown his vile need.
But with every year that went by, the craving grew stronger and more absolute,
until there was no dismissing it any longer. It had festered and spread,
guiding his every move, stealing his piece of mind and now he found himself
here, in his son’s chambers, unable to keep himself from reaching out for him.
“Mell-ion,” he breathed, walking closer until his trembling hand made contact
with warm flesh.
The first touch was like coming awake after a long sleep. Sensation flooded
Thranduil like a tidal wave, burning through him and leaving him sensitized to
his son’s warmth and silken skin that trembled under his fingertips. Legolas
was watching him, confusion growing in his beautiful eyes as he endured his
father’s increasingly indecent touches.
Thranduil was enthralled. He grew heavy and tender between the legs as he
gently explored the lithe body of this most wondrous creature. Knowing that
this beautiful boy had arisen from his own loins added a fervent heat to
Thranduil’s dark need as he saw both traces of himself and his beloved wife in
Legolas.
As the fever of carnal desire took a hold of Thranduil’s very being, there was
no place for doubt in his mind. This was inevitable, the natural conclusion to
every happenstance leading up to this very moment – Legolas was his as much as
Anairë had been, and nothing could come between them now.
Legolas frowned as Thranduil grew bolder, but he lay passive underneath him. He
was trusting and silent as his father divested him of his light sleeping gown,
exposing the elfling to the cool night air – reverent as if revealing a rare
gem. Disrobing himself was an afterthought that proved detrimental as Legolas’
eyes widened in trepidation at the sight of him.
Thranduil found himself murmuring in Sindarin, secret words of devotion and
passion, as he himself gazed upon perfection. Pale, smooth skin covered slender
limbs, while long, blonde tresses were feathered out above soft pillows,
framing the most beautiful face he had ever known. His manhood pulsed with his
need to satisfy the burning in his veins and he kept up the stream of
endearments even as he lowered his face to caress the supple chest now exposed
to him, teasing small nipples into tiny peaks.
Legolas’ breathing quickened and his soft lips formed an objection that
Thranduil swallowed with his own. Their kiss was a revelation to the Elven King
as it quickly grew from sweet and tender to ferocious and wanton, his
plundering of his son’s stunned mouth only fueling the fire waging within him.
When he lowered himself down and trapped his rigid sex between their bodies,
Thranduil threw his head back in utter rapture. A small part of him noted that
there was no answering hardness between Legolas’ legs, but even that could not
restore him to his rightful mind.
Using the clear pearls of his arousal leaking forth, he opened his young son’s
body with fingers and mouth, unaware of the prince’s fleeing sanity. When an
eternity later he pushed into that sacred opening, Thranduil was far enough
gone that a few long strokes inside tight heat was all he could endure. The
roaring approach of his release left him hard of breath and blind to anything
but the heat gathering in his loins until with a low groan, the Elven King’s
sex quickened in rapture.
The moment he spilled his seed, sanity returned. Even as blissful pulses still
rocked through him, the veil of his licentiousness lifted and – his heart
thudding in his chest with terror – Thranduil saw his son through a father’s
eyes instead of a lover’s.
With a sharp cry, he threw himself back, dislodging himself from the tight
sheath and came to a rest at the end of the bed, breathing hard. His manhood
had barely finished its peak and he must have made quite a sight, naked and
still in the throes of passion.
Before him, Legolas was a quivering bundle of half-awakened elfling. Still too
young in mind and body to comprehend the feelings his father’s violation had
caused, he quaked in trepidation. His body was opened still from accommodating
Thranduil’s hard flesh and leaked now the damning evidence of the King’s
transgression.
“Ada…?” The voice was soft, a mere tremble, and hardly recognizable as his bold
son’s.
Thranduil moaned from deep in his throat, a never before felt sickness rising
in him. He had done this – had forced his fledgling son into something that was
proscribed by their people for a reason that was now revealed to him in all
clarity.
Because even in the tiniest reactions, he could now see what he had done to his
own son for he had changed the very make-up of Legolas’ mind. Alongside
everything the young prince was, a door had been opened, one that only
Thranduil could open. This door now gave him full control of him, would allow
him to bend Legolas to his own will if he so wished. Something had broken in
Legolas the moment his unprepared body had been forced to lust by someone he
trusted, and he would never be the same again.
Grief and regret descended upon Thranduil like a dark cloud. The satisfaction
and tranquility of a recent union was at odds with the remorse he felt at
having harmed his own child such and so for a long while, he tried to find his
voice.
“Be still, little leaf,” he finally murmured, using his favored term of
endearment. “I am here.”
Legolas reached for him then, blindly seeking the security of his father’s
touch, unaware that only moments before, it had been his undoing.
Unable to refuse him this comfort, Thranduil laid down beside his son once
more. Gathering him up into his arms, he gentled his trembling child with soft
caresses, not stopping, even when Legolas’ confused senses translated the
parental care into something different, something charged with an energy that
should still be foreign to him.
When he felt the young body in his arms quicken, Thranduil heaved a shuddering
sigh and moved his touch towards the straining flesh, stirring it into rapture
with sure, even strokes. Legolas cried out softly as he was ushered towards a
threshold of feeling that threatened to overwhelm his innocent soul.
The sight of him like this awoke renewed heat in Thranduil and as he took his
son for the second time that night, moving deep within him, he cried silent
tears of sorrow. For he knew that he would never be able to let this go.
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