Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13553262.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi, Other
  Fandom:
      The_Hobbit_(Jackson_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Thranduil_(Tolkien)/Original_Character(s), Legolas_Greenleaf_&_Thranduil,
      Galion/Thranduil_(Tolkien)
  Character:
      Thranduil_(Tolkien), Elrond_Peredhel, Legolas_Greenleaf
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Consensual_Bondage, Rape, Master/Slave, Dominant/Submissive, Anal
      Sex, Anal_Play, Threesome_-_M/M/M
  Collections:
      Main_Library
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-02 Completed: 2018-03-25 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 41090
****** Of Light and Shadow ******
by AvaloyuruGeovaughni
Summary
     This story takes place in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of
     the Five Armies, referred to in the story as the Battle in the Shadow
     of the Lonely Mountain. It is a dark sexual story that both touches
     on and explores the realm of bondage, torture, rape, Master/slave
     relationships, and incest. The story explores Thranduils’ awakening
     as a submissive to Cerályië, a dark elf whose own past is riddled
     with the horrors of a power hungry necromancer.
Notes
     Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien’s world, Middle-Earth, or any of its
     associated characters or geographical locations. I receive no form of
     compensation monetarily or otherwise from this work of fan-fiction.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Payment of a Debt *****
Chapter Summary
     Thranduil has been delivered to Cerályië, a slave trader elf who
     lives in the deserted area of Fornost on the other side of the Misty
     Mountains, 200 miles west of the Woodland Realm. Cerályië is a
     beautiful Noldor elf who views Thranduil as payment of a debt and has
     vowed to keep him as his personal pleasure slave until the end of
     time.
“Move damned you!” Thranduil screamed as he watched in horror at the bloody
scene below him.
The small troop of archers had gotten separated from the company and were
cornered as orcs advanced in from the west and the goblins were reforming just
south of them. Blocked by the mountains in the east, their only safe route out
was to head north to the river. If they could just...
Jolted, Thranduil felt a blinding pain wash over him as if his body was
suddenly pierced by a thousand arrows of fire. From a distance, as if it were
someone else, he heard himself scream. Falling, he was falling into darkness, a
darkness so black he could feel the weight of it pressing in on him. Drifting
into the depths of the blackness that seemed to cradle him as the pain slowly
ebbed from him, leaving nothing but weakness.
“He is awake hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The servant said quietly as he entered the
Masters’ study.
“Thank you, Nhaéslal.” Cerályië acknowledged him, smiling softly as he looked
up from the papers on his desk. “Inform Dorinäélin that I wish for him to join
me.” He added, rising to his feet, the deep blue of his eyes darkening to
almost black as he walked toward the servant.
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). The servant replied, bowing
respectfully as he quickly exited the study.
Schooling his expression with effort, Cerályië strode purposefully through the
halls of the Keep. The only sound was the soft swish of his outer robes as his
long legs carried him unhurriedly yet swiftly toward the dungeons within the
bowels of the Keep. Comfortable in the knowledge that his prize was safely
secured and awaiting him, his dusky lips curled in a soft smile.
“Daedalus.” He acknowledged the guard at the door as he opened it for him.
The large room was comfortably illuminated with bright ornate lanterns
suspended from the ceiling in each corner and warmed by the glow of the
enormous stone hearth that dominated the far wall. Carpeted in multicolored
braided rugs and furnished in fine carved oaken furniture, the ambiance
reflected more of a stately sitting room than a dungeon, but the dungeons of
Klëätyrlin Keep were unlike any other for they served a different purpose.
Striding across the room toward the narrow raised bed in the far corner, he
smiled down at his prize. Reaching down, he softly caressed his cheek with the
backs of his fingers, trailing the tips of his fingers along his chin.
“Yes, you can feel my touch and hear my words but you are not yet fully awake.”
He said softly, watching the flicker of his eyes behind the closed eyelids
following his finger as he caressed his face. “You are even more beautiful than
I remember.”
“Who are you?!” Thranduil demanded, even as he was beginning to realize it was
only his mind that spoke.
Somewhere on the edge of the darkness that engulfed him, he could feel the
gentle fingers that caressed his face almost lovingly. Struggling through the
fog that still filled his mind, he tried to put a face on the deep but musical
voice that taunted him yet it was lost to him.
“I have waited long for you pen neth nîn.” (My young one). Cerályië said
quietly, almost as if he spoke to himself. “Now move him before he awakes.”
Cerályië stated, turning away from him as Dorinäélin entered the room.
“Get off me!” Thranduil screamed in his mind as he felt himself being
manipulated if he were nothing but a child’s puppet, a marionette with strings.
His body hung limp between them, his chin resting on his chest as his head
slumped forward as they carried him.
“What do you want?!” He continued to demand, even as fear filled him at the
sound of clinking metal chains and feeling of leather strips being fastened to
his wrists and ankles. His breath came in short gasps as they maneuvered him,
the realization sank in that he was completely exposed in his nakedness.
“Soon pirá neth (little one) you will be fully awake.” The musical voice rang
in his ears as he heard the clinking of the metal again as he was slowly
lifted, his arms spread with only his toes touching the carpeted floor.
“Only then, when I can look into your eyes will I answer some of your
questions.” Cerályië told him quietly as he lifted his chin, smiling at the
quivering lips as he struggled to speak.
Cringing inwardly at the sound of the soft laughter, Thranduil tried to pull
away from him as he felt his warm lips pressing against his own. A soft whimper
escaped his throat as felt him trace his tongue teasingly across his lower lip
before sipping it deeply into his mouth. Unable to resist in his current state,
he struggled to breathe as the demanding mouth now ravished his own with a
searching hungry kiss.
“One day you will beg me for these tender moments.” Cerályië whispered,
brushing his lips with his own as he spoke.
“Nn... Nnn.” Thranduil struggled to speak.
“Yes, pirá neth (little one), come on, wake up.” Cerályië almost cooed at him
as if he truly were a child as he watched his eyelids flutter in his struggle
to open them.
“There you are.” He continued, smiling warmly as he gazed into those beautiful
sapphire blue eyes admiringly. So crystal clear they seemed to go on forever,
filled with tiny diamond flecks that shown like starlight.
Thranduil felt his throat constrict as he slowly focused on the face in front
of him. The perfect oval face was framed in the blackest hair he had ever seen,
so black the lanterns reflected a blue shimmer over the long silken tresses.
But it was the eyes that drew him, deep blue like the dark velvet of a midnight
sky filled with the brilliant sparkle of starlight.
“Who...who are you?” Thranduil asked, his raspy voice barely above a whisper as
he stared at him, unable to look away.
“To you I am Herdir.” (Master) He said firmly, even as he continued to smile
warmly at him.
“Never.” Thranduil choked, still struggling against whatever drug they had to
have given him.
“Oh but yes pirá neth nîn.” (My little one) He chuckled with amusement as he
leaned forward, kissing the lips that now closed themselves against him. “You
are the spoils of war, a payment of a debt long overdue.” He continued, his
tone growing deeper and more firm as he spoke.
“What do you want?” Thranduil asked quietly, his voice still weak. “I can pay
you...”
“I have what I want.” Cerályië interrupted him as he released his chin, smiling
as he watched him struggle to hold his head up. “I have waited four thousand
years for this moment.” He stated, enjoying the confusion that radiated from
him.
“You said remember.” Thranduil said, his voice a little stronger. “I do not
know you.” He told him as he continued to study him.
“But I know you.” Cerályië replied softly as he leaned closer, almost touching
his cheek with his. “I have known you since you were born. I attended your
coronation.” He whispered in his ear.
“Impossible! I would...” Thranduil exclaimed, his voice choked at the stress,
cutting off before he could finish.
“You would have remembered me?” Cerályië asked, arching a delicate brow at him
as he leaned back. “How touching but I think not.” He chuckled as a soft
shimmer obscured him for a moment, replacing him with the image of a typical
Silvan elf.
“They will come for me.” Thranduil stated, his eyes narrowing as the shimmer
faded as quickly as it appeared.
“You are a world away from your precious Woodland Realm.” He stated, caressing
his cheek.
“Why are you doing this?” Thranduil asked as he studied the elf before him,
hoping to pick up even bits and pieces of information from him. He spoke
perfect Sindarin but the dialect was unfamiliar to him.
“Oh come now.” Cerályië chuckled as his gaze drifted over the taut muscles of
his body, now fully displayed to him. “I have already answered that question.”
He said, drawing his fingers teasingly upward from his hips to the tiny buds of
his nipples, enjoying the slight shiver he felt in him.
“I will never serve you.” He stated, narrowing his eyes at him.
“I am very patient.” Cerályië said quietly, leaning close enough to kiss him
yet he held back. “I will enjoy breaking you Thranduil, King of the Woodland
Realm.” His voice held a hint of laughter as he taunted him, brushing his lips
as he spoke.
“It is futile to resist.” He laughed, reaching down to grasp the semi hard
shaft of his sex as Thranduil tried to pull away from him. “I derive as much
pleasure in torturing you as I do fucking you, the choice is yours.” He said as
he began stroking him almost absently.
“Yes.” Cerályië said slowly, stretching out the word like a soft sigh. “Fear
can influence many things.” He continued, staring into his eyes as his felt him
stiffening in his hands. “The body responds so much more quickly than the
mind.”
Jerking his knee upward, Thranduil managed to land a blow on the elf’s hip,
knocking him back a step. The chains attached to his ankles limited his motion
or he could have struck him with more force.
“Edicûve.” Cerályië stated, a smile curling his lips as he stepped back up to
him, taking his face in his hands.
Caught off guard, Thranduil felt the scream rip through his throat as the blow
fell hard against the naked flesh of his backside. Clenching his teeth as yet
another and another fell, he stared angrily at the elf in front of him,
refusing to cry out.
“Spread his legs.” He said quietly, smiling softy as his fingers began
caressing his face. “If pain is what you prefer, then you shall have it.” He
told him, releasing him suddenly and disappeared behind him.
Walking toward the table against the wall, he scanned the implements and picked
up the wide collar. Disappointed slightly as he had hoped to enjoy watching his
expressions as he played with him, but alas the punishment was necessary.
Thranduil yelped and tried to twist his head away as his hair was gathered and
jerked back, forcing him to look at the ceiling. Ignoring the pain, he
continued to shake his head as he felt the collar being wrapped around his neck
and buckled in place. Growling angrily, he arched his body, straining against
the chains that held him spread between the tall oaken beams.
“I would gag you, but I want to hear you scream.” The deep musical voice of the
elf behind him taunted him as he stared at the ceiling, unable to move his head
in any direction.
The warning had only slightly prepared him, clenching his jaw as the first blow
fell against his sore backside, he refused to give him the pleasure of crying
out. Deep growls rumbled in his throat as the blows landed one after another,
he fought back the screams that threatened. His chest heaved, his breath became
labored from his struggles. Closing his eyes against the tears that stung the
backs of his eyes, he felt gentle fingers touching the painful places on his
backside. The tenderness was short lived as the blows fell once more, landing
sharply across his abused flesh. Against his will, felt his tears leak from the
corners of his eyes as he clenched his jaws to stifle the screams he now
realized would eventually come.
“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Cerályië asked as he reached up and
unbuckled the collar, handing it to Edicûve. “I would have preferred to simply
enjoy you today, but I cannot allow your stubbornness.” He continued as he
loosely embraced him, placing soft kisses on his neck.
“I told you, I will never submit to you.” Thranduil choked out, his throat sore
from his screams.
“Oh but you did.” He laughed, his fingers tracing teasing patterns over his
back. “Now I must see to your wounds.” He sighed heavily as he released him.
“Put him on the table.” He stated as he walked toward a tall cupboard in the
far corner to collect the necessary ointments and supplies to treat the broken
and bloodied welts that marred the otherwise perfect backside.
Grimacing painfully as he was lowered back onto his feet, Thranduil considered
trying to fight the two elves as they unbuckled the leather cuffs on his wrists
and ankles. Stubborn as he was he wasn’t stupid, it felt as if every muscle in
his body cried out to him as they lifted his arms over their shoulders, all but
carrying him toward a long table. Offering only little resistance as they
lifted him onto it, positioning him on his stomach over a hole cut in the
center that allowed his sex to hang freely. Wincing as they secured him with a
leather strap around his hips as well as his wrists and ankles.
Twisting his head back over his shoulder, he found himself staring into the
deep blue eyes of the dark haired elf. He could feel a power emanating from
him, it was dark yet he felt no evil in him as he studied the beautiful face
that smiled warmly at him. He found himself wondering what had happened to him
to fill him with such darkness, who or what had hurt him so terribly. He
wondered too, what sort of debt would require such a payment.
Flinching instinctively as he stepped closer, wiping his face with a warm damp
cloth. Frowning slightly, Thranduil noted the tenderness in his touch as he
washed away the traces of his earlier tears. The elf’s expression never wavered
as he continued to smile at him as if he were pleased with him, stirring a
strangely odd but familiar feeling deep within him. Questions jumbled over each
other in his mind but he remained silent, not wanting to break the spell that
seemed to comfort him.
Closing his eyes, he stiffened as the elf turned his attentions to his
backside. Clenching his hands into tight fists as he drew the soft cloth gently
over his abused flesh, carefully washing away the blood. Tormented by thoughts
and feelings that only lingered on the fringes of his mind, he felt the same
tenderness in the elf’s touch as he cautiously applied a thick salve to his
wounds. Slowly, as the gentle hands worked the numbing salve into his flesh, he
felt the pain beginning to fade.
Struggling with the questions that continued to plague him, Thranduils’
frustration grew as he thought about the strange feelings the elf incited
within him. So much of his past memory was blank, only bits and pieces that did
not seem to fit together. The battle in the shadows of the Lonely Mountain was
his clearest memory, yet he could not recall what could possibly have compelled
him to war. Faces, most only vaguely familiar to him flashed in his mind, yet
he could not recall the names of so many of them.
“Now you must eat if you are to keep your strength.” Cerályië told him quietly
as he set about the task of unfastening the straps. “Come.” He smiled as he
assisted him to sit up.
“There is more to this than a debt.” He stated, wrapping his arms around the
elf as he attempted to help him down off the table.
“It is now in the past.” Cerályië replied as he studied the intense expression
on his face.
“Who hurt you?” Thranduil asked, his voice was barely above a whisper,
returning the same searching gaze.
Smiling, Cerályië leaned slightly forward, pressing his lips softly to his as
he tanged his fingers in the silken mass of his golden hair at the nape of his
neck. Firmly yet gently he pulled his head back as he thrust his tongue deeply
into his mouth, kissing him searchingly for long moments.
“Your questions will all be answered in due time.” He said quietly, teasing his
lips as he spoke.
Swallowing his anger, Thranduil allowed him to assist him down off the table
and followed him toward a comfortable looking settee in front of the hearth. As
much as he wanted answers, he also knew that pushing him would gain him
nothing. There was something in his eyes that told him he was right, someone
had hurt him and the cruelty of it had left him scarred.
“Sit.” Cerályië told him, pulling a small leather covered stool from under the
settee as he seated himself comfortably on the settee. Smiling as Thranduil
obediently sank down onto the stool between his legs. He leaned down, kissing
him on the forehead as he pulled him closer to him.
Turning toward the small table and the tray of food, he picked a piece of
cheese and broke it in half, holding one half to Thranduils’ lips. “No, open
your mouth.” He said quietly when he reached for it. “When I am with you,
feeding you is one of my pleasures.”
Frowning slightly he leaned forward and did as he was told, feeling strange
that the elf somehow managed to turn even eating into a sensual experience by
tracing his finger along his lips. He did this with every bite, sometimes
leaving his finger in his mouth, touching his tongue, teasing his lips with his
moistened finger. Feeling slightly bold as the elf held down a small piece of
fruit, he swallowed it and closed his lips around his finger, sucking it into
his mouth.
“You want to play.” Cerályië chuckled softly, arching a delicate brow as he
felt his tongue caressing his finger. “Show me.” He said quietly, frowning as
he slowly extracting his finger and lounged back in the settee.
Leaning forward, Thranduil pushed aside the outer robe, watching his eyes
darken as he slowly worked the laces of his silk leggings. Slipping his fingers
beneath the top, he smiled to himself as the elf lifted his hips allowing him
to pull them down enough to expose his fully aroused sex. Lifting himself onto
his knees, he circled the crown with his tongue, feeling it twitch as he closed
his lips around it. Gentle fingers caressed his cheeks and his jaw as he slowly
worked his way down the thick girth, pausing for a moment to breathe deeply and
relax enough to press his face into the warm flesh of his lower belly.
Closing his eyes, Cerályië sucked his lower lip in his mouth as he laid his
head back on the settee. Part of him wanted to grasp his head and drive himself
relentlessly into that hot mouth but he wanted it to last as long as Thranduil
could endure it. Digging his fingers into the softness of the cushion as the
tension built within him, he struggled to remain still and allow him what he
normally considered a reward. Slowly, against his will, he felt himself
reaching the pinnacle, the point of no return as Thranduil suckled him
passionately. Groaning softly as the pressure broke deep within him, he
clenched his jaw and rocked his hips forward as he felt the relief drain from
him.
Leaning forward as Thranduil pulled free of him, he scooped him up from under
his arms and pulled him to him. Capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss, he could
taste himself as he ravished his mouth. Grasping handfuls of his thick hair, he
pulled his head back, exposing his slender neck. Releasing his mouth, he kissed
his neck, enjoying the feeling of the rapid pulsing of his heartbeat. Content
for the moment to just hold him, Cerályië breathed in the scent of him.
“It is time to put you to bed pirá neth.” (Little one) He told him softly as he
caressed his back. “You must rest, for tomorrow is another day.” He said,
pulling him with him as he stood up, pausing for a moment to readjust his
leggings and tie them back in place.
Taking him by the hand, he led him across the room to the raised bed and pulled
the blankets down for him. Smiling as he stretched out on his back, Cerályië
let his gaze roam freely over his toned and muscled body. Yes he was very
beautiful, more exquisite than he remembered and far more passionate with
another ellyn (male elf) than he would have guessed. Unlike the other slaves
that passed through his Keep, Thranduil belonged to him now and like Säévÿl,
his only other personal slave, he would remain here for as long as he lived.
“Every place has its rules.” He said quietly as he sat down on the edge of the
bed, his hand absently caressing the length of his aroused sex. “I have already
permitted you one reward in allowing you to pleasure me. Why would I reward you
again?” He asked, arching a brow as he studied his face, disappointment
flickered in the depths of his eyes before he lowered them.
“You do blush so beautifully.” He chuckled as he reached over, caressing his
cheek, smiling as Thranduil lifted his gaze to look at him again. “I realize
this is all new to you and you do not know these rules yet. But know this, here
you are just another slave. As I teach you these rules, I will severely punish
you for any disobedience. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” Thranduil replied, feeling the heat in face intensify.
“Yes what?” Cerályië asked, narrowing his eyes at him.
Staring up at him, Thranduil knew what he wanted and to say it would feel as if
he were sealing his own fate. Licking his lips anxiously, he knew too that he
could not handle another whipping tonight and had no doubt this one would be
worse because he would view this as an act of direct defiance and not just
disobedience.
“Yes, Herdir.” (Master) He whispered softly through a suddenly parched throat,
dropping his gaze as he felt the heat of his embarrassment compounded by the
added wave of humiliation that washed over him.
“Very good.” Cerályië said quietly as he leaned down, kissing him tenderly.
Smiling to himself as his kiss grew more searching, Cerályië slowly drew his
hands over his head. Thrusting his tongue deeply as he felt him responding,
leaning into the kiss, his nimble fingers quickly secured leather covered metal
cuffs around Thranduils’ wrists.
“Wha...”
“Sh.” Cerályië hushed him with a firm finger on his lips, smiling as he pulled
back from him.
“You have learned one lesson today.” He said quietly as he ran his finger
across his lips, enjoying the almost frightened look in those beautiful eyes as
Thranduil tried to speak. “While you are most precious to me, I am the Herdir
(Master). You are here for my pleasure only.” He told him as he stood up and
turned away from him.
“I suggest you not exert yourself and try to get some rest.” He stated as he
walked away from him.
“Damned you!” Thranduil screamed silently, his mouth and lips moving yet the
muscles in his throat felt paralyzed. Jerking frantically at the cuffs as he
glared angrily at the elf’s back as he walked toward the other elf who had made
himself comfortable in one of the large chairs in front of the hearth.
“If he continues to struggle, you have my permission to spank him.” Cerályië
stated loud enough to ensure Thranduil heard him, then turned and left the
room.
***** Conflict of Interest *****
Chapter Summary
     The future is no longer clear as both Thranduil and Cerályië begin to
     struggle with unvoiced feelings for and about each other.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are always
     welcome and responded to.
Frowning deeply, Cerályië sat quietly beside the narrow bed listening to
Thranduils’ strangled whimpers as he rocked himself in a fitful slumber. His
beautiful face was twisted in pain, not a physical pain but one of the heart,
his mumbled whimpers begged forgiveness.
“Hush now pirá neth nîn, av-'osto.” (My little one, don’t be afraid). He
whispered softly as he gently ran his finger across his forehead. “Av-‘osto.”
(Don’t be afraid). He repeated, soothing him as he pulled the nightmare from
him, watching the anguish slowly ease from his features. Tears stung the backs
of his eyes as he drew them into himself, struggling with the images as he
shattered them one by one into nothingness.
“Cerályië!” Dorinäélin exclaimed, his tone stressed with the need to keep his
voice low and the concern that radiated from his pale gray eyes.
“I am fine.” Cerályië insisted, nearly jerking himself up from the chair.
“You cannot...” Dorinäélin started as he stepped up behind him.
“I know what I’m doing.” Cerályië snapped, interrupting him as his blue eyes
turned black and flashed angrily as he turned to face him. “I am sorry.” He
sighed heavily, his gaze flickering about the room for a few moment before
settling on the now peacefully sleeping Thranduil.
“I am not taking his memories, just his dreams.” He said quietly, smiling as he
gently touched Dorinäélins’ cheek. “Bring me his breakfast.” He added as
Dorinäélin seemed to relax a little.
“Ben iest gîn.” (As you wish) He nodded as he patted Cerályiës’ shoulder
comfortingly before turning to do as he was ordered.
“And now for you pirá neth nîn.” (My little one) He thought to himself as he
walked into the bathing chamber. Collecting a soft cloth from the cupboard, he
walked to the small basin and lifted the lever. There was a constant flow of
heated water provided through a series of copper pipes from the huge heated
copper vats in the kitchens. Thoroughly wetting the cloth, he wrung it out and
quickly made his way back to Thranduils’ side.
Pulling the covers back, he frowned as he observed his still swollen member
thrusting upward. The stickiness of his partially dried arousal fluids was
smeared liberally over his lower belly. Sinking back down in the chair, while
he knew he would not wake he cautiously grasped its thickness and began gently
stroking him as he studied his sleeping face. He felt his own arousal threaten
as Thranduil sighed, his soft pinkish lips parted in response to the
pleasuring. Gently drawing the cloth over his lower belly, he carefully cleaned
away any signs of his release and covered him again.
Sighing deeply, he rose and returned to the bathing chamber to discard the
soiled cloth. Pausing for long moments, he recalled the long centuries he had
waited take his revenge on the one who had done the same to him. The one who
had broken him, used him and then so callously threw him aside, forever
changing him.
“Put it by settee.” He said, glancing briefly at Dorinäélin as he walked back
to Thranduil.
“Time to wake up, pirá neth.” (Little one) He said softly as he sat down on the
bed beside him, tracing the tip of his finger across his forehead. Smiling as
he watched his eyelids flutter briefly before his gaze focused on him in a
narrowed, distrusting stare.
“Good morning.” He greeted him as he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his
unresponsive lips. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness.” He told him
quietly, pulling back slightly to meet his challenging gaze evenly for long
moments before kissing him again. Smiling to himself, he kissed him deeply as
Thranduil reluctantly opened his mouth to him.
“Now let me look at you.” He stated as he leaned back, grasping his hip firmly
to turn him onto his stomach. Gently examining the areas where the welts had
been broken during the whipping, he frowned as he felt him flinch slightly at
his touch.
“It is not my intention to damage you.” He told him as he turned him onto his
back. “We will have our breakfast while I decide what to do with you today.” He
continued as he retrieved a small key from within the pocket of his outer robe
and unlocked the cuffs.
Reluctantly Thranduil allowed himself to be assisted from the bed and followed
him to the settee where he saw the breakfast tray on the stand. Without being
told, he sank down onto the small stool as the elf made himself comfortable on
the softer cushion of the settee. Studying him as the elf began feeding him, he
looked for any signs that might reveal something, anything about him but his
expression was guarded. He could feel him studying him in return as he
continued to hand him small morsels of cheese, fruit, and honey coated cinnamon
bread. Again, the elf would touch him, caress his lips, cheeks, and chin as he
chewed the food, it was most disconcerting.
“You need to learn self-control.” Cerályië said almost absently as he picked up
the small teacup and held down to him for a drink. “You were far too bold in
your advances last evening.” He told him as he met his gaze from over the rim
of the cup.
“You can cooperate with me.” He began quietly as he set the teacup back on the
tray. “Or I can summon Dorinäélin and Edicûve to assist me.” He said, turning
to face him again. “I promise you they will not be as concerned for your
comfort as I. The choice is yours.” He added when Thranduil only stared at him
in silence.
“Alright, come with me.” He stated as Thranduil only nodded, extending his hand
to him as he rose to his feet. “You may find this uncomfortable, but you should
feel no pain.” He continued as he led him into the bathing chamber.
Thranduil glanced quickly around at the stone walls of the room as they
entered, it appeared to have been carved from the bedrock. His elven senses had
already told him they were under ground, just how far he couldn’t tell yet as
he had detected a slight flow of fresh air earlier. The dominate feature of the
room was the pool of water carved in the floor in the corner that seemed to
swirl as if fed by a continuous flow from an unseen source, the moisture in the
air told him the water was at least warm.
“Up here.” Cerályië told him, patting the stone surface of a carved ledge in
the far wall. “There are those who actually find this quite pleasant.” He said
quietly as he pulled him into his arms when he resisted, forcing him to look at
him. “I promise, there will be no pain.”
Stiffly, Thranduil allowed him to assist him up onto the ledge even as every
part of him wanted to run. Where would he go, he had no idea where he was, he
was alone, and vulnerable in his nakedness. Closing his eyes he struggled with
that urge as the elf positioned him on his back, guiding him down until he felt
the edge of the small basin against his backside.
Lifting his knees, Cerályië positioned his feet on the other side of the basin
and gently pressed one knee against the wall and held the other to his chest.
Dipping his finger into a small pot of thick herbal salve on the shelf, he
spread it over the small wrinkled muscle beneath his ball sack. Reaching into
the basin, he picked up the narrow lacquered coated bone carved in the form of
a nozzle attached to a narrow length of softened leather normally used in the
making of water flasks and inserted it into his rear opening.
“Relax.” He told him as Thranduil arched and tried to close his legs. “This can
be pleasurable if you let it. It is only water.” He told him as he slowly
lifted the lever to start the flow of water. “I am not hurting you, only
cleaning you.”
Clenching his teeth, Thranduil glared at him as he felt the warm water filling
his most private part. He tightened his muscles against the pressure to no
avail as the flow continued to fill him, building an uncomfortable pressure in
his bowels and lower belly.
“Let it go.” He told him as he removed the bone nozzle.
Turning his face away from him, Thranduil felt nauseous with humiliation as he
expelled the water only to feel him insert it again, filling him once more.
There was no pain as promised, yet he had never felt so degraded in his life as
the process was repeated again and again until the elf was satisfied that he
was clean.
“You did very well.” Cerályië told him as he pressed the lever down to cut off
the water. “Now come, time for a bath.”
“What does this have to do with self-control?!” Thranduil asked harshly,
struggling with great difficulty to not sound demanding as the elf assisted him
down off the ledge.
Turning his face away from him as the elf only glared at him for speaking
without permission, he braced himself for some form of punishment that didn’t
come, at least not at that moment.
“Get into the pool.” Cerályië instructed him as he turned him toward it, giving
him a slight push toward the single step down into the swirling water. “I will
join you in a moment.” He said as he began removing his clothing, draping it
over a small chair.
Still angry, Thranduil stepped down into the pool and waded out into the middle
before turning to watch him, the warm water swirled just above his knees. He
was uncomfortably aware that part of his humiliation with what had just
happened was because he had been aroused by the feel of it. Looking at the elf
now, he felt his arousal growing even more as he stood there gloriously naked
in front of him. He was not muscular yet his body appeared well toned and
defined as his gaze trailed over him. Against the pale background of the stone
walls he could see an olive glow to his skin, his dark tresses spilled down
over his broad shoulders, reaching his narrow hips.
“You like what you see?” Cerályië asked, arching a brow, his lips curling in a
sarcastic sort of smile as he stepped gracefully down into the water.
Thranduil felt his throat go dry, unable to speak as he just stood there
watching the beautiful elf walk toward him with the aura of a predator
approaching his prey.
“Most who look upon me have the same desires as do you.” He said quietly as he
slipped his arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. “I enjoy having
what others want but I derive so much more pleasure being what they cannot
have.” He whispered, his lips brushing Thranduils’ as he spoke.
Whimpering under the sudden onslaught of his kiss, Thranduil clung to him as
the elf drove his tongue deeply into his mouth. For long moments his kissed him
hungrily, ravishing his mouth until he struggled for breath and his jaws ached.
“If your talents last evening are any indication, I know you are more than
familiar with what I want from you.” Cerályië stated as he walked him backwards
to the edge of the pool. Turning him around, he pressed his chest to the floor
at the edge of the pool and spread his legs. Grasping his wrists, he drew them
back to his hips as he leaned over him.
“Use your hands, spread yourself for me.” He whispered seductively in his ear
as he guided his hands in place. “I am going to enjoy taking my pleasures of
you when, where, and how I choose.” He told him as he stood up, running his
finger down between the cheeks of his backside as he sank to his knees.
Stiffening as he felt his wrists trapped in the strong vice like grip,
Thranduil panicked. Then gasped in surprise as the elf drove his hot tongue
into him. Groaning, he gripped his cheeks harder as he pushed back against the
tantalizing tongue. Slowly, as he squirmed to press harder against his mouth,
he moaned shamelessly as the elf alternated between hard jabbing thrusts and
soft teasing strokes as he licked him, it was nothing like anything he had ever
felt before.
Smiling to himself, Cerályië continued to pleasure him with his mouth as he
rose to his feet. Grasping the shaft of his own erection as he pulled away, he
pressed fully into him in one slow motion. Listening as his moans intensified,
echoing off the stone walls, he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his
pulsing muscles as he drove himself into him, letting the tension build within
him. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth he gripped his hips, grinding himself
against him as the momentary weakness of his release washed over him.
Pulling free of him, he wordlessly walked away to collect a small washing cloth
from a woven basket at the edge of the pool. Watching him on the edges of his
vision as he picked up the bottle of scented soap and poured some of it on the
cloth, Cerályië pretended to ignore him for the most part as he lathered and
washed himself. Meeting his gaze briefly, he traced the tip of his tongue over
his lips as he reached back, drawing the cloth slowly over his own backside.
Turning away from him, he picked up a small pitcher, dipping it into the pool,
he poured it over himself as he rinsed the soap from his body.
In silence Thranduil had watched him, still trembling from his own release that
had shocked him as he had reached that pinnacle without either of them even
touching him. He knew the elf was watching him as he took his time lathering
himself, turning the simple task of bathing into one of the most sensually
arousing displays he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
“Come.” Cerályië said softly as he discarded the cloth and lathered a second
one. “Most of the time I will personally see to your care.” He told him as
Thranduil came within arm’s length of him. “Unfortunately there are occasions
when official matters will require my attention and either Dorinäélin or
Edicûve will see to your needs.” He told him as he drew the soapy cloth across
his chest.
“No.” He stated, chuckling as Thranduil twisted easily from his soapy grasp to
stare at him, a deep frown creasing his brow. “They are not permitted to touch
you other than to bathe you.” He said as he leaned forward, one hand gently
grasping his now soft sex as the other slipped a finger slowly down the crack
of his backside to rub teasingly over his rear opening. “This all belongs to
me.”
“As beautiful and desirable as you are.” Thranduil began cautiously, his voice
just above a whisper as he gazed into the depths of those dark blue eyes that
seemed to pull something from deep within him. “You cannot keep me here.”
“I can and I will.” Cerályië stated ominously, his expression turning as cold
as the stone walls that surrounded them. “In four thousand years, no one has
ever entered or left here without my permission.”
“Who are you?” Thranduil asked through clenched teeth as the elf grasped a
handful of his hair, cruelly twisting his head backward.
“I am either your worst nightmare or your savior, the choice is yours.” He
stated as he suddenly released him and moved behind him. “Now be silent or I
shall be forced to punish you in spite of my desire to do otherwise.” He told
him as he resumed the task of bathing him.
Smiling to himself, Thranduil fell silent, submitting to an admittedly
pleasurable bath. It wasn’t much but the elf’s confidence in his belief that he
would not be able to find a way out told him this was a stronghold of sorts
which meant there were far more guards and henchmen than just the three he had
seen. Still, it didn’t matter, he had no idea where he was, what direction or
how far he was from the Woodland Realm. Submitting to the elf’s demands, if
only to acquire information made more sense at this point.
Unfortunately, his disobedience in speaking without permission and asking
questions had created an uneasy silence between them. The elf’s expression
remained guarded and unreadable as he rinsed him and guided him up out of the
pool. His touch remained gentle as he toweled him dry and guided him down into
the chair where he had draped his clothing to brush out his hair, even placing
a soft kiss on the top of his head before tending to himself. He openly watched
him as he quickly ran the brush through his own dark tresses, his nimble
fingers hastily weaving its length into a long braid. Thranduil could not help
but wonder once more about the elf’s’ past, what tragedy had befallen him that
would have filled him with such darkness.
“Self-control can be a difficult task to learn.” Cerályië commented without
looking at him as he lifted a long silk robe from a peg on the wall. “But I am
sure someone such as yourself would agree that it is a necessary quality.” He
said quietly, smiling almost warmly as he turned to face him, tying the robe
loosely about his hips. “Now come.”
Frowning as he rose to his feet, Thranduil followed him back into the main
room, although it was quite comfortable by all appearances, he realized it was
now his prison. After the elf had left him, the guard he now knew to be the one
he called Edicûve had turned out the large lanterns suspended from the ceiling,
leaving much of the room in darkness save for the glow of the fire in the
hearth. In the brighter light, his gaze flickered quickly over the carved oaken
furniture throughout the room, noting their oddly grotesque shapes and the
leather straps that hung loosely from them.
“Sit.” The elf instructed him as he paused, placing his hand on the back of a
large wooden chair. “It does not bode well for you to make me repeat myself.”
He stated, patting the back of the chair impatiently.
Frozen in place as he stared at him, it was only when Dorinäélin stepped within
view, his hand dropping to the handle of the ever present leather strap at his
hip that he found himself moving stiffly toward the elf. His gut twisted
painfully as the elf guided him down onto the hard wooden surface of the seat,
believing that whatever the elf intended at least it did not appear to be
another whipping. Frowning, his mind raced as the elf deftly secured him with
straps on his wrists and ankles, his nimble fingers making quick work of the
buckles.
Struggling to remain calm, he watched as the elf walked toward a small dresser
against the wall. His gaze flickered back and forth between him and the guard
as the elf rummaged through the top drawer for a few moments before he found
whatever he was looking for. Thranduils’ frown deepened as he watched him walk
back toward him with a small piece of leather in his hand.
“The bath was more for my personal pleasure.” Cerályië said quietly as he
reached under the chair to retrieve a low leather covered padded stool and
lowered his tall frame onto it. “Now we begin with your lessons in self-
control.” He told him, holding the piece of leather up where Thranduil could
see it more clearly as he looked at it in confusion.
“It is really quite simple.” He stated, his tone carrying that slight lilt of
humor that Thranduil had quickly learned meant he would not like whatever was
about to happen.
Grunting in pain as the elf wrapped the leather around the shaft of his semi-
hard shaft, leaving the crown exposed as he began loosely lacing it closed.
Squirming as he felt tiny pricks biting into the sensitive skin only earned him
a hard stinging slap on his inner, making him yelp in pain.
“The only way to ease your discomfort is through self-control.” Cerályië
informed him as he rose to his feet. “The more aroused you become, the more
discomfort you will feel.”
“You bastard!” He screamed silently, refusing to give in to whatever game he
was playing with him. Grasping the arm of the chair, he closed his eyes against
the image of him walking away as he struggled to think of anything except for
where he was and what was happening to him.
Breathing deeply, Thranduil struggled as he reached deep into his memory,
pulling images of the battles he had fought. While it was something he had
always tried to avoid at all cost, conflict and even war sometimes proved
inevitable no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. As King of the Woodland
Realm, he had always sought a more diplomatic approach to conflict, refusing to
sacrifice the lives of his people for the senseless greed of others.
“Adar.” (Father) He whispered softly to himself as he remembered so clearly the
Battle of Dagorlad. So many were the slain that they were buried in a mass
grave that was eventually engulfed completely by the Dead Marshes.
“Leave us.” Cerályië stated, glancing at his personal servant as they entered
his private sitting room.
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) Nhaéslal stated, bowing
respectfully as he glanced curiously at Dorinäélin who only shook his head
slightly.
Moving directly to one of the comfortable leather armed chairs in front of the
hearth, Cerályië ignored them. He had felt the unvoiced disapproval of a number
of his household staff almost immediately after Thranduil had been brought to
him. There had been too many of the guards and even number of his soldiers who
had recognized him, his face was very recognizable. It would also be impossible
not to for anyone who had known or even met his mother, who's face defined
beauty. He was the very image of her and more.
“You cannot do this Cerályië.” Dorinäélin said quietly as he poured them both a
goblet of wine. “It has already taken so much from you.” He told him, ignoring
the angry glare as he handed him one of the goblets.
“I am fine.” He insisted, still glaring at him as he watched him sink down into
the comfort of the armed chair opposite him. Rolling his eyes when the guard
shook his head at him, he turned his gaze to flames in the hearth.
“We cannot defend against his armies.” Dorinäélin stated calmly, studying his
longtime friend. “These people have never known war and that is what you will
bring upon them if you keep him here.”
“I can make him forget.” He replied, lowering his gaze somewhat but did not
want to look at his friend. “I have waited so long.” He said, his voice barely
above a whisper.
“Enslaving him will not bring you the peace you seek.” The guard stated as he
looked down into the dark liquid in his goblet. “It will change nothing.”
“How long before we can move?” Cerályië asked, finally lifting his eyes to look
at him.
“Not before next spring and moving that distance is not safe in winter.”
Dorinäélin said frowning deeply. “You cannot possibly be serious!” He
exclaimed, meeting his gaze evenly.
“I will consider releasing him then.” Cerályië stated, his tone was firm
brooking no argument on the matter. “Tell Nhaéslal to inform me when you take
the midday meal to him. Now leave me.”
“Ben iest gîn.” (As you wish) Dorinäélin sighed heavily as he pushed himself up
from the chair.
Schooling his expression to one of indifference, Cerályië watched him as he
nodded respectfully and departed. His thoughts returning to Thranduil, in truth
he had nearly given up on possessing him it had been so long, so very long. A
soft smile touched his lips as he thought of the events of the morning, the
sweet taste of his resignation as he cleaned him. Yet he felt a strength in him
that made him wonder if he could break him or if he truly wanted to. Normally
he felt nothing but disgust or even revulsion when others looked upon him,
their leering eyes filled with lust, yet Thranduils’ gaze held only desire.
“As beautiful and desirable as you are.” Thranduils’ words haunted his mind as
he remembered the soft look in his eyes as he spoke.
He knew that Dorinäélin had spoken the truth, his small army was more than
enough to defend the Keep and the surrounding villages. But they would not
withstand a full-fledged assault from a war seasoned army, especially one
resolved to rescue their king.
***** Sweet Surrender *****
Chapter Summary
     It has only been a couple of weeks since he was taken captive and
     given as payment of a debt he knows nothing of. Confused about the
     strange feelings the dark elf Cerályië incites within him, Thranduil
     starts to succumb to the demands of the Lord of the Keep, as his
     Master.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Pulling his legs up into the large chair in front of the hearth, Thranduil
wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees as he gazed into
the flames that danced across the logs. He wondered at the absence of the dark
elf, it had been several days since he had visited him. He was only able to
mark the passage of time by the fact that they made sure to feed him three
meals a day and he was required to bathe every morning. He was relieved the
guards were content to at least allow him the privilege of doing these things
himself. Strange feelings stirred just under the surface of his thoughts,
things he could not put into words.
The stone faced guards spoke only to him when they needed him to wake up, bathe
or eat and looked at him with strange knowing glances yet never answered his
questions. He yearned for simple conversation with anyone. He longed as well
for the freedom of the forest, the scents of the many pines, oaks, and birch
trees, and the flora that grew in abundance along the forest floor. He missed
the subtle voices of forest animals, the rivers, and streams.
“You are a world away from your precious Woodland Realm.” The dark elf had told
him. Yet he knew in his heart they were looking for him, he felt the tears
stinging the backs of his eyes as his thoughts turned to his son. His sweet
beautiful Legolas, his little leaf.
Reaching the ramparts at the top of the northeastern tower, Edicûve paused for
long moments observing the silhouette of the Lord of the Keep. Wrapped in his
thick winter cloak, Cerályië gazed silently toward the darkening evening sky.
Only a small spattering of stars had begun to twinkle as the deep pinks and
lavenders slowly deepened into true night.
“Why do you disturb me?” Cerályië asked quietly, without turning as he pulled
the cloak tighter about him. Winter was now fully upon them and the icy winds
from the north seemed to reach into every part of him.
“You cannot keep ignoring him.” Edicûve replied, keeping his voice low as he
walked over to stand beside him.
“I grow tired of being told what I can and cannot do.” Cerályië sighed heavily,
casting him a sideways glance.
“You cannot hide from your feelings Cerá.” He said quietly as he leaned against
the stone of the rampart.
“My feelings?!” He exclaimed as he turned to face him, the hood of his cloak
obscuring his face. “How do you know what I feel?!” He demanded, glaring at him
as folded his arms protectively across this chest.
“You’re in love with him.” Edicûve stated pointedly as he turned to look at
him. Although his face was hidden within the shadows of the hood, he could feel
the angry glare.
“Love?!” He nearly choked out through humorless laughter. “Love is nothing but
a silly fairy tale told to young children to give them false hope.” He stated,
his voice was as cold as the frozen wastelands of the north.
Turning away from him Cerályië felt his entire body tremble as he strode
purposefully toward the stairs, disappearing into the Keep. Love was nothing
but a fools dream. The faces came and went, he enjoyed the pleasures their
bodies could give him, never allowing them to touch his heart. All but one yet
he knew it wasn’t love, love was meant to last forever. Thranduil would be set
free in the spring when it was safe to cross the Misty Mountains and he would
never see him again.
Tossing his cloak over the back of the long leather covered settee in front of
the hearth in his public sitting room, he walked straight to the bookcase in
the far corner. Triggering the latch to open the secret passage, shaking
himself mentally as he pulled it closed behind him and silently disappeared
into the tunnels leading to the dungeons below.
“I see you have fared well in my absence.” He stated as he entered the room,
smiling as he saw Thranduil rise quickly from the chair in front of the hearth.
“You may leave us now Dorinäélin.” He added, his eyes never leaving Thranduil
as he walked toward him.
“I did not intend to leave you for so long.” He said quietly as he wrapped his
arms around him, kissing him softly. “Very good.” He whispered, teasing his
lips with his own as he dropped one hand to gently caress his flaccid sex.
Stiffening instinctively Thranduil struggled with the myriad of emotions that
washed over him. Initially his anger flared at the elf’s audacity for having
kept him prisoner in the first place, yet he felt almost a relief that he had
come back, he had not abandoned him. Unexplained feelings fluttered in his
stomach as the elf seemed to float gracefully toward him, wrapping him in a
warm embrace. Frowning inwardly, he was startled at his disappointment that the
kiss has been so brief. Turning his face away from him, Thranduil was confused
at the heat that flushed his cheeks as his body quickly responded to the elf’s
gentle fondling.
“You learn quickly pirá neth nîn (My little one), that is good.” He almost
purred as he nuzzled his ear softly. Enjoying the slight tremble he felt in him
as he nipped playfully at his earlobe. “I am in need of you tonight.” He told
him softly as he guided him backward, pressing him to his knees on the thick
furs in front of the hearth.
Laying back on the soft furs, Thranduil found himself admiring the elf’s lean
body, watching the play of his muscles as he slowly removed his robes. While he
still refused to willingly refer to him as Herdir, he wondered at his name, who
he was and where he came from as he let his gaze roam over him. Smiling to
himself as the elf ran his fingers through his long dark tresses, obviously
aware of the fact that he was watching him. Nervously wetting his lips, his
gaze followed him as he walked gracefully toward the tall cupboard he knew
contained medicinal supplies.
Smiling almost wickedly, Cerályië returned with a small tin of herbal salve.
Placing it on the ledge in front of the hearth, he lowered himself onto the
furs with one knee on each side of his thighs. Meeting his gaze, he absently
stroked himself as he looked down at him. The arrogance of a king only slightly
weakened by the subtle tremble in his parted lips. He knew based on their
precious contact that Thranduil was not innocent in the ways of intimacy
between ellyn, yet it was a quality that exuded from him in this world as he
stared up at him.
“You have been good but you have not yet earned the privilege of looking at me
while I take my pleasure of you. Turn over.” He told him, enjoying the flash
anger in those beautiful eyes. “Do I need to use a strap to provide you with
encouragement?” He asked when Thranduil hesitated.
“It excites you to be used like a little zan kurv (Elf whore) doesn’t it?”
Cerályië asked, caressing the firm mounds of his backside as he reached under
him to feel him stiffening.
“No!” Thranduil stated angrily as he started to roll back over. “Yes!” He
immediately yelped painfully as a brutal slap quickly fell across one cheek of
his backside.
“Beg me for it.” Cerályië taunted him, caressing the pink swipe on his flesh
where he had just marked him. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“I did not hear you.” He stated, landing another hard slap on the other cheek.
“Mmphf!” Thranduil grunted painfully through clenched jaws. “I want you to fuck
me.” He gasped, swallowing hard against a suddenly parched throat.
“I did not hear you say please.” Cerályië stated, landing another slap over the
other side.
“Please!” Thranduil exclaimed, flinching as another stinging slap landed on his
backside.
“Please what?” He asked, raking his nails over his backside, enjoying the long
hiss that escaped Thranduils’ throat.
“Please fuck me!” Thranduil exclaimed, burying his face in his folded arms.
“Aaahh!” He cried out as he arched his back against the pain of yet another
hard swat to his now tender backside.
“Who do you want to fuck you?” Cerályië asked, pushing him further as he raised
his hand again, waiting for the answer.
“You are not my Herdir!" (Master) Thranduil exclaimed loudly only to hear his
choked scream as the elf grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back
as he slapped his backside hard.
“I suggest you rethink yourself.” Cerályië stated, twisting the handful of his
thick golden tresses cruelly as he pulled back a little further.
“Please fuck me Herdir.” (Master) Thranduil choked out as he struggled to
breathe, feeling his cheeks scald with his humiliation.
“That’s better.” Cerályië chuckled as he quickly released his hair. “Keep your
head down and spread your legs for me.” He stated calmly, his tone was soft yet
conveyed no feelings as he grasped his hips, lifting them upward.
Covering the firm mounds with his hands, Cerályië used his thumbs to gently
spread his cheeks. Leaning toward him, he swiped his tongue over the now fully
exposed opening, spreading a thin layer to saliva over it. Blowing softly over
the wet skin, he felt him tremble and flex his muscles in a futile effort to
close his cheeks against him.
“My sweet little zan kurv.” (Elf whore) He said quietly as he released him,
reaching for the small tin of salve. “Look at you trembling, on your knees
begging me to fuck you.” He continued to taunt him as he dipped his finger in
the tin and spread the salve thickly over the flexing wrinkled muscle.
“Oh God!” Thranduil cried out silently, his body was not only responding to the
humiliation of his undignified position, it was screaming for what his mind
would not put into words.
He wanted this! Trembling to his very core, his body was crying out to be used
by the beautiful elf. Digging his fingers into the thickness of the furs, he
heard himself sigh as he felt his long slender finger slip easily into him.
Instinctively his muscles flexed and tightened as the second slid inside,
soliciting a soft moan from his lips as he felt him slowly stretching him. The
sounds of his moans grew louder, stinging his cheeks in his humiliation as a
third finger slipped inside, stretching him even more.
Positioning himself with his other hand, Cerályië removed his fingers as he
pressed into him in one slow thrust. Burying himself to the hilt, he held still
for long moments as he felt him tense, his body shuddering as he filled him
completely. Grasping his hips firmly as he rocked against him gently at first,
listening as the strained whimpers slowly faded to moans of pleasure. Each
thrust gifted him with yet another groan as he continued to use his body,
slamming into him as he sought release.
Pulling free of him, he smiled as he watched his fluids dribble from the
swollen and abused pink orifice. His smile broadened as he dropped his gaze
slightly to the small creamy puddles on the furs beneath him. Wordlessly, he
guided him down onto the furs, placing him on his side as he rose to his feet
and walked to the bathing chamber.
Washing himself in the basin, his smile turned inward. As with so many others
he had trained, he knew Thranduils’ mind vehemently rejected what his pride
refused to accept yet he could not control his surrender to what his body so
obviously desired. There would be no need to break him in order to make him
love him.
Cerályië froze, shocked to his very core as the thought lodged itself in his
mind. Love? How could he even think of such a thing knowing he could never
fully possess him? Tortured by the images that sprang unbidden to his mind, he
leaned heavily against the stone edge. Trembling as images of that sweet,
beautiful face as he lay sleeping peacefully. The rare moments when he would
almost smile back at him as he fed him. A fools dream he reminded himself as he
tossed the soiled cloth into the basket and wet another one before returning to
the main chamber of the dungeon.
Stiffening slightly as he felt him sit down behind him, Thranduil grasped a
handful of the thick fur beneath him, bracing for some form of punishment.
Frowning slightly as he felt his gentle fingers parting the cheeks of his
backside, a soft warm cloth was drawn slowly over his sore flesh as he cleaned
him. Fastidious in his own personal cleanliness, it was something he was
admittedly appreciative of the elf. Glancing down through a sheen of tears he
would not shed, he watched as the elf reached over him, wiping up the puddles
of his own release before tossing the soiled cloth up onto the stone foot of
the hearth.
Closing his eyes, he offered no resistance as the elf gently guided him onto
his back. Again the confusion wash over him as he felt the warmth and smelled
the scent his sweet breath on his face as the elf leaned closer. Gentle fingers
caressed his face as they brushed away the stray strands of his hair, tucking
them behind his ears. He felt the sting of more tears as those warm lips softly
kissed his lashes, as if tasting his tears before trailing down over his cheeks
to his own lips.
Softly kissing him, his lips trembled as he impulsively opened his mouth to let
him inside. It was not the hungry demanding kiss he was more accustomed to from
him. Searching yes but it was also tender and curious as he dipped his tongue
into his mouth, playfully touching and teasing his own tongue.
“Ah.” Cerályië sighed, pulling away from him slightly. “Pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My
little silver treasure). He said quietly as he watched him slowly open his eyes
to look at him. “Amin sinta lle, lle naa vanima?” (Do you know how beautiful
you are?) His voice fading to a soft whisper, his gaze flickered over his face
as he caressed his cheek. “Ci sui ‘lî erin lam nîn.” (You are like honey to my
tongue) He continued softly as he leaned down, nipping his chin playfully.
“Damn you!” Thranduil cursed him silently as the elf trailed lingering kisses
over the soft flesh of his neck.
Trembling, his mind raced with feelings of anger and desire as the warm lips
and teasing tongue continued down his chest, pausing to flick over his
hardening nipples. Reaching for him, he groaned in frustration as the elf moved
over him, grasping his wrists and holding them at his hips with an unnatural
strength. Heedless of his struggles, the elf continued to kiss and lick his
flesh as he used his knees to push his legs apart.
Smiling to himself as he settled between his thighs, he marveled at Thranduils’
strength as he fought him. Enjoying the feel of his body squirming and jerking
beneath him, he was thankful once more for the final parting gift his last
Herdir (Master) had given him. In his youth he was small and considered weak,
almost frail and had never even held a sword or seen a battlefield. In a moment
of weakness, his Herdir (Master) had gifted him with unnatural physical
strength that had on different occasions proven to be both a blessing and a
curse until he learned to master it.
“Ahhh!” Thranduil cried out, arching slightly as he felt those warm lips
nipping and kissing the sensitive area of his groin between his sex and his
thigh. His long fingers clawing at the softness of the furs beneath him as he
instantly realized his mistake. Groaning shamelessly as the elf only leaned in,
alternating between licking and sucking the sensitive flesh until he lay
beneath him, weakened and trembling breathlessly.
“Your body was made for pleasure.” Cerályië nearly purred, his lips curling in
a knowing smile as he moved back up over him. “Your pride screams for me to
stop yet your body even your fäë (soul) begs to surrender to me.” He told him,
releasing his wrists to slip his arms beneath his shoulders, cradling his head
in his hands.
“I will find all of your secret places pirá neth (little one), this I can
promise you.” He whispered as he captured his mouth in a long searching kiss.
“Yes.” Cerályië whispered to himself as he felt Thranduil surrender his mouth
completely to him as his arms encircled him.
Entangling his fingers in the silky softness of his long dark tresses,
Thranduil clung to him as he returned the kiss with a hunger of his own. Their
bodies entwined as if they were lovers basking in the glow of their lovemaking
and the warmth of the hearth, he savored the first tender moment between them.
Numerous lovers had graced his bed over the many long years of his life, yet
none of them had managed to reach so deeply into his fäë (soul) in such a way
so as to drive him beyond desire as this beautiful dark elf.
Creeping cautiously into the room, Edicûve caught sight of the two bodies
snuggled together before the hearth. A slight smile touched his lips as his
gaze fell on the peaceful face of the Lord of the Keep, a soft expression he
had not seen in many long years. Tensions among the villagers and the troops
had lessened somewhat with his agreement to release Thranduil in the spring,
yet looking at him now he feared the toll it would take on him.
Stiffening slightly as he came awake, every part of him alert Cerályië looked
inward, sensing a presence in the room. Slowly opening his eyes, he glanced at
the figure in the chair at his feet, recognizing him as Edicûve. Smiling at him
as he hugged Thranduil closer to him, enjoying the feel of him as he squirmed,
pressing his backside against his groin in his sleep.
Arching a delicate brow at his guard, he cautiously reached for the open tin of
salve on the ledge in front of the hearth. Scooping out an ample portion, he
coated his stiffening member, stroking himself to a full erection. Positioning
himself carefully at his entrance, he pressed deeply into him. Hugging him
tightly against himself as Thranduil cried out in a strangled mixture of pain,
pleasure and surprise.
Twisting his head toward him, Thranduil was rewarded as the elf’s mouth covered
his own, swallowing his whimpers and moans as he brought him so close only to
stop, refusing him relief.
“Saes Herdir! Saes!” (Please Master, Please) He begged as he squirmed,
struggling to rock against the impaling shaft.
“Ben iest gîn, pirá nîn zan kurv.” (As you wish, my little elf whore) He
whispered softly in his ear as thrust forward, driving himself into the tight
warm sheath until he felt him shudder as his release washed over him. Rolling
him onto his stomach, he thrust harder and faster, seeking his own release,
burying his face in the softness of his thick silver blonde hair as it washed
over him.
Pushing himself up from the chair, Edicûve silently slipped out of the room and
made his way to the kitchen. After nearly three millennia, he was well aware of
Cerályiës’ customary routine, he would move to the bathing chamber and be ready
for his breakfast when he was finished playing.
Stunned into silence as he realized what had just transpired, Thranduil felt
his stomach twist in a tight painful knot as the elf pulled free of him and
turned him onto his back. Not only had he openly begged him for release and
called him master, he had done so of his own free will.
“Do you know that it makes you even more precious to me?” Cerályië told him as
he gently lifted his chin, forcing him to look at him.
Frowning as Thranduil gazed into those deep blue eyes, normally dark and
unreadable, they reflected the velvety blue of an evening sky filled with the
bright sparkle of starlight. They were soft and warm as they flickered over his
face before peering deeply into his own.
“Shh.” Cerályië soothed him as he kissed the tears that leaked from the corners
of his beautiful sapphire eyes, now clouded with a silvery gray like the coming
of a storm.
“Come, we will bathe together before we have our breakfast.” He told him
quietly as he kissed his lips softly and rose to his feet, pulling him with
him.
Subdued beneath the enormous weight of his thoughts and his predicament,
Thranduil obediently followed him into the bathing chamber. He had felt a power
within the elf that first night and wondered if he had been enchanted by him.
Yet at the same time he felt conflicted because he had dealt with the older
powers of the Vanyar in the past and knew they did not extend to the
manipulation of the mind or the heart. He had begged and called him master of
his own free will and he could not take it back.
Leading him down into the warm swirling water, Cerályië walked to the opposite
side where the various bottles of scented soaps and shampoos were kept. Pulling
him into a strong embrace, he was content for the moment to just hold him.
Gently caressing his lower back, he sensed the confusion and the struggle
within him. It had been a very long time since he had trained an unwilling
slave, even then he had never trained a noble much less a king especially one
with Thranduils’ reputation. Frowning deeply, Cerályië began to wonder about
his past, the parts of it he was not familiar with, concern filled him as he
thought of the nightmares he had pulled from him.
Releasing him, he collected two washing cloths’ from the basket and chose his
preferred scent of the soothing aroma of Sólanäceae and sandalwood. Pouring a
liberal amount on them, he placed one in Thranduils’ hand brought it to his own
chest. Smiling warmly, he reached over and began washing Thranduils’ chest and
shoulders. He had kept it playful, he did not resist as Thranduil walked him
back toward the edge of the pool, the unmistakable look of desire in his now
very clear sapphire eyes.
Cautiously Thranduil pushed him against the edge, lifting him up onto the side
as he stared into the slightly widening eyes of his Herdir (Master). He wanted
more than anything at that moment to bury himself deeply within him, to hear
him cry out in ecstasy as he pleasured him. Yet, there was something in the
depths of his eyes that stopped him. Using the backs of his fingers only, he
gently ran his hand along the stiffened length of his member and smiled to
himself as he saw him nod his permission. He knew he would suffer his
punishment later but he didn’t care, he wanted him.
Gently guiding him down onto his back, Thranduil leaned down pulled the crown
into his mouth. Grasping the shaft, he gently suckled the crown, swirling his
tongue lavishly over the silken skin as he stroked him. Tracing his fingers
teasingly over the trembling flesh of his lower belly, he slowly worked his way
down the thick girth, pulling back to catch his breath and tease the crown with
his tongue, he took his time pleasuring him. Enjoying the feel of his fingers
as they tangled themselves in his hair, the sounds of his quickened breaths and
soft moans. Relaxing his throat as he felt him thrusting forward, Thranduil
held himself still as his Herdir (Master) plunged into his throat until he
found his release.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! I am having a
     lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!
     A little insight on the character Cerályië. He is based on the main
     character, Vanyel Ashkeveron in Mercedes Lackey’s series “The Last
     Herald Mage”
***** Secrets & Shifting Sands *****
Chapter Summary
     Familial secrets are revealed as Lord Elrond visits Thranduils’
     Halls. The search continues to find the Elvenking as despair hangs
     over the Woodland Realm. Thranduil senses changes in his captor and
     questions his feelings as he weighs his love for his son and his oath
     to the crown of the Woodland Realm.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The solemn mood among the Silvan elves of the Woodland Realm only deepened as
the small party approached the narrow path leading to the gates of Thranduils’
Halls. The news of the death of Smaug had spread quickly as many had long
looked upon the Lonely Mountain yet few were willing to face the wrath of the
dragon. The loss of life among the peoples of Erebor had been heavy and many
struggled to rebuild their lives in the wake of the battle in the shadows of
that mountain.
The Lord of Imladris felt an ominous mood descend upon him as the formidable
gates of the elven fortress home closed behind him. The passing of a new moon
only deepened the sense of dread in the days following the accounting of the
names of the dead. It was as if the light had dimmed as hope began to fade with
each passing day with no sign of the Elvenking.
“Lord Elrond.” The tall golden haired Sindar greeted him as they entered the
grand hall. “I am glad you came, my father awaits you in his council chamber.”
“Aldalómë.” Elrond replied with a strained smile, recognizing him as
Thranduils’ Chief March Warden he returned the greeting with a strong embrace.
“I came as soon as I heard. Where is Prince Legolas?” He asked as they made
their way toward the lower levels of the fortress.
“He is in the kings’ chambers.” Aldalómë replied, his soft blue eyes held a
faraway look in their depths as he cast a glance toward the dark haired lord.
“His grief is matched only by his anger as my father has forbidden him to join
the search.”
“Surely he must understand the situation.” Elrond stated, a deep frown creasing
his brow. “If our worst fears are realized he must ascend to the throne.”
“I will let my father explain everything.” Aldalómë stated, his tone heavy with
an unreadable emotion as they reached the council chamber. “Please.” He waved
his hand as he opened the large oaken door, ushering the lord inside.
“Elrond!” Lord Garävegión exclaimed, placing his goblet on the table as he rose
from the chair in front of the glowing hearth. “I am so glad you came!”
Schooling his expression to hide his concern as the tall silver haired Sindar
strode purposely toward him, Elrond could easily see the signs of stress etched
deeply in his face. The normally cheerful blue gray eyes dimmed by a profound
sadness.
“Word has spread far beyond Imladris my friend.” He said quietly, returning the
strong embrace. “There is little I can do to help.” He added as they moved
toward the hearth.
“There is little any of us can do at the moment.” Lord Garävegión sighed
heavily as he waved for him to sit, pouring him a goblet of wine.
“Unfortunately the battle in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain severely
depleted our forces.” He began as he handed him the goblet and returned to the
chair opposite him. “My son has assumed the role of strategist as my duties are
now to Prince Legolas. Most of the patrols are still searching within the
forest in case Thran...” His voice faltered for a moment, closing his eyes as
if to steady himself.
“There was no sign of him on the plains in Erebor. We do not know for certain
if he was injured and sought the cover within the trees. Aldalómë has organized
small groups to search the plains again, beyond that we have no idea where to
look. With winter now fully upon us, travel is too treacherous to search beyond
the mountains.”
“How is Prince Legolas?” Elrond asked quietly, a sense of foreboding filling
him. He was aware of the strong bond between his friend and his son and knew
this was devastating to the young prince.
“As can be expected.” Lord Garävegión replied, pausing to take a long drink
from his goblet. “I fear that he will not recover if anything should happen to
Thranduil. Their bond is deeper than any I have seen. That is why I have asked
you to come. He is far too angry with me to listen to reason.”
“We all have our duties. It will take time but the prince will come to
understand this.” Elrond stated in the most confident tone he could muster
under the circumstances. “You have been Thranduils’ right hand since the
beginning Garävegión. The realm is safe in your hands, I will deal with the
prince.”
“How is he?” Elrond asked the guard as he entered antechamber just outside of
the Thranduils’ private chambers.
“He has locked himself inside, no one has seen him for three days and we’ve
heard no sound since yesterday.” Thalieth replied, the worry radiating from his
deep green eyes.
“Get someone here that can open this door now!” Elrond snapped much more
harshly than he had intended.
Horrified at what he might find once he entered, he struggled to close his mind
against the images that threatened his ability to think straight. He understood
the bond between the two of them better than anyone and feared the worse as he
waited impatiently for the guard to return to gain access to the room. If his
feelings were correct, the situation may already be beyond his ability to
repair.
 
“I have no doubts that I will anger him even more.” Elrond sighed, glancing at
Thalieth as the small elf seemed to be doing his best to pick the lock. “I do
not want to be disturbed regardless of what you might hear.” He stated more
firmly as the elf looked up at him and nodded.
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, My Lord) Thalieth stated as Elrond
opened the door and slipped quietly inside.
Thranduils’ private rooms were sprawling and decorated with a splendor that was
as regal as the king himself. The large public sitting room was
uncharacteristically dark and chilled with no lanterns or a fire in the grand
hearth. Frowning deeply as he fumbled his way toward the hearth from memory, he
felt along the mantle for the flint he knew would be there and set about the
task of lighting the fire. Quickly lighting a few of the lanterns, he picked up
one and made his way toward the smaller more private sitting room. As dark as
the larger room, Elrond feared the prince had somehow managed to get past the
guards and had gone in search of his father by himself.
Pausing to light a single lantern, Elrond cautiously approached the closed door
to Thranduils’ bed chamber. Testing the handle he was relieved to find that it
was not locked, he turned it quietly and entered the darkened room. In the dim
light cast by the single lantern, he could see the pile of rumpled blankets and
clothing in the middle of the enormous four poster bed that dominated the room.
Walking silently toward it, he felt a tightening in his chest as he saw the
naked form of the prince with his face buried in a dark blue evening robe, his
fingers clutching the material as if his life depended on it.
“Well, at least you’re still here.” He thought with much relief as he felt his
neck for signs of life then turned away from the heartbreaking view before him.
Glancing about the floor, the light of the lantern reflected on a number of
what appeared to be empty wine bottles surrounded by a dark stain on the floor,
accounting for the strong smell of stale wine. With a deep sigh he set about
the task of making the rooms more comfortable before he attempted to rouse him
from what was clearly a drunken stupor.
Legolas clung the soft silk of his fathers’ favorite evening robe. Burying his
face deeply within the folds, he breathed in the sweet scent of him, mingled
with his favorite soap, the scent of sandalwood and the subtle scent of
Niphredil, the white star flowers found throughout the forest. The ache in his
heart only deepened as images of his father floated through his mind, elegant,
regal, confident and proud king and protector of the Woodland Realm.
Yet those were not the source of his pain as memories began to filter through
the fog in his mind, to him he was so much more. He was his strength, his
everything, all his life his father had been there for him. He longed to hear
the sound of his clear baritone voice, to feel his strong arms around him,
comforting him, to look upon his beautiful face and to see the light of the
stars in his eyes when he smiled.
“Legolas?”
Moaning softly, Legolas shifted slightly on the bed, pulling even more of the
crumpled robes into his arms. Struggling toward the sound as his heart beat
wildly in his chest, Legolas could see his father leaning down over him.
Smiling mischievously with a light dancing in the depths of his beautiful
sapphire eyes as he gently shook him, trying to wake him. It was a game they
played when he was not required to go on patrols. He would pretend to oversleep
so his father would have to come to his rooms and wake him for their morning
meal together.
“Wake up Legolas.” The voice insisted impatiently.
“Ada!” He cried out with the excitement of a child as the sound of the deep
musical voice finally penetrated the fog in his mind.
“I knew you would come back!” He exclaimed as he leaped up from the bed,
wrapping his arms around his neck. “I’ve been so worried!” He cried, his entire
body trembled as he clung to him.
“Leg...”
Shocked beyond thought Elrond reflexively wrapped his arms around the slender
form of the young elf who now kissed him with the passion of a desperate lover.
The lithe body pressed itself tighter against the length of his own as his hot
little tongue thrust itself deeply into his mouth, ravishing it hungrily.
“Legolas!” Elrond shouted as he forcibly pried the clinging elf from him. “Wake
up!”
“What!?!” Legolas exclaimed angrily as he was literally tossed back onto the
bed. “How did you get in here?! Get out!” He demanded as he threw himself back
amongst the soft silks of his fathers’ clothing, burying his face from view.
“I am not going anywhere and you are getting out of that bed.” Elrond stated as
he grasped one of his wrists, pulling the young prince to the edge of the bed.
“Leave me alone!” Legolas screamed as struggled to free himself from the strong
grasp of the older elf.
Crying out as a sudden sharp pain stung the side of his face, he turned back
glaring angrily at the stoic expression on the dark haired elf’s face. “How
dare you!” He hissed as he touched his face where the older elf had so cruelly
slapped him.
“You are not yourself.” Elrond stated, guarding his expression as he looked at
the pitiful sight before him. The angry eyes that glared at him were red and
swollen from what appeared to have been days of weeping. Yet deep within the
pale blue pools, he could see such pain and sadness.
“I’m sorry Legolas.” He said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking his
hand in his. “You need to find something to put on. We need to talk.”
“They found him.” Legolas choked out, staring at him as his eyes widened. “He’s
dead isn’t he?” He asked, his voice cracking as his whole body began to
tremble.
“No! No, Legolas, we don’t know that!” Elrond exclaimed quickly as he drew him
in his arms, the father in him wanting nothing more than to comfort him. “We
have to believe he is still alive.” He told him as he hugged him close,
smoothing the tangled mess of silvery blonde hair.
“Come.” He said quietly after long moments. “You must get dressed so we can
talk.” He told him, placing a fatherly kiss on the top of his head.
~*~
As the days passed Thranduil struggled more and more with himself, who he knew
he was and what he saw himself becoming. It was only his deep love for his son
and his strong sense of duty that kept him from completely submitting to the
beautiful dark elf. The punishments he endured grew less and less cruel and
seemed more as something that was pleasing to the elf, they stirred the strange
feelings with him, triggering his old dark nightmares yet he could not remember
them when he awoke.
Snuggling closer against the front of the chair, he twisted his head slightly
in his lap, through the veil of his dark lashes, he admired the beauty of the
dark elf as he gazed absently into the hearth. In the dimmed lighting the elf
preferred in the evenings, his deep blue eyes seemed as black as the rich dark
tresses that now spilled down over his shoulders. Thranduil had seen them
darken like that in his anger, then brighten with the light of stars hidden
deep within them. Dropping his gaze to his full lips, the dusky color enhanced
by his fair skin, he felt a stirring in his groin.
Closing his eyes, he found a strange sense of comfort as the elf absently ran
his fingers through his hair. He sensed a subtle change, not only in the elf
but the guards as well, unfortunately it revealed nothing to him. The elf had
grown somewhat silent toward him, his unreadable gaze seemed to study him more
intently as he fed him his evening meal. The strange tension building between
them confused him, marked by the subtle changes in the way the elf treated him.
Startled from his thoughts as the elf rose to his feet, Thranduil offered no
resistance as he took his hand and led him to the furs as he did every night.
Firm yet gentle hands guided him down onto his back, stretching out beneath him
as the elf stood over him, he resisted the urge to smile as he watched him
slowly remove his robes. Already fully erect, Thranduil felt the ache in his
groin deepen as he watched him stroke himself slowly, his dusky lips parting
slightly, teasing him even more as the tip of his tongue licked slowly over
them like a cat anticipating a bowl of cream.
Lowering himself onto the furs, Cerályië paused on his hands and knees, letting
his gaze trail over his face. Smiling to himself as he rested his gaze on the
sapphire eyes that stared boldly up at him. He could feel and smell his sweet
breath as he watched the silver ring blur and spread like storm clouds.
Dropping his gaze to those soft pinkish lips, slightly parted as the tip of his
tongue barely revealing itself as it rested teasingly just inside.
“Pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My little silver treasure) He whispered to himself as he
leaned closer, teasing his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Oh yes.” He
thought to himself as he felt him open his mouth to him, yet brazenly thrust
his tongue upward into his mouth. Entwined, he savored the taste of him as
their tongues slithered and teased each other for long moments. He knew
Thranduil could not fully submit to him and in his heart he hoped he never
would.
Reluctantly pulling away from him, he reached for the blindfold he kept nearby.
A soft whimper pulling his attention back to his face, he frowned inwardly as
he looked into those pleading eyes. Studying him with earnest as he considered
the situation, he knew Thranduil hated the blindfold.
“I should punish you mûl pirá nîn for your disobedience.” (My little slave) He
told him as he dropped the blindfold, noting the relief that spread quickly
over his beautiful face. “I will let you dwell on what I might do to you.” He
told him, his tone thick and sultry as he recaptured his mouth in a hard
demanding kiss.
Gasping for breath, Thranduil dug his fingers into the thickness of the furs as
the elf released his mouth only bury his face in his neck, biting the soft
flesh just below his ear. Clenching his jaw to keep from crying out he groaned
softly as he felt him pressing himself tighter to him, rocking gently against
his aching groin. Closing his eyes as he felt him tenderly kiss the wound he
had inflicted, the pain then tenderness was maddening in ways he couldn’t
understand.
Trembling as the long tresses of his silken hair teased his skin as he felt him
move lower, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat before moving on to
the tiny buds of his nipples. Stiffening as he felt him suckle gently at first,
bracing himself for the pain as the suction slowly intensified soliciting a
whimper from him before moving to the other. His entire body now trembling as
he moved lower, raking his nails along his sides and down over his hips,
Thranduil released a breath he had not realized he was holding.
Glancing up at him for a brief moment, Cerályië turned toward the hearth and
dipped a finger in the small tin of herbal salve. Meeting his gaze, he adjusted
his position by using his knees to spread his thighs. Encircling only the crown
of his sex in his mouth, Cerályië swirled his tongue over the silken skin,
savoring the taste of him before slowly taking in the length of him. Pressing
his face into the trembling flesh of his lower belly, he suckled slowly as he
sought out the small wrinkled muscle and entered him.
Moaning shamelessly, Thranduil rocked his hips forward as the elf slipped his
finger past the flexing muscle and moved straight toward the spot that sent
jolts of pleasure through him. Deep groans boiled in his throat as the elf
tormented him, repeatedly bringing him almost the brink only to deny the full
pleasure of release.
“Saes Herdir, saes.” (Please Master, please) He heard himself beg softly when
he thought he could take no more.
Nearly melting at the sweet sound of his plea, Cerályië slipped a third finger
deeply within him as he closed his lips more firmly around the girth of his
sex. Suckling him in earnest, he smiled to himself as he felt his body stiffen
slightly. Swirling his tongue over the length of him as he pleasured him,
listening to his ragged breaths as his hips jerked forward, rewarding him with
his sweet nectar.
Releasing him as he moved up over him, he slipped his arms beneath his
shoulders, cradling his head in his hands as he captured his mouth in tender
yet searching kiss. All too aware of his own aching need, yet he held back as
he dipped his tongue into the warmth of his mouth, entwining playfully with
his. He had learned ages ago the body could be taught or trained to respond in
whatever way the master chose, for him there was far more intimacy in a kiss
and to Cerályië, Thranduils’ kiss felt as if it reached into his very fäë
(soul).
Reluctantly he slowly released his mouth, placing a soft kiss on his lips
before pushing himself up onto his knees. Turning his gaze away from his face,
he repositioned him on his stomach and lifted his hips upward, even with his
groin. Sliding his thumbs down the length of the cleft, he gently rubbed the
exposed wrinkled pink muscle, smiling openly as he heard him moan as he teased
him. Positioning himself, he pressed slowly into him, savoring the feel of that
tight ring as he stretched him, sliding slowly into the hot velvety sheath of
his flesh. Sucking on his lower lip to stifle his groans, he watched as he
pleasured himself, taking him in long slow even strokes, pulling almost free of
him before pressing deeply back into him.
Reaching down, Cerályië pulled him up on his knees and hugged him tightly to
his chest as he continued to rock against him. Kissing his ear as he tried to
turn his face toward him, he held him, struggling to hold onto the moment as
the tension built within him. Burying his face in the softness of his silvery
blonde tresses, he breathed in the scent of him as he reached his pinnacle,
filling him with his release.
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter brings in two additional canon characters, Lord Elrond
     and Prince Legolas. It also introduces additional author created
     characters.
     It is a bit of a struggle to get through it only because the goal
     here is aiding reader imagination while avoiding outright smut. Not
     that I don’t enjoy a well-balanced story with ‘dirty words and
     smutty’ scenes, it’s just not the goal for the majority of my
     writings.
     As always, thanks so much for reading this! Comments are always
     welcome and responded to in kind.
***** Bittersweet the Dream *****
Chapter Summary
     Legolas agrees to rule as Regent in the absence of his father as the
     search for the missing king continues. Hope fades as Thranduil
     attempts to seduce his captor into letting him go. Haunted by his
     memories, Cerályië battles ancient demons.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“And you know this for certain?” Cerályië asked after long moments, turning his
attention back to his commanding officer.
“Ayë.” (Yes) Elaéyadär replied. “The prince refuses to accept the crown,
announcing that he will rule only as Regent until the kings’ return.”
“You trust this source?” Cerályië pressed as he leaned forward, resting his
elbows on his desk.
“It’s not just one source.” Elaéyadär stated, meeting the lords gaze evenly.
“There was talk of it in both Dale and the new settlement of Lake Town. My
captain confirmed it when he overheard a conversation at the Half Barrel Inn
just south of Esgaroth. He recognized the speaker as the kings’ Chief March
Warden, Aldalómë.”
“I see.” Cerályië sighed heavily, his gaze turning inward as his thoughts
turned to Thranduil and how quickly the time had passed. “What else did you
hear?” He asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present situation.
“The Prince has ordered the forest patrols doubled in their efforts against the
shelob (spiders). If he were injured, the king would more than likely have
sought refuge within the forest. They feel he would be in most in danger
there.” Elaéyadär stated, shaking his head. “If that had been the case, alone
and possibly injured he would not have survived against the shelob (spiders).
Yet it gives them hope that they have found nothing.”
“No.” Cerályië stated firmly as he pushed himself up from his desk. “The forest
protects him, they all know this.” He continued as he walked toward the hearth.
“Are you sure they have not been alerted to our presence?” He asked quietly,
narrowing his eyes as he turned back to the commander.
“There is much chaos in Esgaroth with the rebuilding. Many seem to be flowing
into the region in hopes of sharing in the wealth.” Elaéyadär replied, shaking
his head. “Most of our people have already reached the shores of the Sea of
Rhûn.”
“And our negotiations with Lord Dain?” Cerályië asked, folding his arms across
his chest.
“Honored as we anticipated.” Elaéyadär stated, leaning back in the settee as he
studied the Lord of the Keep. “The dwarf has kept his word and Elian assures
the keep will be ready by the turn of the new moon.”
“Thank you Elaéyadär.” He said quietly, smiling softly. “That will be all.” He
added as he turned away from him to gaze into the flames in the hearth.
“Oh my sweet treasure, I shall miss you to the depths of my heart.” He sighed
heavily to himself as he heard the door close quietly behind the commander.
“It was nothing but a fools dream.” He stated angrily, shaking himself as he
quickly exited his study. Snatching his cloak, he clutched it tightly about
himself as he retreated to the ramparts of the Keep.
Unable to stop them, the tears rolled freely down his cheeks, his gaze peered
unseeing toward the night sky as memories long buried and thought to be
forgotten now flooded through him. He had survived centuries of the horrors of
Annûmëä, the fledgling necromancer of Ettenmoors in the shadow of the Mountains
of Angmar. In a moment of weakness, Cerályië would not call love for the dark
one knew nothing of such things, besotted only by his beauty, Annûmëä had let
his guard down. It had been easy to strike out, to destroy him.
No, the revenge that had been his armor for centuries, fueled by his hatred was
not for Annûmëä but for the one who had stolen his heart with so many promises
only to abandon him, shattering his dreams. Learning of his death should have
been a joyous occasion yet he had felt nothing, only emptiness until the
nightmares returned. Forcing him to relive the almost overwhelming pain that
coursed through him the moment he struck Annûmëä down, a fire that burned him
to his very fäë (soul) and forever marked him.
Turning away from the darkening evening sky, Cerályië was filled with the
closest thing to hope he had felt for many long years, believing that perhaps
the fates had decided to smile upon him at last. However bittersweet the dream,
he would keep his promise and release Thranduil at the appointed time. While
his time with him was short, he would treasure the light within him that chased
away the shadows, comforting himself in the knowledge that he was still capable
of feeling love.
Striding purposefully toward the far end of the dungeons, he paused briefly to
collect himself before quietly entering. Motioning for Edicûve to remain
seated, he pulled off his cloak and draped it over the settee as he made his
way to the bathing chamber. Cold water would have been the better choice, but
the warm would have to do as he washed away the traces of his tears, steeling
himself for the last few weeks left of his time with him.
Tensing as he heard him enter, Thranduil forced himself to remain still,
controlling his breathing to appear as though he was asleep. Yet his mind raced
with the desperate need to find a way out. While he was able to mark the
passing of one day into the next, with no way recording the passing, there was
no way of knowing how long he had been held captive. The elf no longer secured
him to the small bed in the evenings, yet he was never left alone and was not
permitted to roam freely about the room.
Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he thought of his woodland home but mostly
of his son, the ache in his heart had grown unbearable. Submitting to the elf
at first had been simply a matter of survival, in hopes of earning some level
of trust to glean even the slightest bit of information that would help him
find a way out. When they did speak to each other during the times they thought
he was asleep, they spoke in a language he was only vaguely familiar with, an
ancient tongue no longer spoken anywhere to his knowledge.
Over time Thranduil had managed to pick out enough words to understand that his
presence there was the source of the shift he felt earlier. They spoke of a
time that was older than even what he knew about his father and place he had
not heard of before. The guards seemed angry with the elf, mostly the one he
knew as Edicûve, yet it was easy for Thranduil to see that both of them were
completely devoted to protecting the elf making it impossible for him to sway
either one into helping him.
“You may leave us now.” He said quietly, smiling at Edicûve as he returned to
the main room. “I wish to be left alone until morning.”
Nodding, Edicûve rose to his feet, pausing only long enough to clasp his
friends shoulder in a brief gesture of understanding before departing.
Admiring the long slender frame as he slowly peeled himself out his robes,
Cerályië smiled as his gaze lingered on his peacefully sleeping face. The
beguiling chiseled features were slightly softened in his slumber, his lightly
parted lips only enhancing his seductive appearance. Long tresses of silvery
blonde hair spilled over his shoulders onto the furs giving him somewhat of an
otherworldly quality.
His soft smile turned mischievous as he lowered himself down over him, feeling
him stiffen at first as he pushed him onto his back. Resting his full weight on
top of him, he reached up and gently brushed the stray tresses from his face.
Nipping his chin playfully as he felt him place his hands gently on his hips.
Thranduil only smiled softly as he lifted his hands, running his fingers
through the long silken tresses. Cupping his face in his hands, he drew his
thumbs gently over his full lips as he caressed the soft flesh of his neck with
his fingertips. He desired him yes, but not as a slave neither did he want to
master him. He knew he risked punishment or worse isolation from him yet he
pulled his face toward him, pressing his lips his for long moments. Sighing
inwardly as he felt him relax and open his mouth to him, he hesitantly slipped
his tongue inside not wanting to push him any farther than he wanted.
“Damn you!” Cerályië cursed him silently even as he surrendered his mouth to
him.
“Saes Herdir.” (Please Master) Thranduil whispered, breaking the kiss after
long moments yet brushing his lips as he spoke. “I cannot stay here.” He said
quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he felt the tears leak silently from
the corners of his eyes.
Pulling back from him, Cerályië could feel the pain in his voice as he stared
silently into those clear sapphire eyes, now glistening with unshed tears.
“Believe me.” Thranduil began, his voice raspy with emotion as he paused to
swallow the lump in his throat. “If this were another place, in another time. I
could easily love you with all my heart. But I have a son, a beautiful son who
I love and miss more than anything in this world.”
“I cannot let you go.” He said quietly. “At least not yet.” He added silently
to himself, hating the tears that stung the backs of his own eyes as he looked
down at the anguish on Thranduils’ face.
“Daedalus!” He called out, clamping down on his emotions as he pushed himself
away from him and rose to his feet.
“Ayë hîr vuin.” (Yes my lord) The guard answered as he quickly entered the
room.
“Dorinäélin and Edicûve, get them now.” Cerályië stated without taking his eyes
off Thranduil. “Do not attempt to trick me with your words.” He stated as the
guard left to do his bidding. “It is not your love I seek but your submission.”
He continued, his tone growing deeper as he glared down at him. “I have
neglected your training but I can easily remedy that.”
Thranduil felt the heat of his anger rise quickly as he glared back at him.
Thoughts of Legolas, the pain and the loss he must be feeling filled him,
knowing what he in particular had to be going through since his captivity
propelled him forward with the intent of somehow overpowering the elf in spite
of his unnatural strength.
Crying out as pain wracked his body, Thranduil felt the wind knocked out of him
as he was thrown back in a crumpled heap on the floor. Gasping for breath, he
stared in wide-eyed bewilderment at the elf as he struggled to understand what
had just happened as he had not seen the elf even move toward him much less
strike him. The beautiful face was frozen as if it had suddenly turned to stone
as black eyes stared back at him without feeling.
“Get him on the horse.” Cerályië stated as the two guards hurriedly entered the
room, his tone was as cold as his expression.
Recoiling instinctively as they approached him, Thranduil felt true fear for
the first time since he had been taken captive. With the exception of that
first day, until now the elf had only taunted him, played with him, even
scolding him as if he little more than a misbehaving child. Remembering once
more having sensed a power within him, something that lingered just beneath the
surface. Weakened by the blow, his efforts were futile as the guards subdued
him, dragging his struggling body toward the leather covered piece of furniture
he had only experienced once before.
“I cannot let you love me.” Cerályië told him silently, tears stinging the
backs of his eyes as he watched him fight the guards as they laid him over the
padded hip support and stretched his arms forward, securing his wrists in the
leather cuffs affixed to the wall in front of him. They spread his legs,
securing his ankles to the thick oaken supports and buckled his hips tightly in
place to keep him from moving.
“Long ago someone much like yourself taught me the truth about love.” He told
him as he reached out, raking his nails down his back and over the flesh of his
backside. “I learned that lesson well, love is nothing but a fools dream.” He
stated, bringing his hand down hard on one side of the bare flesh of his
backside, soliciting a sharp and painful yelp. “As tempting as you are my sweet
pirá mûl (little slave), I will not be fooled again.” He said, dropping another
hard blow to the other side, swallowing the lump in his throat as Thranduil
cried out once more.
“Saes Herdir!” (Please Master) Thranduil choked out as he continued to struggle
against the leather cuffs that bound him.
“How easily you pretend to know your place when you want something from me.” He
taunted him even as he struggled to compose himself, thankful that Thranduil
could not see him. “I told you before, I derive as much pleasure from your pain
as I do your pleasure.” He continued, his tone was quiet as he thought about
those tender evenings he had shared with him in front of the hearth, how
willing and easily his body had responded to him.
Struggling to gain control of himself, Thranduils’ anger continued to rise,
both toward the elf and himself for acting so rash. Dropping his head down onto
his outstretched arms, he concentrated on his breathing, trying to squash the
fear that churned in his stomach and rose like bile in his throat. His own
thoughts mirroring Cerályiës’ as he unwillingly thought of how the elf had felt
in his arms, the tender kisses they had shared in front of the hearth.
Something deep inside him told him the elf would not truly harm him and he
clung to that feeling, praying that it would sustain him for what he knew was
coming.
Picking up the leather strap, he brought it down hard across his backside,
cringing inwardly as Thranduils’ sudden scream filled the room. He reached out
impulsively to gently touch the bright red stripe across creamy flesh of his
backside, the soft skin was so warm as the blood rushed to the surface.
Again the strap fell brutally biting into his flesh as he heard himself scream.
Over and over they fell, his body arching painfully until his screams faded
into hoarse gasps against a parched throat. Trembling uncontrollably, he lay
across the padded support, exhausted from both the pain and his struggles.
Tears flowed freely down his face, each one glinting in the lamplight as they
fell in tiny droplets like stars falling from the evening sky. Tears of pain,
sorrow and the cruelty of his humiliation as he realized the elf was not
finished with him.
“I will not always have the time to properly prepare you.” He heard the elf’s
voice as he felt him spread the familiar herbal save liberally over his
entrance. Painful whimpers escaped his lips as he felt his finger thrust into
him with none of the previous gentleness. All too quickly it was joined by the
second then the third as he worked him, stretching him. Gasping as he felt him
penetrate him like a spear as he buried himself completely in one hard thrust.
There was no gentleness, no love, nothing but an animalistic rutting as he
raped him.
“You are now nothing more than a vessel for my pleasure.” Cerályië stated as he
pulled free of him. Although he had relieved himself, there was no feeling of
satisfaction or pleasure in what he had done. “This will make sure you are
always ready to receive me.” He told him as he picked up the leather covered
wooden phallus, pressing it into the already abused and swollen entrance.
Slipping the thin leather strap through the slot on the exposed portion, he
buckled it to the strap running across his hips to ensure he would be unable to
expel it.
“Try to get some sleep if you can.” He told him, patting him on the head as if
he were nothing more than a favored pet. “I will see you tomorrow.”
~*~
“Thank you for staying as long as you have Lord Elrond.” Legolas said quietly,
casting him a slight smile that did not reach his pale blue eyes as they left
the council room.
“I will be here as long as you need me Legolas.” Elrond told him, clasping his
shoulder firmly. “In truth, Imladris will be fine without me. Erestor can
handle things quite well in my absence. Your father is one of my closest
friends and I will not leave his son in his time of need.”
“My father always speaks very highly of you.” Legolas commented as they made
their way toward his private chambers. “I know the Lord Garävegión also served
under my grandfather which makes him far more qualified to handle these things
than I right now.”
“Your mind and heart are understandably elsewhere right now.” Elrond stated,
smiling warmly at him. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing remarkably
well under the circumstances.” He added as they entered the antechamber that
divided his private rooms from those of his father.
“Rûingäraf.” Legolas acknowledged the guard as he opened the door for them.
“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The guard responded quietly, pulling the door closed
behind them.
“Galion.” Legolas greeted his fathers’ personal servant quizzically as they
entered his pubic sitting room.
“Hîr vuin, (My Lord) your meeting went well past the midday meal.” Galion said
quietly, wringing his hands a bit nervously as his gaze flickered between the
two. “I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of bringing you something
and I put a kettle of tea in the hearth in case you wanted it.”
“Thank you Galion.” Legolas shook his head yet smiled warmly at the servant. “I
appreciate it but I am not my father, you need not fuss over me so much.”
“It is not a bother.” Galion replied quickly. “I don’t mind at all, actually I
am in desperate need of something to occupy my time.”
“Well, I thank you.” Legolas repeated himself, still smiling. “I assure you, I
will have no further need of you this evening.”
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) Galion stated, nodding in a
respectful bow and quickly departed.
“This is difficult for everyone.” Elrond stated as they moved toward the two
chairs in front of the hearth. “Perhaps so much more so for you.” He continued
as he noted the two tea cups on the low table between the chairs and stepped
closer to the hearth, cautiously touching the tea kettle to measure its
readiness.
“His is my Adar (Father), yes I would feel his absence doubly so.” Legolas
sighed heavily as he sank down into the comfort of the worn chair.
“Only doubly?” Elrond asked, arching a brow as he poured them both a cup of the
tea.
The air hung heavily between them for long moments as the older elf returned
the tea kettle to the hook in the hearth. Making himself comfortable in the
chair opposite him, one corner of his full lips curling in a knowing smile.
“I have already explained, I was drunk and it was nothing more than a fantasy.”
Legolas stated defensively as he leaned forward to retrieve the tea cup,
wishing it was a goblet of his fathers’ strong Dorwinion wine instead. “He is
my father it is natural that I would love him very much. He is very beautiful
and I’m sure more than half the kingdom romanticizes about him.” He added,
feeling the now familiar heat of his embarrassment rising from beneath the high
collar of his formal robes.
“I’m sure you’re right.” He replied, watching him from over the rim of his cup
as he took a sip. Smiling to himself as he recalled the conversation with
Thranduil a few years ago. Looking at him now in a different light as he
remembered the passionate kiss only a couple of days ago, he more than
understood the attraction.
“Romanticize is an interesting choice of words.” Elrond continued, paused to
take a sip of the tea. “I think you should know that your father came to me a
few years ago. He was concerned about his feelings for you.”
The tea cup rattled noisily as Legolas hand trembled, his pale blue eyes
widening conspicuously as he stared at the older elf. He felt his stomach turn
into a jumble of knots as the knowing smile curled the other elf’s lips, the
soft gray eyes seemed to study him in that way that only Elrond could as if he
could see right into your fäë (soul).
“The bond between you and your father is stronger than any I have seen.” Elrond
stated, smiling warmly as he watched the color creep into the young elf’s fair
cheeks. “He fantasized about you long before he had any inkling that you would
be amicable to his advances. I wasn’t sure until I arrived here that he had
actually acted on those feelings.”
“So you know.” Legolas stated, looking away from him as his shoulders slumped
under the weight of his drunken confession.
“I know Thranduil.” Elrond chuckled at the discomfort the young elf displayed.
“Once his mind is made up on something, he will act as he sees fit.”
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks again for reading this! My goal is to add at least one chapter
     each week until the story can come to a conclusion. As always,
     comments are welcome and always responded to.
***** By the Light of the Moon *****
Chapter Summary
     As hope begins to fade for the return of their beloved king, the
     council prepares for the worst. After receiving news from his
     comrades within the patrols, Legolas defies the order to remain
     within the fortress and sets out to find his father.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Slowly, as the last dregs of sleep drifted from him, Thranduil became aware of
the softness of down feathers cradling his body. He felt nothing but the same
heaviness pressing in on him that he had felt when he awakened that first day
that now seemed so long ago. Stiffening as he felt the icy fingers of fear
twisting in his lower belly, he struggled to clear his mind of the lingering
fog of sleep, he turned his thoughts inward. The memory of the elf’s sudden
anger at him was clear in his mind yet it felt almost distant, the pain and
soreness that wracked his body was gone. The beatings had been brutal but it
was the rape that would leave the deepest and lasting scars.
Warily opening his eyes, his vision focused on the polished oaken canopy above
him. Forcing himself to remain still, he glanced toward the crackling sound in
the hearth, he caught sight of the dark elf seated silently in a chair in front
of it. Illuminated only by the flames in the hearth, he appeared soft in an
ethereal way with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin resting on the
back of his fingers as he curled his hand in a loose fist, his other hand
hidden in his lap behind his crossed legs. The long ebony tresses cascaded over
his shoulders, spilling into a pile around his slender hips in the chair.
Trailing his gaze upward toward his face, he paused at the slender neck.
Frowning slightly as he drank in the beautiful oval face, noting the glistening
trails down his cheeks as silent tears slipped freely from his half closed
eyes.
Drawn toward him yet repelled by him at the same time, Thranduil wanted to hate
him for what he had done to him. His frown deepened as he struggled with the
urge to go to him, comfort him from whatever darkness it was that seemed to
haunt him. He found himself wanting to look into his eyes again, to see the
beautiful spray of starlight when he smiled. Against his will he felt his
desire stirring as he recalled the many nights they had lain together on the
furs, warmed by the hearth and the heat of their desire for each other.
Confused, he questioned his feelings as he struggled with just when his
obedience to him evolved from a basic need to survive to conscious willful
submission.
“Are you hungry?” Cerályië asked quietly as he rose from the chair and walked
toward him. “I’m surprised.” He added when Thranduil only shook his head. “You
have been asleep for a few days, you should be starving.” He told him, smiling
softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.
Frowning, Thranduil said nothing as he let his gaze trail over the elf’s upper
body, now fully exposed to him as the loosely tied house robe fell open. The
soothing fragrance of Sólanäceae mingled with the stronger scent of Sandalwood
wafted to him as the elf moved closer, resting his hand lightly on his chest.
“Our time together grows short.” Cerályië told him, studying his face as he
caressed the length of his jawline with the tip of his finger. “Shh.” He
smiled, pressing a gentle finger on his lips when Thranduil opened his mouth to
speak. “In another place or another time you would not be a king. Oh how I
would have cherished you...” He said in a voice that was barely above a
whisper, his words trailing off as the lump in his throat returned.
“And what of love?” Thranduil asked as he reached up, pressing the elf’s
fingers tighter against his lips, kissing the tips.
“The fates care not for love.” Cerályië sighed heavily yet smiled warmly as he
traced a fingertip over the soft moist lips. “For my part, I will find solitude
on the arms of my slaves. But you...” He paused, leaning down to kiss him
softly. “You still have a chance to find that dream one day.” He said, brushing
the trembling lips as he spoke.
Relaxing in the strong arms that suddenly embraced him, Cerályië closed his
eyes and offered no resistance as Thranduil pulled him into the bed and rolled
on top of him. He felt the sting of his tears as he clung to him, surrendering
to the searching kiss that ravished his mouth hungrily. He knew from the
beginning it had been foolish of him to even think he could have kept him
there, yet he would treasure every moment he had spent with the beautiful king.
“If this were another place, in another time. I could easily love you with all
my heart.” Those words had haunted his thoughts and dreams as he waited for him
to rest and heal from the punishment he did not deserve. In just a few short
days he would take him to the appointed place where he would be returned to the
world where he belonged, a world far away from him.
Although his heart was heavy, Cerályië clung to him, arching as the hot mouth
slowly kissed the length of his body. Gasping softly as he willingly spread his
legs as Thranduil moved lower, gently sucking on the crown of his sex, swirling
his tongue teasingly around it, sending jolts of pleasure through him. His
fingers trembled as caressed his cheeks only to tangle themselves in his hair
as he slowly pulled the length of him into the warmth of his mouth. Moaning
softly, he rocked his hips forward as the tension built with him.
Pulling free of him, Thranduil smiled at the startled expression on his face as
he moved up over him. “I want to make love to you.” He said quietly as he
leaned down, kissing his parted lips, dipping his tongue deeply in his mouth.
“I want to be inside you when you surrender to me.” He whispered teasing his
lips as he spoke.
“On headboard.” Cerályië told him softly as he took his face in his hands,
kissing him fiercely.
Looking toward the headboard, Thranduil saw the familiar tin of herbal salve.
Stretching over him, he retrieved it and settled back down on the bed between
his thighs. Scooping out a liberal amount, he tossed the tin aside as he looked
up at him. Smiling softly as he slipped his finger beneath his ball sack, he
easily found the wrinkled muscle and spread the salve over it before pressing
firmly into the tight entrance.
Taking his time as he watched him, enjoying the blissful expression spread
across his beautiful face as he gently slipped a second finger into him.
Smiling as he watched him close his eyes, the pink tongue flicker over his
dusky full lips in anticipation. Slipping a third finger alongside the first
two, he carefully relaxing the grip of the tight ring, preparing him to accept
him.
Pulling free of him, he moved up over him and turned him onto his side, pushing
the soft house robe up out of his way as he pressed the length of his body
along his. Guiding himself in place, he reached over his hips to grasp the
length of his sex as he pressed into him. Burying his face in his neck as he
pressed his groin tightly against the firm flesh of his backside, he held
himself still for long moments as he leisurely stroked the elf’s swollen shaft.
Cerályië whimpered softly, his entire body shuddered as the long thickness
entered him for the first time in many long years. Reaching up, he caressed the
softness of Thranduils’ cheek as the pleasurable weakness flowed down his legs.
Slowly as he felt him rock against him, each thrust pulling a groan from deep
inside him, as the tension built, Cerályië surrendered his body to him
completely.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“Thank you for joining me Elrond.” Lord Garävegión sighed deeply as the servant
nodded a polite bow and disappeared, closing the door behind him. “I thought it
more prudent we first discuss this matter in private.”
“Of course.” Elrond replied, a slight frown forming on his brow as he moved
further into the lords private sitting room. “Aldalómë.” He nodded
respectfully, noticing the young March Warden who stood anxiously at the corner
of the hearth.
“Please.” Lord Garävegión began, waving toward the chair opposite him. “It has
been more than four moons. I fear we must prepare ourselves for the reality
that Thranduil may be lost to us.” He sighed heavily as he sank back down in
his chair.
“No! We cannot give up hope!” Elrond exclaimed, his eyes widening as he glanced
quickly between the two.
“We will never give up hope.” Aldalómë stated firmly, his expression guarded.
“My father has always been the pragmatic one but his advice is sound and has
served the realm well in the past. Our forces are stretched to the limit as it
is. The destruction of Smaug has left Esgaroth in much disorder with the
arrival many from other lands. It grows more and more difficult to distinguish
between fact and rumor.”
“What have you heard?” Elrond asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in
the chair. His heart ached at the thought of losing one of his closest friends,
particularly when that loss left so many unanswered questions.
“If we are to believe the rumors...” Lord Garävegión began, glancing at his son
briefly.
“I saw them with my own eyes.” Aldalómë interrupted him angrily, clearly
struggling with his emotions.
“Who did you see?” Elrond asked, noting the brief flash of a very deep pain in
the young march wardens’ eyes before he could conceal it.
“A slave trader known as Crevan from Harad.” Aldalómë stated, his voice heavy
with anger. “At first I thought nothing of it as he is known to travel these
parts. It was his meeting with Egan that bothered me. He is a Northman often
seen in the company of Lochinvar of the Ettenmoors known for his preference of
elves as slaves.”
Closing his eyes, he cringed at the horrible images that flashed through his
mind, Elrond felt as if the world had dropped from beneath him. If Thranduil
had fallen into the hands of slave traders his fate was now in the hands of
powers greater than their own. As the Elvenking, they would be able to attract
the attention of those with more than enough wealth to pay whatever they asked.
“We will keep this from Legolas until it can no longer be hidden from him.”
Elrond stated, his eyes narrowed as he pinioned Lord Garävegión with a hard
stare. “The prince is far too fragile in his mind right now to deal with that
possibility.”
“I agree.” Lord Garävegión replied. “Unfortunately as my son has already
stated, we do not have forces to extend the search that far.”
“Then we start with what we do know.” Elrond sighed heavily. “You have already
searched as far south as the Sea of Rhûn and north to Withered Heath and found
nothing. I suggest you recall your patrols and concentrate the search efforts
in the northwest between the Ettenmoors and Emyn Uial.”
“You seriously think...” Lord Garävegión blurted.
“I do not think anything at the moment.” Elrond interrupted him firmly. “The
searches have thus far revealed no sign of him, nothing, not so much as a scrap
of his armor. This could mean that he managed to find some place safe on his
own but has been severely wounded. In that case his natural powers to heal
himself would also be limited enough that he has not yet been able to return on
his own. I am merely suggesting that we cannot ignore other possibilities.”
“Legolas will question the recalling of the patrols.” Lord Garävegión said
quietly, his anxiety growing as he studied Elronds’ guarded expression.
“Let me worry about Legolas.” Elrond stated as he rose from the chair. “We will
discuss this again later.” He added, nodding in respect to Lord Garävegión.
“Damn it Thranduil! Where are you?!” He thought angrily to himself as he strode
purposefully from the lords chambers.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“Everything has been prepared just as you requested.” Ivósaar stated, his eyes
filled with concern as he studied the prince. “There are others who wish to
join us.”
“No.” Legolas emphatically, shaking his head as he turned away from him to
refill his goblet. “I will take only you and Träëliôrn. I do not wish to draw
unnecessary attention.”
“These men are hardened warriors and we do not know for certain just how many
there are.” Ivósaar stated, shaking his head as Legolas offered to refill his
goblet. “What chance does only three elves stand against that?”
“It is not my intention to confront them.” Legolas sighed, his expression
hardening as he walked back to the hearth. “If my father has truly been sold as
a slave...” His voice cut off as his body shuddered visibly at the thought. “I
doubt seriously they plan on killing him. We will return once we have gathered
enough information to...”
“Come.” Legolas called out, holding his hand up toward his friend to silence
him.
“Lord Elrond.” Legolas greeted him with a forced smile as he turned toward him.
“Please, join us. This is Ivósaar, one of the captains in the forest patrol.”
“I trust there have been no additional problems arise?” Elrond stated more than
asked, arching a brow as he approached them.
“No.” Legolas stated, inclining his head toward one of the chairs in front of
the hearth. “Unless you know something I don’t, I am still the commander of the
patrols. We were discussing the value of a different strategy that might thwart
the encroachment of the shelob (spiders) any farther north.”
“I’m glad to see that you are becoming more active in your duties.” Elrond
stated, glancing at the young patrol captain before seating himself opposite
the young prince. “What strategy have you devised if I may ask?”
“They are breeding like flies in Dol Guldur.” Legolas sighed, guarding his
expression as he turned to look at the lord from Imladris. “Our forces are
still weakened, but if we concentrate the patrols further south along the
Mirkwood Mountains and leave the elite forces to guard along the Forest River,
I think we can slow their advancement.”
“It might have merit. Have you presented this to Aldalómë or Lord Garävegión?”
Elrond asked, sensing something uncomfortable within the young prince. Yet he
smiled to himself as he saw much of his father in the young prince, a strength
he would sorely need in the coming days.
“I thought it best to see to the details first.” Legolas replied, hiding behind
his goblet as he took a long drink. “The next council meeting is still two days
away.”
“My Lord.” Ivósaar stated, nodding respectfully toward Elrond before turning
his attention to the prince. “If I may, I should meet with others before they
retire for the evening.”
“Yes, of course.” Legolas nodded yet he did not look up at him.
“Lord Elrond.” Ivósaar addressed him respectfully as he turned away from them
and quickly departed.
“Where do you propose to acquire the additional patrols?” Elrond pressed him as
he relaxed back in the chair. Shifting his position as he rested his chin in
his hand with his elbow on the arm of the chair, arching a brow inquisitively
toward the prince.
“There are more volunteers as time passes.” Legolas replied, schooling his
expression as he met the lords’ gaze evenly. “Much of the information coming
from Esgaroth and Erebor has proven to be little more than speculation. I
suspect Aldalómë will soon withdraw most of our forces the region.”
“And what of the promised support?” Elrond continued, the uncomfortable feeling
in his gut growing yet admiring the intuitiveness of the young prince.
“We will honor the agreement.” Legolas stated as he rose to his feet, far more
aware of Elronds’ unique ability to read others quite accurately. “It is what
my father would have wanted.”
“Would?” Elrond asked, the frown now deepening across his brow. “You speak as
though you have already given him up as lost.”
“Never!” Legolas exclaimed as he swung to face him, unable to hide the hurt and
the rage that flashed in his pale blue eyes. “I will never give up hope that my
father will return to me!”
“Legolas...”
“Stop coddling me!” Legolas stated angrily, stepping back slightly as Elrond
rose to approach him. “He is my king but he is also my father! I cannot believe
anything other than the fact that he still lives.”
“Thranduil has done well with you.” Elrond thought as he continued toward him,
remembering how fiercely his friend had also defended and believed in Oropher
in the face of so many doubts during the Battle of Last Alliance of Elves and
Men. It had been Orophers’ own impetuousness that had resulted in his death, a
loss that still haunted his friend to his very fäë (soul).
“None of us give up hope Legolas.” He told him quietly. “Your father is one of
my closest and longest friends. As long as he draws breath he will find his way
back to us, I have no doubt.”
“If you do not mind.” Legolas sighed, struggling to school his expression. “The
hour grows late and I am tired.”
“I understand.” Elrond nodded as he clasped the young princes’ shoulder
reassuringly. “It has been very trying for you. Perhaps I will see you at
breakfast?”
“Of course.” Legolas nodded, a weak smile curling his lips as he nodded.
Draining the last of the wine in his goblet, his expression hardened as he
watched Elrond walk calmly toward the door.
“If he leaves I want to know about it.” Elrond told the guard quietly once he
had closed the door behind him. “I don’t care what the hour.”
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). Thalieth replied with a sharp
nod.
Disappearing immediately into his bed chamber, Legolas striped himself of his
royal robes and hastily donned one of his older patrol uniforms. Pausing only
briefly as he mentally checked himself, he lifted the silver circlet from his
head and laid it on his dressing table. Without the slightest hesitation, he
strode purposefully through his private chambers to the secret passage into his
fathers’ chambers. His pace quickened decisively as he made his way to the
tapestry in his fathers’ private sitting room. Slipping behind it, he carefully
secured it back in place before sprinting silently down the narrow escape
passage that led deep beneath the fortress.
Under the cover of darkness and hidden in the thick pine grove several miles to
the west, Ivósaar and Träëliôrn waited impatiently. They had no idea how long
the lord of Imladris would delay the prince, yet there was no doubt between
them that he would find a way to meet them.
“There.” Träëliôrn whispered quietly as he caught sight of a flash of silvery
blonde hair in the moonlight just beyond the grove.
“We have until morning before I will be missed.” Legolas stated as he sprinted
up to them. “We ride west along the Forest River.” He continued as he swung
himself gracefully into the saddle. “We do not stop until we reach Langwell
Pass.”
Without another word, the trio turned their mounts west and galloped into the
night toward one of the most dangerous passes through the Misty Mountains.
Chapter End Notes
     As always, thanks so much for reading this!!
***** The Awakening *****
Chapter Summary
     Torn between his feelings for Thranduil and what he knows he must do,
     Cerályië begins final plans for leaving Fornost. Thranduil descends
     further into his awareness of the part of him that craves what he now
     realizes only the dark elf can give him. Legolas, now fully convinced
     that his father has fallen into the hands of a ruthless slave trader,
     approaches the final part of his journey to Fornost set in his
     intentions of rescuing him.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“No.” Cerályië stated as he pushed himself up from behind his desk. “I much
prefer that we not to be seen.” He said as he began pacing in front of the
hearth in his study.
“If they’re lucky, small groups on foot might have a chance at moving through
the forest, but a caravan would surely draw the attention of the shelob
(spiders) as well as their patrols.” The commander stated, his tone was heavy
with frustration as he tried to reason with the Lord of the Keep. “They are on
edge as it is. We cannot risk being stopped and searched or worse taken
prisoner. These elves are not like their kin, they don’t take kindly to
trespassers.”
“We are not going through the forest.” Cerályië replied firmly without looking
at him, folding his arms across his chest as he continued to pace. “We head
south east to Eregion, there is area for most of the main caravan to camp once
we reach the Hollin Pass. I only need a couple of guards to go with me. It is
safer to leave him just north of Drimmill Dale. It’s populated by humans and
close enough to Lórinand they can get him there.”
“The journey will take twice as long.” The commander stated, his frown
deepening as he watched his frustration grow as he continued his pacing. “And
you have no way of knowing how long it will take before anyone comes along to
find him. There has to be another way.”
“I’ll think of something but I cannot go near Lórinand!” Cerályië exclaimed
angrily as he stopped his pacing to turn and face him. “The evil in Dol Guldur
may help disguise my powers from the Vanyar but I’m not willing to risk it. I
will draw enough attention from the necromancer as it is and I don’t want to
put us in any more danger than absolutely necessary.”
“Then I suggest we send the main caravan in the morning.” Elaéyadär stated
cautiously as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “They can take the same
route through the pass and wait for us once they reach the Field of Celebrant.”
“I would prefer you take charge of the main caravan and continue on without
waiting. It is more important that you and the larger force are with the
coffers to see that it arrives safely.” Cerályië stated as he sank down into
the chair opposite him in front the hearth. “I only need my personal guards as
an escort. I will follow in two days, Daedalus and Odhrán can drive the
wagons.”
“I don’t like it but I can live with it.” The commander sighed heavily as he
pushed himself to his feet tiredly. “If you have nothing further, I will inform
the captains of the change in plans and see you the morning before we depart.”
“That’s all Elaéyadär.” Cerályië relied, smiling slightly. “I don’t mean to be
so...”
“I understand.” He shook his head as he held up his hand to forestall any
further comment. “We are all anxious but it will be over soon.”
Nodding in silence Cerályië watched him leave before turning his attention to
the flames in the hearth. Frowning slightly as he felt sadness at their
impending departure, Fornost and this keep had been his home for almost four
thousand years. Leaving it was proving to be harder than he thought it would be
yet he knew he could no longer remain as he was endangering the lives of
innocent people. He could feel the stirring of changes in the world as the evil
in Dol Guldur grew, drawing its power from Mordor. Other necromancers had begun
to eye the Ettenmoors and Carn Dûm once again and his powers would only draw
their attention to the villages.
“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The servant spoke softly as he entered the Masters study.
“You asked to be reminded of the evening meal.”
“Yes I did didn’t I.” He chuckled as he rose to his feet. “Thank you Nhaéslal.”
He said as he walked toward him.
“Hîr vuin?” (My Lord) Nhaéslal asked quietly, touching the Masters’ elbow
gently as he started to walk past him.
“What is it Nhaéslal?” He asked softly, frowning as he turned and looked into
the servants imploring eyes, now dark green with concern and worry.
“What about Säévÿl and myself?” His voice trembled slightly as he stared up at
the Master. “I wish to remain with you and I know he would feel the same.”
“But I would feel better knowing the two of you are safe with Elaéyadär.”
Cerályië told him as he embraced him, hugging him close. “It will only be for a
short while and Säévÿl will need you most. I know you will take care of him.”
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) He replied quietly as the
Master released him. “I will do my best.” He added, trying to smile.
“Then I know everything will be fine.” He said, squeezing his shoulder
reassuringly. “I am retiring for the evening. You are free to do as you wish
and I will see you in the morning.”
Nodding, Nhaéslal watched him in silence as he strode purposefully down the
corridor toward the dungeons. Unlike the villagers whose memories of the Mage
Wars had faded to little more than fables, the elves of Fornost remembered all
too well the horrors of being held captive by Annûmëä. Yet none had felt the
cruelty of his evil touch to the depths as did the Lord and Master of the Keep.
All who remained had gladly chosen to serve and protect him in return for their
freedom although he never asked for it. It would be good for him to get away
from the shadow of that horrible memory, maybe then he could begin to heal.
“Daedalus.” Cerályië greeted him as he approached the door to the last dungeon
room.
“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) He replied as he opened for the door for him.
Entering the room Cerályië smiled, turning toward the settee as Thranduil
lifted his head to look at him. His heart swelled as he gazed upon him, sitting
on the stool with his arms still on the cushion where he had been resting his
head while he waited for him. The untouched tray of food sat on the stand
nearby. There was an innocence in the expression on his beautiful face that
tore at him as he saw the anxiousness as well as a level of cheerfulness in his
eyes, like a child who was not quite sure if he was in trouble yet hoped he was
not.
Thranduil felt his gut twist painfully as the elf stood there, a soft smile on
his face as he stared at him. His facial expressions were far more guarded and
had become difficult to read these past few days. There had not been any
punishments since the days before he had awakened in the Herdirs’ (Masters’)
bed chamber, yet the sudden change in him that day was still clear in his mind.
The dark eyes were so guarded and difficult to read from where he stood.
“I’m glad you waited for me.” Cerályië said quietly as he approached the
settee, leaning down to capture his mouth in a brief but deep kiss before
lowering himself onto the seat in front of him. “I shall miss you terribly.” He
told him softly as he poured a cup of tea.
“Will you not at least tell me your name?” Thranduil asked, stiffening slightly
for speaking without permission.
“Who I am is not important pirá neth (little one). He chuckled as he glanced
fleetingly toward Edicûve. “In time you will forget about me and this place.”
He said quietly, his tone becoming somewhat distant as he picked up a few
pieces of the fruit and cheese.
“No.” Thranduil told him, meeting his gaze as he pulled back slightly when the
elf held a piece of fruit to his lips. “I feel you inside me.” He said softly,
putting what he felt into words for the first time.
“That too will fade.” Cerályië told him, feeling tears sting the backs of his
eyes as he touched his lips with the fruit. “Our paths were not meant to
cross...”
“Do not take them from me.” Thranduil interrupted him, growing bolder as he
leaned a little closer to him, noting the glassy look of unshed tears in the
elf’s eyes.
“I know it is you who comforts me at night by taking away the nightmares.” He
continued when the elf only stared at him in silence. “They are but fragments
of memories that will haunt my sleep until the end of my days. Memories are
what make us who we are and you cannot take them from me.”
Lifting his gaze as tears slipped silently down his cheek, Cerályië met
Edicûves’ soft gray eyes for long moments. Blinking them back, he glanced down
as Thranduil pressed his face into his lap.
“Thranduil.” He said quietly as he lifted his face upward to gaze into the
pleading sapphire eyes. “Do not speak of this again. Let us enjoy what little
time we have left.” He stated as he leaned down, kissing his forehead.
Opening his mouth obediently as the elf touched his lips again with the fruit,
he stared up at him, studying him. His expression was now guarded, but there
was a softness in the dark eyes that studied him in return. The spray of
starlight in their depths seemed brighter somehow as they watched him, as if he
struggled within himself. Thranduil wanted to remember them, he wanted to
remember his face, the warmth of his lips and the softness of his hair. He
wanted to remember the scent, the taste of him and the way he felt in his arms
as he surrendered to him.
At the same time he wanted to remember the sweet taste of his own surrender to
him, before he told him of his love for him. The freedom of not being a king,
of not having to be strong, to be able to completely give himself over to him.
He had never known the exhilarating sensation he had experienced at those
moments when he fully submitted to him, with no thought beyond the feeling of
losing himself in the pleasure. Caught in the cycle of pain and humiliation
that weakened him physically and emotionally, he craved the remuneration
afterwards of gentle hands caring for him, tenderly kissing away his tears,
holding him like a loving parent would a heartbroken child, had slowly
shattered the barriers he had put up. Not since his childhood had his heart
yearned for approval as he did from this elf, basking in the delight as he
reveled in the rewards of the simplest attentions from him.
It was only in the darkness in the Herdirs’ (Masters’) bed as he hugged the
elf’s sleeping body close to him that Thranduil became aware of the true source
of his deep pain. It had been by far the worst of the punishments that had been
inflicted upon him, yet the ache in his heart came not from the pain his body
suffered. It was because the Herdir (Master) had simply walked away from him,
there was no remuneration, no strong yet gentle arms to hold him and comfort
him afterwards, no loving words of approval for his suffering and that hurt
more than he was willing to admit even to himself.
Cautiously as he stared up into the velvety depths of the Herdirs’ (Masters’)
eyes, Thranduil slid his hand along his thigh toward his groin. Smiling faintly
as he gently caressed the length of his slightly hard sex through the silk
leggings, watching as the dusky lips parted revealing the tip of his tongue as
he wet them almost nervously.
“Leave us.” Cerályië said quietly as he reached forward, caressing Thranduils’
jawline and chin with gentle fingers. “Oh Eru (God), you are so beautiful and
so precious to me!” He thought as he slid his hands behind his neck, lifting
the mass of silvery blonde hair, enjoying the feel of it as he fanned it out
across his back. His desire for him rising rapidly, Cerályië leaned back
against the settee as Thranduils’ fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of
his leggings.
Grasping the soft material as the Herdir (Master) lifted his hips, Thranduil
pulled them well past his knees as he leaned forward between them. Eager to
please him, he grasped his hips, nuzzling his lower belly, he breathed in the
deep musky scent of him as he placed soft kisses over the warm flesh. Smiling
to himself, he heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his fingers tangle
themselves in his hair as he traced his tongue teasingly upward along the
length of his sex.
Groaning softly, Cerályië sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he felt the
warmth of his lips encircle the crown, the slow teasing swirls of the hot
tongue sent jolts of pleasure through him. Stiffly, his fingers caressed the
muscled flesh of his shoulders as he struggled against the urge to drive
himself into his mouth. Laying his head on the back of the settee, he closed
his eyes as Thranduil slowly drew the full length of him into his mouth.
Smiling to himself as he listened to the growing frustration in the elf’s
groans, he brought him close once more, only to pull free of him to kiss the
trembling flesh of his inner thighs. Wincing slightly as the elf clutched at
his shoulders, digging into the muscles as he rocked his hips toward him.
“I swear you tease me beyond reason!” Cerályië exclaimed in exasperation,
thrusting his hips forward hard enough to dislodge him as he wrapped his arms
around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Closing his eyes, he trembled as
he felt the warm lips sucking gently just below his ear. “You are making this
so hard.” He thought to himself even as he tilted his head, savoring the feel
of his tender kisses.
“Are you enjoying it?” Thranduil whispered, breathing softly in his ear before
sucking his earlobe into his mouth.
“Yes.” Cerályië sighed more than said, shivering as he buried his face in his
neck.
“Let me make love to you.” Thranduil said quietly, kissing his temple as he
stroked his hair gently.
Nodding, Cerályië released him, his smile trembled as he watched him lower
himself back onto the stool. Clasping his face in his hands, he leaned forward,
kissing his lips tenderly. They only had these two more nights together and he
would deny him nothing.
Shaking his head, Thranduil smiled at him as he moved his hands away when the
elf reached down toward his boots. Thoroughly enjoying himself as he felt him
watching him, he carefully removed the soft leather boots and pulled the
leggings free of him. Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on the slightly
parted lips as he unbuttoned the front of the tunic and pushed it down off his
shoulders. His smile broadened as he rose to his feet, extending his hand
toward him.
“I think you are enjoying this too much.” Cerályië stated, narrowing his eyes
even as his tone carrying a hint of laughter as Thranduil pulled him up from
the settee.
“Is it such a bad thing that I would enjoy pleasing my Herdir?” (Master) He
replied quietly as he pulled him into his arms.
Whatever response Cerályië would have given was swallowed as Thranduil captured
his mouth in a searching kiss as he lifted him in arms. Carrying him the few
steps toward the hearth, he lowered him gently onto the furs, covering his body
with his own. Slipping his arms beneath his shoulders, Thranduil cradled his
head in his hands as he continued the now hungry kiss.
“I love you.” Thranduil thought to himself, knowing he would never be able to
say the words out loud. Releasing his mouth, trailing his kisses lower,
listening to the soft moans as he sought out all of his sensitive places. Using
his knees, he pushed his thighs apart as he settled in closer to him.
Gently pulling the crown of his sex into his mouth, he reached toward the ledge
in front of the hearth to find the small tin of herbal salve that was always
there. Smiling to himself, he slipped slowly down the length him as he dipped
his finger into the tin. Pulling back up to the crown, he teased him with his
tongue as he sought the small wrinkled muscle. Swallowing the length of him as
he pressed his finger passed the tight ring in search of the tiny hard nugget
that would bring him pleasure.
“Ahh!” Cerályië cried out in pleasure, digging his fingers into the soft
thickness of the furs beneath him as he arched against the almost overwhelming
pleasure that coursed through him. It felt as if the world fell away from him,
there was nothing beyond the feelings incited within him as Thranduil pleasured
him beyond all thought.
“You may take my memories, but you will remember me.” Thranduil vowed silently,
slipping his arms beneath his knees as he moved up over him. Capturing his
mouth in a hungry kiss as he entered him, he swallowed the cries, taking him in
long measured thrusts.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Although the grip of winter had faded from the lower regions, the winds blowing
down from the north through the valley between Mount Gundabad and the Ered
Mithrin Mountains to the north were bitter. The trio clutched their winter
cloaks tighter as they reached the wider part of the trail in their final
dissent to the Hithaeglir Plains on the western side of the Misty Mountains.
“We can make camp here.” Legolas stated as guided his mount toward a small
gorge in the shadow of the mountain.
Three sets of eyes scanned the surrounding rock formations as they dismounted,
leading their mounts further into the gorge toward the enormous pile of
boulders in the canyon. The winds could still be heard whistling above them as
they settled in behind a small stone outcropping near the base of the mountain.
“North Downs is still at least five hundred miles west of here.” Träëliôrn
commented quietly, his gaze flickered between his two companions as he dug into
his saddle pack for something to eat.
“Fornost should be at the south end of there.” Legolas sighed as he pulled out
his water flask.
Exchanging worried glances, Träëliôrn and Ivósaar watched the prince with great
concern as they ate in silence. What little information they were able to glean
from different conversations at the Silver Thorn Inn at Langwell Pass was
questionable. Most were too far into their cups to take everything they said as
more than the rumors they had already heard coming out of Esgaroth and Erebor.
None of the patrons had spoken a name, referring to him only as the dark elf.
It was their revelation that this dark elf had a penchant for light haired
Sindar elves that concerned them the most.
Chapter End Notes
     As always thanks so much for reading this!! It's getting more and
     more difficult to work toward ending this story but alas I must stick
     to the established outline. This was never intended to be an actual
     story but it just keeps growing in my mind!!
     Also, my apologies for any errors as I do not use beta readers.
     Comments are welcome and appreciated!
***** Three Blind Mice *****
Chapter Summary
     Chaos reigns behind the scenes within Thranduils’ halls when it is
     discovered that the Regent Prince Legolas is nowhere to be found.
     Following his heart and guided only by rumors, Legolas and two
     childhood friends set out to the west toward Fornost in a desperate
     attempt to find his father before it is too late. Foiled are the
     best-laid plans of mice, men, and elves...
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The slightly warmer weather of early spring did little to lift the spirits
among the elves of the Woodland Realm. The dining hall felt even more subdued
as everyone appeared to hurry about their morning meal, urgent to get after
their duties or other required activities for the day. Many cast more than a
few longing glances toward the dais and the kings’ empty chair, noting as well
that the Regent Prince Legolas had not yet appeared and the hour grew late. The
concern on the faces of the council members as well as Lord Elrond did not bode
well for many of them.
Entering the dining hall, Galion wrung his hands in desperation as he made his
way along the wall toward the dais. He could feel Lord Elrond’s eyes on him as
he hurried up the steps.
“I have looked everywhere, even in both of their chambers my lord.” Galion said
quietly as he leaned down close to his ear. “There is no sign of him anywhere.”
“What do you mean no sign?!” Elrond hissed through clenched teeth as he turned
to face him. “He has to be somewhere!”
“My lord please.” Galion implored him, feeling his stomach twist in knots. “May
we talk of this in private?”
“Of course.” Elrond stated, feeling the heat of his anger and frustration
staining his cheeks as he rose from his seat on the dais. “Find Aldalómë, tell
him to meet us in his fathers’ study. That includes you too Galion.” He added
in a much quieter tone.
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). Galion replied, shaking even
more as he turned away from him.
“I think we need to meet in your private study. I have sent Galion to find
Aldalómë.” Elrond said quietly, leaning down close to Lord Garävegións’ ear.
“What is it?!” Garävegión asked, quickly rising from his seat to follow him.
“Galion has searched the halls as well as both royal chambers.” Elrond stated
as they slipped out of the dining hall. “It would seem that Legolas has left
these halls against my wishes.”
“Oh Eru! (God) What is that child up to?!” Garävegión groaned loudly as they
hurriedly made their way through the labyrinth of corridors toward the lower
halls reserved mostly for those of the council and other nobles.
Watching them leave, Séonäis breathed out a sigh that felt as if it came from
his very fäë (soul). Politely excusing himself, he made his way unhurriedly
from the dining hall. The weight of his position as cleric had never felt as
heavy as it did at that moment. He had held the secrets of the elves of the
Woodland Realm for nearly five thousand years and none had shook him as the
news he must now impart to Garävegión.
“I had hoped reminding him of his duties, getting him back into taking charge
would give him less time to dwell on the situation.” Elrond stated angrily as
they approached the door to his private study. “Unfortunately I have a feeling
they were not discussing the problem of the shelob (spiders).” He added,
closing the door behind them.
“They?” Garävegión asked, casting him an inquisitive glance over his shoulder
as he walked toward his wine cupboard.
“Yes.” Elrond sighed heavily, frowning deeply as he turned back toward the door
to see Aldalómë striding purposefully in to the study, followed closely by a
still nervous Galion. “He introduced him as one of the captains in the forest
patrol, his name escapes me at the moment.”
“That could be any one of six.” Aldalómë stated, interjecting himself into the
conversation as he nodded respectfully to his father and Elrond. “As their
commander for the past century very strong bonds have formed between them. If I
were to guess however, I would say he has a closer bond with Ivósaar and
Träëliôrn, it would have been one of those two.”
“Yes, Ivósaar, that was the name.” Elrond stated, eyeing Galion suspiciously.
“Neither were present for muster this morning.” Aldalómë stated, noting the
accusatory glance Elrond had shot toward Galion. “The three of them have been
thick as thieves since childhood.” He said as he walked toward the hearth to
add a couple more logs.
“Who else would any one of them trusted?” Garävegión asked as he joined Elrond,
handing him a glass of wine as they both walked toward the chairs in front of
the hearth.
“The trees shed more than leaves my friends.” Séonäis said quietly as he walked
through the open door, closing it behind him.
“What do you know?” Elrond asked, sighing deeply as he knew full well the
cleric would rather die than break the trust of one of his devotees.
“Legolas has many friends among the Silvan elves as does his father.” Séonäis
continued in his normal soft spoken way as he walked to the settee between the
two lords. “The more you tried to hide information from him, the more he turned
to his friends to find it.”
Sighing impatiently both lords held their tongues as the cleric made himself
comfortable on the settee. It was no use pressuring him, he would reveal what
he knew in his own way and in his own time.
“Now freed of Smaug, the treasure hoard of Erebor has drawn many of the
unsavory ilk close to our borders.” The cleric continued as he glanced toward
Aldalómë. “As you, yourself acknowledged Lord Elrond, news of our situation has
spread far beyond the Misty Mountains, even as far north as Mount Gundabad.
Many a necromancers’ eye now turn toward that mountain as the power of Dol
Guldur grows.”
“Even in his current state of mind the Prince would not be foolish enough to
travel there without an army to protect him!” Aldalómë stated angrily as he
glared at the cleric.
“The love of a parent to a child goes both ways Aldalómë.” Séonäis said calmly,
understanding the anger in the Chief March Wardens tone and taking no offense.
“You think you could have shielded him from the rumors?” He added, glancing
between the two lords once more. “Legolas knows through the bond they share and
in his heart that his father lives.”
“When I find those two...”
“You will do nothing.” Garävegión stated, shooting his son an angry glare. “In
his present state of mind I fear they may have felt there was no other course
of action than to go with him.”
“Unfortunately our prince has much of both his father and grandfather in him.”
Séonäis stated, frowning slightly. “The good and the bad.”
“If he left in search of Crevan, they will not find him there.” Aldalómë stated
as be began pacing before the hearth, his mind racing as he struggled to recall
more of what the captain had told him of the conversation at the Half Barrel
Inn in Esgaroth. “I am more concerned about them finding Egan.”
“He travels with a group of Northmen from the lower regions of Forodwaith, just
north of Carn Dûm.” He continued, feeling all eyes turning silently toward him.
“Their leader is a Northmen that goes by the name of Lochinvar. He’s ruthless
and cares nothing for elves beyond the gold he collects selling them to the
necromancers in the Ettenmoors. They are not above scavenging battlefields to
find the wounded who are unable to defend themselves against them.”
“If Legolas is aware of this, with no sign of his father, he could believe that
is where he has been taken.” Elrond stated, his gaze turning inward as he
remembered his earlier conversation with the prince. It would make sense that
if these men would scavenge battlefields for slaves to sell, they would take
their armor and weaponry as trophies, leaving no sign of the unfortunate soul
taken captive.
“You believe Thranduil still lives?” Elrond asked, turning his attention back
to the cleric.
“It does not matter what I believe.” Séonäis replied, arching a brow at him.
“Only that Legolas believes it.”
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“Once we make it around to the south side of the Ettenmoors we should rest.”
Träëliôrn stated as he turned toward Legolas, guiding his mount closer to him.
“It will be the last resting place out of these winds. The rest of the journey
will be across open plains and we cannot push the mounts faster than necessary,
we do not know what we will encounter out there. We might need to flee and they
will need all their strength to get us to some form of safety out here.”
“Legolas!” Ivósaar exclaimed angrily when the prince only shook his head. “Do
not be a fool! Do you think your father would want you to get yourself killed?”
“I cannot bear the thought of him there.” Legolas said quietly as he continued
to gaze into the west. “Nightmares torture my sleep at what he must have
already endured at their hands. It is difficult to delay.”
“We do not know for sure if he is there.” Träëliôrn said quietly, glancing
quickly at Ivósaar. “The king is very resourceful, he may have already found a
way to free himself from them.”
“Resourceful yes and possibly wounded.” Legolas agreed as he turned to look at
his friend. “He may also be alone, one against who knows how many.” A deep
frown creasing his otherwise smooth brow.
“And we are only three.” Träëliôrn reminded him firmly. “We find out what we
can and return to inform Aldalómë. That is what we agreed.”
“If I discover that my father is truly there, I will not go back without him.”
Legolas stated, flashing them both an angry glare as he nudged his mount into a
swift canter ahead of them.
“I was afraid if this.” Träëliôrn sighed heavily as they kneed their mounts
closer yet remained far enough behind the prince to give him some space. Both
silently understanding that they could only guess at what their friend could be
feeling at this moment. It would be almost nightfall by the time they reached
the lee of the south side of the Ettenmoors. They were in a strange land and
knew nothing of what they would find when they reached their destination.
Only dimly aware of their presence behind him, Legolas reluctantly searched his
memory for any of the old tales of the slave traders of the north that were
known to travel the Anduin southward toward Harad. The elves that were taken
captive by them were never heard of again so there was no way of knowing the
truth of what happened to them at the hands of the traders or even their
masters once they had been sold. It was rumored they were mostly used as house
slaves while others for physical labor among their caravans. He had heard tales
of how some of them were beaten and tortured into submission. The lands of
Harad were has hostile as the Haradrim tribes themselves, a vast hot desert
with scattered thick jungles.
Enslaving others was something he could not understand which made the strange
conversation he had overheard years ago between his father and Lord Garävegión
seem even worse as it was elves enslaving other elves. Nobles, mostly the
wealthier lower lords with a need for intimacy with others like themselves who
would buy an ellyn bair-mûl (Male House Slave) to provide them with sexual
favors their wives could not give them.
For the first time since they began this journey he was glad for the cold winds
that colored his cheeks as he thought of this dark elf lord they had heard of
at the inn and wondered if he was one of them. There were nights, in the safety
of his own chambers when he would lay in his bed and stroke himself as he
fantasized about having his father bound spread eagle on his enormous four
poster bed, helpless to resist his attentions. But that was only playing,
something he wanted to do for the pleasure of his father as much as for
himself. Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he thought of his father, knowing
his pride would have forced them to beat him into submission, if he submitted
at all.
“Legolas...”
“Yes, yes.” He replied more sharply than he had intended, turning his mount
toward Ivósaar.
Moving toward the smaller foothills of the Ettenmoors, the trio was a bit
surprised to find a small cave and large area of tall grass for their mounts.
The mountains buffered the brunt of the winds yet the air was still chilly as
they cautiously approached. The mouth of the cave was low enough that any sort
of creature could have decided it make a good den, not to mention they had no
idea how far back into the foothills it may have gone.
Slipping from their mounts, they drew their swords and made their way silently
toward the mouth of the cave. Moving slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to
the darkness within, they went in single file with Träëliôrn in the lead and
Ivósaar at the end. Frowning as they moved along the wall, the smell of burning
wood drifted to them as they crept into the darkness, listening for any sound
and watching for movement. The only sound was the steady drip of water from
somewhere in front of them, pausing as they realized the echo was loud enough
to reveal a much larger part of the cave. Less than a hundred miles south of
Mount Gundabad it would not have been unlikely to find a nest of goblins or
worse orcs, depending on how far back the cave went into the mountains. Either
way, they needed to make sure before they made camp lest they be attacked
unprepared in their sleep.
“Humans.” Träëliôrn whispered softly as he stepped back closer to Legolas.
“Humans?” Legolas mouthed the word silently as he frowned at him.
Lifting his chin, Träëliôrn made an exaggerated gesture as he sniffed the air
within the cave.
“What now?” Ivósaar whispered as he stepped closer to them.
“Halt!” Ivósaar exclaimed, raising his sword as he jumped in front of Legolas.
“We mean you no harm!” Träëliôrn declared, lifting his own blade as he stepped
toward Ivósaar to further shield the prince as a man appeared holding a large
broad sword high above his head.
“What do you want?!” The man asked, his deep voice filling the cave.
Judging by the way he held the blade he was not a swordsman, perhaps not even a
fighter. Not quite as tall as Legolas who was taller than his companions, the
man was filthy and looked very much tired and haggard. His hair was long,
scraggly and dark, much like his beard.
“Nothing from you.” Legolas stated as he studied the man. “We only sought a
place to rest close by and feared what might be lurking within this cave.”
“How many are you?” The man asked, his tone still carried a warning note as he
continued to hold the blade high over his head.
“There is only what you see. Our mounts are just beyond the mouth of the cave.
I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm and these are my friends.” He told him,
deciding it was best not to reveal too much of himself as he continued to watch
him closely even as he lowered his own blade. “We are journey west to Fornost.
May we sit and talk.” He continued, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
“I am Thaddeus, son of Gareth.” The man stated, only slightly lowering the
sword. “We are from North Downs and headed to Erebor. Why do you travel to such
a forlorn place?”
“Please.” Legolas said quietly, smiling slightly. “We have come a long way. We
truly mean you no harm, may we sit and talk?” He wanted more information about
this dark elf and these people may be his last chance to learn truths rather
than rumors.
“I see no reason not to.” Thaddeus stated, although he was watchful as he
lowered the sword. “We have no ill will toward elves.” He added as he moved
cautiously back into the narrow passage that lead into a cavernous room and the
source of the dank odor as well as the dripping water.
Huddled in the far end of the cave they could see a large group of people. A
small fire cast strange shadows making it difficult to see just how many were
hidden in the shadows that lurked in every corner of the oddly shaped cave. A
lake could be seen from the shaft of light that filtered through what appeared
to be an old caved in area from outside the mountain, melted ice dripped
downward, splashing into the otherwise serene surface of the lake below.
“Come with me.” Thaddeus told them, finally lowering his sword and turning away
as he lead them along a narrow but dry path that ran close to the rocky wall
toward the group. The trio sheathed their swords as they followed him, yet
their hands lingered near the hilts.
“Travelling such a distance with women and children yet no wagons.” Legolas
quietly voiced his concerns as they grew closer. “Who or what attacked you?” He
asked as he scanned their frightened faces.
“You are very observant.” Thaddeus commented as they reached the fire. “We are
but little more than half of what set out from the Downs. Orcs, but I don’t
know how many there were, much is still a blur. We are farmers, not fighters.”
“Where?” Legolas asked, watching as one woman broke from the huddled group and
approached them.
“We had not gotten far.” Thaddeus said as he wrapped his arm around the
shoulders of the woman who approached them. Slightly shorter than the man, with
the same dark hair yet there was something different about her face.
“I believe they came down from Carn Dûm.” He told them, hugging her close. “I
don't know what they came for since the elves of the Downs left years ago and
went farther west to the shores of Lake Evendim, near Nenuial.”
“I have heard talk of one called the dark elf?” Legolas pressed him as he
glanced between the two of them. “What of him?”
“Annûmëä was struck down over four thousand years ago, shortly after the Mage
Wars.” The woman stated as she leaned closer to the man. “Why does anyone look
for him now?”
“My cousins’ memories are better than mine.” Thaddeus sighed, glancing down at
her before turning his attention back to the elves.
“My name is Aërasumé, I am half-elven.” She stated, her gaze flickering over
the trio of elves in front of her. “My mother was taken captive by the dark
forces within that mountain. She was never the same when she was freed and
sailed west when she could no longer bear the loneliess after my fathers’
death.”
“I am very sorry for your loss.” Legolas said quietly, bowing his head toward
her for a moment. “But I must know.” He continued as he looked at her once
more. “There is talk in Erebor of a dark elf who deals with the slave traders
of the north.”
“I am afraid you have come a long way for nothing.” Aërasumé told him. “The one
called the dark elf was not evil. His darkness came from his memories of
centuries as a captive within the mountain. I can only hope he found peace in
the Undying Lands.”
“You knew him?” Legolas asked with a little more urgency than he would have
preferred, but her knowledge of him was evidence that he at least had existed
at some point in time.
“I should know him.” She stated, her stance changing slightly as if she felt
threatened. “He was my brother.”
Chapter End Notes
     Not as exciting of a chapter yet it fills in a bit of the backstory
     on the dark elf and hints again to the relationship between Thranduil
     and Legolas. It also fills out more of ‘my version’ of Legolas which
     will play out in further chapters. It also introduces additional
     'author created' characters as they play a much arger role in the
     main story that is still a work in progress.
     Thanks for reading!!
***** Kindred Souls *****
Chapter Summary
     Elrond learns the secret of how the young prince managed to escape
     from the palace. Legolas and his friends come upon a group of
     travelers, among them a half-elf claiming to be the sister of the
     dark elf who claims he has not been part of this world for centuries.
     Thranduil is reminded of long-buried memories of his father, only to
     learn that his darkest nightmares are shared by the dark elf.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“You seem uncommonly flustered Lord Elrond.” One of the guards said quietly as
he came upon him in the solarium.
“You could say that.” Elrond replied, a frown touching his brow as he tried in
vain to recall the guards' name.
“I am Glaurhalbër, one of the Kings’ March Wardens.” He introduced himself,
answering the unspoken question plainly displayed on the lords’ face. “How can
I help you?”
“I have searched everywhere for Galion within this maze of a fortress, no one
has seen him since yesterday.” Elrond explained, his expression eased only
somewhat.
“I believe Rûingäraf has this watch on the Kings’ chambers.” Glaurhalbër told
him. “He will let you in.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Elrond groaned with exasperation, his shoulders
slumping as he shook his head. “Thank you!” He said as he grasped the guards’
hands tightly.
“I hope you will not be too hard him.” Glaurhalbër said quietly, his eyes
searching the lords’ face for a moment. “Second only to the prince, this has
been most difficult for him.”
“You needn’t worry about that.” Elrond sighed, smiling as he gave his hands a
squeeze. “If anything I owe him an apology.” He stated and turned quickly away
from him.
Berating himself angrily, Elrond nearly ran through the labyrinth of corridors
that lead to the lower levels of the underground fortress. Recognizing the some
of the tapestries and paintings, he knew he had reached the halls reserved for
visiting nobles and dignitaries. Pausing briefly to get his bearings, he turned
down the wider corridor leading to Thranduils’ audience chamber. He was
familiar with this part of the palace and easily found his way down the stairs
into the antechamber just outside of the royal chambers.
“Rûingäraf.” Elrond greeted him anxiously. “I’m looking for Galion, I was told
he might have sought the solitude of the kings’ chambers.”
“He did.” The sentinel replied as he stepped closer to the door. “He has been
in there since yesterday.” He added as he opened the door for him.
“Thank you.” Elrond stated as he hurried past him into the pubic sitting room,
his gaze sweeping the spacious area for any sign of him.
“I am right here.” Galion said quietly as Elrond strode quickly past him,
headed toward the bed chamber.
“Galion!” Elrond exclaimed as he swung around to see him curled in the tall
wing backed chair Thranduil favored so much.
“Would you like some tea?” He asked as he unfolded his legs and started to get
up.
“I am so sorry Galion.” Elrond exclaimed as he moved quickly toward him,
dropping to his knees in front of the chair. “I have been so worried about
Legolas...”
“Elrond stop.” He stated, shaking his head. “I do not need coddled. Now let me
up, I have something to show you.”
“I know how Legolas got out of here without being seen.” Galion said quietly as
he walked toward the private sitting room just outside of the bed chamber.
“There are three secret passages into Thranduils’ rooms, one from the rooms
reserved for the Queen, one from the old nursery and one from Legolas’s
chambers. The first two have been magically sealed, they cannot be opened
except by the king himself. Behind this tapestry there is a tunnel leading to
an aquafer fed by the waters of the Enchanted River, only a Woodland elf would
recognize it for what it is. It is an escape route for the royal family in the
event the palace is breeched. On the other side of it there is a tunnel running
several miles North West and opens up beneath a natural grotto in a pine
grove.”
“The lower levels are riddled with such passages.” Galion continued as Elrond
stared at him in amazement. “They all converge within the cavern of the aquafer
with a single passage leading to the grotto. We may have burrowed ourselves
underground like the dwarves, but Thranduil left no stone unturned in the
planning of this fortress. No one outside of the Woodland Realm knows of this
with the exception of you.”
“Well I have to say I am impressed.” Elrond stated as he sank down into a
nearby chair. “I have often wondered. I understand tunneling into a mountain
but I questioned the logic of elves living underground.”
“It’s not fool proof.” Galion sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “The
goal is to reach the Grey Mountains which is still over a hundred miles north
through the forest once the grotto is reached. Unfortunately it does nothing to
help us with the situation at hand.”
“Galion...”
“Elrond don’t.” He stated as he turned away from him, returning to the public
sitting room. “I have served, taken care of and yes I have loved Thranduil for
over four thousand years. I have learned as much from him as he has from me.”
He said quietly as he sank back down into the chair and picked up his teacup.
“I will not give up hope until I see his body.”
“You are far stronger than I gave you credit.” Elrond said quietly, his heart
breaking for the pain he knew the old elf would never reveal.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“Aërasumé is very protective of the memory of her brother.” Thaddeus said
quietly, directing them a little further away from the larger group at the far
end of the cave. “She is not angry with you, sometimes she doesn’t think about
how her words can hurt.”
“I still do not understand.” Legolas said, watching the woman walk back toward
the other side of the cave.
“There are many stories about the dark elf.” Thaddeus commented, studying the
young elf’s face. “But it is as she says, the evil has returned. You know this
to be true, the necromancer in Dol Guldur grows stronger and there are others
who now look toward Carn Dûm. The elves of the Realm of Arnor have mostly fled
either south to the Grey Havens or the Blue Mountains. People like us are
making our way across the Misty Mountains.”
“There are already so many that flock into Erebor.” Legolas commented as he
continued to watch the milling group of people on the other side of the cave.
“What will you do there?”
“We are simple farmers with no trades to offer.” Thaddeus sighed heavily,
shrugging in resignation. “We have heard of lands on the other side of your
Woodland Realm, between two rivers. Perhaps we can settle there and raise our
families in peace now that the dragon is no longer in the mountain.”
“You are still a long way from there.” Träëliôrn said quietly, glancing between
the man and the others. “You are few, with women and children, no wagons or
supplies to continue such a journey across the mountains.”
“We managed to scavenge some of the supplies from the two wagons we brought
with us.” The man replied, eyeing the other elf. “We are the second group to
leave the Downs, there are others from Fornost coming. We will join with them
when they arrive. You can continue your journey, but Aërasumé is right, you
will not find what you seek and you are also far from your home.” He stated,
his gaze flickered between the three elves.
“Thank you.” Legolas said, smiling although it did not reach his eyes. “We will
see to our mounts and discuss this amongst ourselves. We will speak of this
again in the morning.”
“I do not like any of this.” Träëliôrn said quietly once they were some
distance away from the man. “What that half-elf said about the Tower of Amon
Sûl, it’s true, Angmar destroyed the city in search of the planatir (notes)
when the city was called Annúminas and ruled by the Dúnedain.”
“Maybe the dark elf they speak of is the one in Dol Guldur.” Ivósaar said as
they stepped back out into the chilly winds. “If he wants to go back to Carn
Dûm then I say good riddance.”
“I would agree with you if it were not for the darkness surrounding Mordor.”
Legolas sighed as they scanned the grassy area for their mounts.
“We don’t even know what that evil is in Dol Guldur and I do not believe
anything that fool Radagast claims.” Träëliôrn growled as they walked toward
their mounts a short distance away. “Nevertheless, it will take us at least a
week to reach Fornost and we may find nothing just as the half-elf said.”
“We will sleep on this and decide in the morning.” Legolas stated as he
unbuckled the small pouch from the saddle.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“Gareth, I wish you would reconsider.” Cerályië sighed heavily, waving his hand
over the small cup when the mans’ wife offered to refill it with tea. “The
power building in Mordor is rumored to be that of Sauron. The necromancer in
Dol Guldur is still yet unknown. However, there are other eyes that look to
Carn Dûm and they will come. I think you and the others would be safer away
from here.”
“Cerá.” Gareth said quietly as he reached across the table to pat the elf’s
hand, his smile only seemed to accent the many wrinkles in his elderly face. “I
am old.” He sighed, his once strong broad shoulders slumped slightly. “As are
most of those who have chosen to remain. We are not up to such a journey. The
chest you have left us is far more than we will ever need and we cannot thank
you enough. You have delayed too long as it is.”
“We will depart at first light in the morning.” Cerályië said as he pushed
himself up from the small table in their tiny kitchen. “Unfortunately, if
people are to believe the rumors Aërasumé has created, the Keep must be
magically destroyed, no trace of me can be left behind. There is a tunnel
leading to the dungeons that will be left open where you can seek refuge if the
village is threatened.”
“You and your sister have done enough for us.” Gareth told him as he rose to
his feet, walking with the Lord of the Keep as he stepped out onto the small
covered area just beyond the kitchen. “We are grateful for everything and only
wish for you a safe journey.”
“Well.” Cerályië said quietly as he leaned down to embrace the elderly man. “I
pray that all is for naught.” He told him as his hugged him tightly before
turning away from him.
Glancing around as he strolled down the path toward the Keep, Cerályië sighed
heavily, feeling the enormous weight of what tomorrow would bring. The last of
the caravans had left two days ago, the larger one would head southeast to
Eregion and take the Hollin Pass while the other would head northeast the same
way as the others, travelling just below the Ettenmoors toward Erebor then
south along the Celduin River. The final wagons had been packed and stood
ready, he would be in the last small group that departed Fornost in the
morning.
Entering the Keep, his bone heeled boots made a loud clicking sound as he
strode purposefully across the now empty foyer. Emptied of all his personal
belongings, there was a haunted feel about the Keep as he and the remaining
guards had moved to the dungeons themselves for the final days within the Keep.
Striding through the empty sitting room, he lifted the small lever in the empty
bookcase, he descended into the narrow passage that led to the spacious dungeon
area deep below the Keep.
“He will not change his mind.” Cerályië sighed heavily as he entered the
dungeon room he now shared with the remaining guards. “I will never understand
Eru’s (God’s) reasoning for their frailty.” He added, frowning deeply as he
sank down into a nearby chair.
“They still refuse to leave?” Taráthiël asked, exchanging glances with the
other guards seated around the table.
“Aye.” Cerályië replied, his gaze taking on a distant look as he turned toward
the hearth.
“Tomorrow I will need to summon powers I have dared not touch in ages.” He said
after long moments as he watched the flames in the hearth. “You will need to
make haste in our departure as I will have nothing left to spare to protect us
until I have rested.” He continued, turning his attention back to them.
“We should reach Amon Sol by nightfall.” Edicûve stated, his expression filled
with concern as he studied his friend and Lord of Keep.
“Good.” Cerályië said quietly, nodding as he pushed himself up from the chair.
“We will have our midday meal now.” He smiled weakly, meeting Edicûves’ gaze
briefly before turning away from them.
There had been no need to post a guard at Thranduils’ door as they were all
mere steps away in the dungeon room across from him. Schooling his expression
as he reached for the handle, he smiled as he entered the room.
“Tula sinome.” (Come here) He said softly, holding out his arms as Thranduil
rose from the furs in front of the hearth. Chuckling softly as he noted the odd
expression on his face as his gaze flickered over his unusual attire. Pulling
him into his arms, he kissed him softly before guiding him toward the settee.
“Time for me to relax now and enjoy pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My little silver
treasure) Cerályië said quietly, gently smoothing his hair as Thranduil laid
his head in his lap. “My heart still wants to keep you forever.” He told him
silently, yet he knew it was something that could never be.
Usually dressed in fine robes, Thranduil found it odd to see the dark elf
dressed in a plain dark blue silk tunic and leggings with high boots as if he
had been out riding. Yet there was no scent of a horse or other animal about
him, only the customary Sandalwood and Sólanäceae mingled with the fresh scent
of pine as if he had been in a forest.
Lifting his head as Edicûve arrived within moments with their midday meal,
Thranduil could feel the tension between them as he set the tray on the table
by the settee. The dark elf had told him their time together was short and
wondered if that time had come. It would explain the elf’s odd mood over the
past few days and his strange attire.
“I would like to be alone now.” Cerályië said as he poured the tea, feeling
Thranduils’ gaze nearly burning into him as he lowered himself onto the floor
yet leaned heavily into his lap.
“You will be happy to know that we will be leaving in the morning.” He told him
as he picked up a piece of the cheese and held it down to his lips. “You will
soon be reunited with your son.” He added, his smile trembling slightly as he
opened his mouth to accept it.
Thranduil felt his body run hot then cold, a myriad of emotions washed over him
as he turned his cheek into the gentle touch of the elf’s fingers. It was what
he had wanted since the day he had first awakened within the walls of the room
that had become his prison for what now seem like an eternity. Yet he knew too
that his time with the dark elf had changed him in ways he could not explain
even to himself.
“Why will you not at least tell me your name?” He asked, his voice was unsteady
as he stared up at him.
“You must learn to hold me only as a memory as I will you.” Cerályië said
softly as he caressed his cheek, knowing he was lying to him. “Our worlds can
never cross again.” He added quietly, as he watched the strange play of
emotions chase themselves within the depths of those beautiful eyes.
“There must be...”
“No Thranduil.” He told him firmly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he shook
his head. “You cannot serve two masters and I am far too selfish, I cannot
share you. It is better that you return to your world just as I remain in
mine.” He told him as he traced his fingertip across his lower lip.
“Stop.” He insisted, frowning deeply as he covered Thranduils’ mouth with his
hand, his heart aching as he stared down at the face that looked more like that
of a child being told he could not have something he desperately wanted. “Do
not make this any more difficult than it already is.” He told him as he cupped
his chin, lifting his face upward slightly.
“You asked me once who it was that hurt me.” Cerályië told him, staring into
the depths if those sapphire eyes as his grip on Thranduils’ chin tightened.
“For a millennia I suffered the depraved tortures of Annûmëä within the bowels
of the mountain Carn Dûm, only my desire for revenge upon the one who sold me
to him gave me the strength to survive. When I learned of his death I thought I
would find peace, instead I was filled with hate for having been cheated of my
revenge. Blinded by my hate and the need for revenge, I turned my eyes toward
his son as my reward.”
“You think I do not know what he did to you? Did you think you were the only
one?” He continued, watching Thranduils’ eyes widen as the color drained from
his face. “I am not the one who broke you Thranduil, he did. When I learned of
what he had done to you, my revenge died but my hatred for him remained. We
were both only children seeking nothing more than approval of a father, but he
perverted that love to his own ends.”
Ignoring the pain caused by the dark elf’s grip on his chin, Thranduil
stretched his hand upward toward his face. Gently wiping away the tears that
streamed unheeded down the elf’s cheeks, yet he was unaware of the ones that
soaked his own. Unbidden, the long buried memories of the abuse he suffered at
the hands of his father came flooding back like a tidal wave.
Chapter End Notes
     Palantir – Seeing Stones, like the one found by Pippin where the Eye
     of Sauron was able to look at him.
     I'm sorry it took so long to update this story! I'm kind of
     struggling with how to bring it to an end. As I said in the
     beginning, this story is a conglomeration of a bunch of deleted
     scenes from the story where Cerályië makes his first appearance in my
     writings. It has taken on a life of its own and will quite possibly
     result in the writing of Part Two.
     Thanks for reading!
***** New Horizons *****
Chapter Summary
     The arrival of the Kings’ Chief March Warden Aldalómë and a troop of
     elite elven soldiers does not sway the young prince in the search for
     his father. As Cerályië completes the final steps before the move to
     the Lake of Rhûn, Legolas grows ever closer.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Propped up on one elbow, Cerályië gazed down at the sleeping face of the
beautiful slave that had become his lover. A slight smile curled his lips as he
allowed himself to reminisce over the past five months with him, remembering
both, the pleasures and the regrets. His gaze roamed freely over the exquisite
form that lay beside him, so gloriously displayed in his nakedness. It would
seem that the same fates that had been so cruel in the past had now gifted him
with the light within him, a light that would burn with hope.
“If this were another place, in another time. I could easily love you with all
my heart.” The words had been etched in his heart since the day Thranduil had
spoken them, he had felt the change within himself. Yet it was before then, on
that first morning when he looked upon his tortured face and had taken the
nightmares from him, he knew the truth, he knew he would love him until the end
of his days.
“Our time has come to an end my love.” Cerályië whispered, ignoring the sting
of tears at the back of his eyes. “If it be the will of the fates, I shall see
you again in Aman.” (Notes) He said as he leaned down, breathing in the sweet
scent of his breath and of him before touching his lips to his tenderly.
Pulling back slightly, he smiled as he gazed down into the clear sapphire pools
that sparkled with starlight. Caressing his cheek, he gently pushed the stray
strands of his hair back from his face, tucking them behind his ear
“Sleep now my love.” He said softly as he traced his forefinger across his
forehead and watched as those beautiful eyes closed for the last time. “You are
the part of me that is the heart of me, the whole of me that is the soul of me,
now and forever, until the end of time.” He whispered as he kissed the
unresponsive lips for the last time.
Pushing himself up from the furs, he fought back the tears as he gazed down at
his sleeping form for long moments. Swallowing against the lump in his throat,
Cerályië felt numb as he began the task of dressing himself for the long day
ahead. Casting one more long glance toward Thranduil, he shook himself firmly
and strode purposefully out of the dungeon room.
Entering the dungeon room across the hall, he said nothing as he walked toward
the hearth to collect the teapot. He watched them on the fringes of his vision
as Edicûve and Dorinäélin slipped quietly out of the room to prepare Thranduil
for the journey. Clearing his mind, he struggled against the fear that
threatened to overwhelm him as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. Allowing
himself one last thought of Thranduil, he wrapped his heart in the comfort of
the light within him.
The two guards shared worried glances yet said nothing as they carefully
dressed Thranduil and carried him from the depths of the dungeons. Hurrying
across the courtyard toward the others, they lifted him into the main wagon,
arranging him as comfortably as possible in the small cot.
“Go now.” Edicûve stated, casting a worried glance toward Daedalus. “We will
meet you at the fork.” He said, stepping back as the wagons lurched forward
disappearing in the darkness.
Turning toward Dorinäélin, they stood anxiously near the small grove of trees
some distance away from the Keep as they waited for the Lord and Master of the
Keep. There was nothing more they could do to help him, this he must do on his
own.
Emerging from the Keep, Cerályië cast one fleeting glance toward the grove
where he knew they waited. Turning away from them he walked across the
courtyard toward the edge of the forest, he shut them out of his mind, allowing
the present world to fall away as he opened his mind and reached deep within
himself for the anger and hate that had given him the strength to strike down
his tormentor in a world that was a lifetime ago.
Although he was stronger and far more in control than he was then, his body
trembled visibly as he turned back toward the Keep now consciously pulling on
the powers of the elements around him. Closing his eyes, his mind reached out,
merging with the earth, the stone, and the life forces within them. Tears
flowed freely down his cheeks, the pain slowly consuming him as he held it,
manipulated it, letting it build within him. Dropping to his knees as he
released it, the scream that ripped through his throat was drowned out by the
loud cracking and grinding as the ground shook opened beneath the Keep, leaving
it in a pile of rubble.
Ignoring the pain that flowed through his veins like fire, Cerályië reached out
once more, pulling on the living energy within the forest. Binding it to
himself, feeding it with his own life force from deep within himself, he
released it and crumbled into a lifeless heap on the ground as the world around
him faded into darkness.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Turning as he heard her gasp, Thaddeus wrapped his arms around her, quickly
moving them away from the others. Lowering her down onto a large rock, he held
her as she clung to him, burying her face against his chest, her body trembling
as if she were freezing.
“It is done.” She whispered faintly.
“Is he...” Thaddeus let his voice trail off, unable to ask.
“His fäë (soul) is very weak but he lives.” Aërasumé answered unfinished
question. “His fate is in Eru’s (God’s) hands now.” She added, leaning heavily
against him.
“Will you be alright?” He asked, his arms tightening around her as he pressed
his cheek against the top of her head.
“I am fine.” She replied softly, relaxing in the comfort of his embrace.
“We have other problems.” He told her as he gently smoothed her soft hair with
his calloused hand. “It would seem the golden haired elf is none other than the
prince himself.”
“What?!” Aërasumé gasped, her eyes wide as she pulled back to stare up at him.
“They have been quiet for a long time but during the night I heard angry voices
just beyond the cave.” He told her, concern growing in his eyes as he stared
down at her. “From what I could overhear it would seem that the young prince
has come in search of the king without informing anyone. There is now a large
group of elven soldiers on our doorstep.”
“They cannot be allowed to continue on to Fornost!” She exclaimed in a hushed
tone, her eyes pleading with him. “Cerá needs time to get fully away.”
“Taráthiël will see that he is safe.” He reassured her. “I don’t think the tall
golden elf outside has any intentions of allowing the prince to go any
farther.”
“We must speak to them.” Aërasumé stated as she pushed herself up to her feet.
“Are you sure you are up this?” He asked as he rose, pulling her into his arms
again. “The prince said he would let us know his decision in the morning. The
day has not yet dawned.”
“I will speak to them now.” She stated more firmly. “The others should be
arriving soon and we must convince them it is best for them to return to their
lands.”
Nodding, his shoulders slumping slightly as he followed her toward the entrance
of the cave. He knew by the tone of her voice there was nothing he could say
that would change her mind. Her only concern at this time was for the safety of
her brother and those that had remained behind.
“Stay your weapons!” Legolas barked the order as he quickly moved toward the
grassy area at the mouth of the cave.
“Aërasumé, Thaddeus.” Legolas greeted them, his tone was soft yet firm as he
approached them. “I am the Regent Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. I do
apologize for my deception and I ask that you please forgive me.” He added as
he reached them.
“Now that we know who you are and why you are here we can understand.” Aërasumé
replied as she studied the tall golden elf that stepped up behind the young
prince, his chiseled features were guarded as he studied her in return. “You
had no knowledge of who we are. It was a right decision to hide your true
identity.”
“My only desire is to find my father and return him to his rightful place.”
Legolas stated, his gaze flickered between the two of them.
“The news of the death of Smaug has spread far.” She said quietly, her gaze
moving over the faces of the armed warriors that nearly filled the grassy area
just beyond the caves. “We heard rumor that the Elvenking fell in the battle on
the plains of Erebor. But you believe that he has been taken by slave traders?”
She asked, her gaze now fixed firmly on the soft pale blue eyes of the young
prince.
“I know only that he is not dead.” Legolas stated, meeting her gaze evenly as
he paused for long moments. “He was last seen on the ridge near Raven Hill just
north of the main battle. There has been no trace of him found anywhere,
nothing.”
“If that has been his fate there is only one slave trader bold enough for such
an act.” She told him, her gaze turned to the cold ice blue stare of the tall
golden elf just behind the prince. “His name is Lochinvar but he would not have
brought him to this side of the Misty Mountains. Your king is far too well
known in these lands, the risks would have been too high for him. If it was he
who took your father, he would have taken him south to Harad.”
“How do you know so much about these slave traders?” Aldalómë asked quietly,
yet his tone was harsh and demanding as he stared at her. “He is known to trade
slaves with the dark elf in these parts.”
“Aldalómë!” Legolas hissed as he turned toward him, anger flashing in his now
cloudy blue eyes.
“It is alright hîr vuin.” (My Lord) Aërasumé said softly as she touched his
arm. “I am not afraid to answer his questions.” She continued, turning a cold
gaze toward the outspoken golden elf. “Lochinvar and his cruel deeds are well
known among the people of Arnor, but particularly those of the North Downs and
Fornost. Yes, he brought elves as slaves to the dark elf whose name was
Annûmëä, the necromancer of Carn Dûm. But not for profit, they were in payment
of a bargain struck between them to leave the people of Forodwaith in peace.”
“I have never heard that name.” Aldalómë stated, his tone remained
authoritative yet not quite as harsh as before.
“I do not suppose you would.” She stated, mirroring his own attitude toward
him. “The Mage Wars were fought mostly in Beleriand during the time of King
Thingol. The necromancer you know as Sauron defeated most of the others vying
for Melkor’s favors. He killed the Witch King Angmar, but he was forced into
hiding before he could finish his attack on Carn Dûm. The dark elf was struck
down by the hand of one of his slaves nearly four thousand years ago.”
“You spoke of others.” Legolas stated, satisfied that this elleth (elf maiden)
and her people knew nothing of the whereabouts of his father. “When do you
expect to see them?”
“They were only a day behind us, two at the most.” Thaddeus answered the
question for her. “They should have reached us by now.” He added, concern and
worry etching itself in his face.
“We will ride toward Fornost to see if they have run into trouble.” Legolas
told her as he took her hands, squeezing them gently. “They should not be too
far out.”
“Shh.” Thaddeus quieted her before she could speak as the prince turned and
strode purposefully away from them. “The taller elf is already suspicious.” He
whispered as he hugged her closer to him.
“What are you doing?!” Aldalómë demanded as he followed the prince back toward
the troop of elven soldiers. “My orders are to bring you back to the palace at
once.”
“If I am not mistaken Chief March Warden, as the Regent in the absence of my
father, it is I who will give the orders.” Legolas stated as he continued his
purposeful stride toward the troop.
“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) Aldalómë stated as he quickened his pace. “You are not
yourself, you are thinking with your heart...”
“Yes I am angry!” Legolas hissed as he stopped in his tracks to face him. “I
would think you of all people would understand! He is not only your king, he is
your oldest friend.”
“And I know that he would want me to protect his only son.” Aldalómë stated as
they stood there glaring at each other.
“Then you can do so by coming with me because unless it is your intention to
forcibly return me to my fathers’ halls, we will depart shortly for Fornost.”
Legolas stated as calmly as he could muster against the anger that twisted in
his gut.
“Perhaps it’s best if he can see for himself.” Eluandúnië said quietly,
clasping Aldalómës’ shoulder as he approached him. “I cannot say that you or I
would not do the same in his position.”
“I am not so certain I want to believe them.” Aldalómë said as he cast a glance
back toward the man and the woman he recognized to be a half-elf. “If there is
no danger in Fornost, why do so many flee?” He asked, turning back to the other
March Warden.
“I guess we will find out.” Eluandúnië sighed heavily. “Either way, the men
still look to us for guidance.”
“We have been given no choice.” Aldalómë sighed as he turned away from him, his
expression unreadable as his gaze raked over Ivósaar and Träëliôrn who stood
nearby.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“We all knew something like this could happen.” Galion said quietly, turning
his gaze from the hearth to look at the concerned face of the Lord of Imladris.
“While he does everything he can to avoid war, Thranduil has always prided
himself in being a warrior king who does not send his men to their deaths but
is willing to fight alongside them.”
“What does your heart tell you?” Elrond asked as he rose to his feet the fetch
the teapot.
“He and I have been lovers since before our time in Lórinand.” Galion smiled
softly, although it did not dim the sadness in his eyes as he held out his cup
to him. “But we are not bonded.”
“Still, you know Thranduil better than anyone.” He said, filling both of their
cups. “What does your heart tell you?” He asked as he turned away from him to
sit back down in the chair opposite him.
“My heart.” Galion said, his tone was almost a chuckle if it had not been so
empty as he turned his gaze back to the flames.
Elrond watched him silently as he sipped his tea. He too had been reminiscing
of Lórinand and his first meeting with Thranduil. He was only a young prince at
the time, experiencing the world beyond the Woodland Realm and his overbearing
father for the first time. It was there, during his two years of exile that
Thranduil had found himself, much to the chagrin of his father.
“My heart is blinded as it is still filled with hope and the desire to believe
he will return to us, to me.” Galion said thoughtfully.
“I think we all share your feelings.” Elrond sighed heavily, still refusing to
believe that his friend was no longer with them.
“I have never been able to form a bond with Legolas.” Galion commented, his
brow furrowing deeply as he turned back toward Elrond. “It seems the harder I
try to get close to him, the more he pushes me away.”
“Have you considered the fact that he might be jealous of you?” Elrond asked,
choosing this moment to find out the truth.
“Jealous maybe, blame yes.” Galion laughed as he rolled his eyes. “Although I
have nothing to do with Thranduils’ decision to rebuff the child’s advances.”
“So there is no intimate relationship between them?” Elrond asked, arching a
brow as a smile curled his lips.
“Oh heavens no.” Galion stated, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “Not for the
lack of trying. The child has done everything he can think of to attract his
attention in that way. And yes, for a time Thranduil struggled with it but
could not bring himself to agree. Why do you ask?”
“When I first arrived I found him in his fathers’ bed chamber in a rather
compromising position.” Elrond stated, meeting Galions’ gaze evenly. “In his
drunken delirium he thought I was his father. I must admit.” He paused for a
moment to clear his throat as he felt a slight blush creep up from beneath the
collar of his robes. “It has been a long time since I was kissed with such
passion.”
“Oh dear.” Galion sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping visibly. “This is not
good.” He added as a deep frown formed once more across his brow. “The child is
struggling as was Thranduil all those years ago. He has not yet found his place
and desires so much to be like his father.”
“And you see this as a bad thing?” Elrond asked curiously. “I personally rather
prefer that he be more like his father than his grandfather as I see both in
him.”
“Eru (God) forbid that he take after that monster!” Galion exclaimed angrily,
shifting uncomfortably in the chair.
“However.” He continued as he got hold of himself. “I believe Thranduil may
have agreed if he thought it was mere curiosity and a onetime encounter would
suffice to satisfy him.” Galion said, his gaze turning inward as if he were
remembering something from the past. “His greatest concern is that it would
create an unnatural bond between them.”
“He is right.” Elrond sighed, staring down into his teacup.
Chapter End Notes
     Aman - The name used by the elves to refer to the Undying Lands
     Thanks so much for reading!!
     This story has been both fun to write but there is so much more to
     tell! This part of the story is winding down and should be concluded
     within the next two chapters.
     As always, comments are welcome!
***** Homeward Bound *****
Chapter Summary
     As Cerályië struggles to regain his strength, Edicûve worries that
     something has gone wrong. Threatened with bodily force, Legolas
     reluctantly agrees to return to his father’s halls yet he must deal
     with his own demons from the past.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“I do not like this.” Aldalómë said quietly as he reached the stone outcropping
where Legolas waited for the scouting party to return. The uncomfortable
feeling only intensified his already growing frustration at the young prince.
“I am not going back, not yet.” Legolas stated, glancing briefly at the Chief
March Warden before turning his gaze back toward the approaching rider. “For
now, the least I can do is see to the safety of these people. It is what my
father would have me do.”
“The scouts are returning.” Träëliôrn stated as he reined his mount to a halt
near the Prince and the Chief March Warden. “It looks like a group about half
the size of what we found in the cave.” He added, glancing between the two of
them. “There is only one wagon. It appears to be only men on horseback, no
women or children.”
“How long before they arrive?” Aldalómë asked, still watching the western
horizon for any sign of them.
“They look to be about forty miles out.” Träëliôrn replied, looking at the
Prince. “Pulling a wagon, I would say before nightfall.”
“Träëliôrn, come with me.” Aldalómë stated as he turned away from them,
striding purposefully toward their makeshift camp. “Find Ivósaar and bring him
here.” He added, glancing back over his shoulder at the forest patrol captain.
“Eluandúnië.” Aldalómë said quietly as he reached the other March Warden. “I am
sending Träëliôrn and Ivósaar with you and your troops to act as an escort to
the others. I will take the Prince and the rest back to caves. Meet us at
Hoarwell Pass and we will decide what to do then.”
“Good idea.” Eluandúnië chuckled, glancing back over Aldalómë’s shoulder at the
prince. “I do not care for sitting out here in the open like this.” He said as
he turned away from him, his gaze searching the faces of his troops for
lieutenant Côrnäith.
Sighing heavily, Aldalómë nodded as he scanned the landscape around them. It
was a desolate place with a dark sense of foreboding in the shadows of Carn Dûm
and Mount Gundabad. The plains of Arnor were unknown to the elves of the
Woodland Realm as few traveled beyond the Misty Mountains. He wondered at the
words of the half-elf in the caves, he could not shake the feeling there was
still much she had left unsaid. Elves and men played no part in the Mage Wars
of the early part of the First Age. It was a battle fought between the Valar
and those Maia who had been corrupted by Melkor. Sauron, known then as Annatar
had been the mightiest of those corrupted and he was sure it was his evil
presence now felt in Dol Guldur and Mordor.
“Prince Legolas.” Aldalómë said quietly as he approached him. “I would have a
word with you.”
“What is it Aldalómë?” Legolas asked, a slight frown furrowing his brow as
climbed down from his perch.
“You are right.” The Chief March Warden said quietly once they were alone. “I
cannot know how you feel. Yet I have a duty to remind you that you are the only
heir, the last in the line of the throne for which your father has sacrificed
so much. Would you have those sacrifices be for nothing? It may not be to your
liking but you have no right...”
“I have every right!” Legolas exclaimed angrily, his pale gray blue eyes
darkening as if a great storm brewed within him. “He is my father! He is all I
have and I want him back!”
“We will continue to search for him but not with you.” Aldalómë told him, his
gaze hardening as he stared back at the young Prince. “I have been one of your
fathers’ closest friends since the great journey east. On the day you were
born, I vowed to him that if anything should happen to him, I would protect you
with my life if necessary. We will see to the safety of these people. I have
sent Eluandúnië out to escort the others to Hoarwell Pass. But you will return
to the caves with me now.”
“Enough!” He exclaimed as the prince opened his mouth to speak. “You will
follow my orders willingly lest I change my mind and we return your fathers’
halls without delay. If I must bind you to the damned saddle I will do so!” He
stated as he leaned toward him threateningly.
“You would not dare!” Legolas hissed, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the
Chief March Warden.
“I will gladly face my fathers’ reprimand for mistreating you, but I will not
be held to account for returning with the body of a dead prince.” Aldalómë
stated, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “Now, I have humored you long
enough. Prepare to leave this place.” He stated as he turned away from him,
striding toward Eluandúnië and the mounted troops behind him.
“Keep your eyes on the mountains to the north.” Aldalómë said quietly as he
grasped the halter of Eluandúnië’s mount to stay him. “I sense there is truth
to the half-elf’s words, but I do not think she has told us everything. I have
felt a shift in the balance of things.” He told him then stepped back as
Eluandúnië raised his hand, giving the signal to move out.
“Gráthgör!” Aldalómë called out for his lieutenant as he glanced briefly back
toward the young prince. “Get the men ready, we are returning to the caves.” He
said quietly as the lieutenant sprinted quickly up to him.
Frozen in place, Legolas watched as the men broke camp and quickly rounded up
their mounts to leave. Rage built within him, feeling torn between his need to
continue the search for his father and the uncertainty of whether Aldalómë
would carry out his threat to bind him to his mount did not sit well with him.
In the back of his mind, the part of him that he had shut out, he knew the
Chief March Warden was right. Yet there was that larger part of him that wanted
and needed his Adar (Father), he was all he had of a family and his absence
hurt beyond words. They had found nothing of him, there was nothing to tell him
what happened to him, leaving him feeling empty and lost.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“We could move a lot faster without that second wagon.” Odhrán sighed heavily
as they made camp just south of Amon Sol in the foothills of Weather Hills.
“There’s still a good weeks travel before we reach the bridge at Thorbad.”
Taráthiël stated as he tied the horses to the back of the main wagon. “Less for
the horses to carry right now. We will burn them both once we get through the
Hollin Pass, the smoke will attract the attention of the people of Drimmill
Dale. Cerá cannot use magic so close to Dol Guldur.”
“There is still a chance the necromancer will sense his presence.” Daedalus
said quietly as he added a few small branches to the fire beneath the small
cookpot.
“I have selfishly endangered everyone.” Cerályië whispered, his body still
weakened from the exertion that morning. “I have been such a fool.”
“No Cerá.” Edicûve said quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around him as he
sank down onto the cot beside him. “You did what you had to do, you saved his
life. Lochinvar would never have made it to Harad, Thranduil is too well known.
If you had not taken him, he would have tortured him to death to hide what he
had done.”
“Still, they are worried.” Cerályië sighed as he turned his attention away from
the conversation just beyond the wagon. “I do not blame them.” He added,
leaning heavily against him.
“I want to stay on the East-West Road until we reach the Trallshaws.” He
continued after a long silence between them. “I prefer to camp under the cover
of a forest right now rather than out in the open.”
“Crossing the Bruinen at the Ford will bring us close to Imladris.” Edicûve
said quietly. “It is at least a hundred miles from there to the Hollin Pass.”
“I need to rest mellon nîn (my friend).” Cerályië said quietly, his gaze
turning toward the still sleeping form of Thranduil on the other cot. “Soon he
will awaken and I am still too weak to deal with him.”
“Lay down.” Edicûve told him as he rose to his feet, guiding him down onto the
cot. “I will bring you the broth when it is ready.” He added quietly as he
leaned down, daring to kiss his lips softly.
“Goheno nin.” (Forgive me) Cerályië whispered as he returned the kiss.
“There is nothing to forgive.” He told him as he ran his fingers lightly across
his face, tucking the stray tresses behind his ear. “Try to rest. I will inform
the others of your wishes.”
Touching his cheek gently, Edicûve collected himself and quickly stepped out of
the covered wagon. Closing the door behind him, his gaze found Taráthiël with
the horses at the back side of it.
“There is a change in plans.” He stated quietly as he approached him. “We are
to stay on this road until we reach the woods of Trallshaws.”
“Why? We need to avoid others. The planned route to Thorbad is far less
traveled.” Taráthiël stated, patting the broad neck of his mount before turning
away from them.
“Cerá is still too weak.” He said quietly as he guided him farther away from
the group. “We need to reach the cover of the forest where he can rest fully
before we go any farther.”
“What about Thranduil?” Taráthiël asked, concern etching his face visibly as he
looked back at the wagon.
“He still sleeps for now but we must leave soon.” Edicûve sighed heavily,
staring off toward the east. “I fear Cerá may have reached too deeply and spent
too much of himself. He was not this weakened after we escaped Carn Dûm.”
“He warned us.” Taráthiël said quietly, studying his friend. “You have to do
it.” He told him, clasping his shoulder reassuringly.
Nodding Edicûve moved away from him toward the small fire where Daedalus had
been cooking the stew for their meal. He knew Cerályië would be angry with him
but Taráthiël was right, they needed him to be at his full strength before they
reached the Hollin Pass. Môrrosseth had assured him that she had used it on him
before with no ill effects. Collecting one of the mugs nearby, he filled it
with the broth from the small cookpot, stepping away from the group before
adding the liquid the healer had made for him. Opening the door to the covered
wagon, he hoped Cerályiës’ dislike for the taste of meat would disguise it.
Struggling against the weight of the darkness that wrapped around him like a
heavy winter cloak, Thranduil became aware of the stillness around him. There
was a presence in the darkness, letting him know he was not alone. It felt
distant yet somehow familiar as it wrapped him with a sense of comfort in the
silent void. Fleeting glimpses of a deep blue velvety night sky filled with
bright starlight flickered through his thoughts, feeling more like memories of
a time or a place that he could not recall. Reaching toward it he felt fear
grip him as it retreated from him, then he felt it brush by him, surrounding
him, caressing his skin like a warm summer breeze, filling him with a sense of
peacefulness. Weary, his struggles seemed to fade, a heaviness settled over him
as he was pulled back into a warm embrace like a child being cradled
protectively in its mothers arms.
The wooded area known as the Trallshaws Forest was little more than the fifty
mile long narrow strip woods that grew on the northern side of the East-West
Road. There were no villages, only a small inn at the edge of the wood on the
western side of the Bruinen River, the last stop for food or a nights rest for
those headed through the High Pass in the Misty Mountains.
Cerályië stared at the glowing embers beneath the small cookpot, wrinkling his
nose at the smell of the meat roasting on the spit. The only consolation was
that it was rabbit, far more palatable to him than the darker meat of a deer.
He was still more than a little irritated at Edicûve for whatever was added to
the broth he had given him. Yet, the deeper sleep had allowed his body to
recuperate much of his lost strength. The dried fruits and nuts had sustained
him thus far but he knew he needed more if he was to regain his former
strength. Closing his eyes he listened to the forest around him, hearing
nothing but the soft buzz of insects and the subtle movements of smaller
nocturnal creatures. The gentle breeze moving through the trees felt
comfortable, not chilled as it had been yet the warmth felt earlier had faded
with the setting of the sun.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
“You should get some sleep young prince.” Eluandúnië said quietly as he lowered
his tall frame onto the ground beside him. “You will need all of your senses
once we enter the forest.”
“Nobody understands.” Legolas stated, his tone was dry and emotionless as he
stared off into the darkness of the night.
“Perhaps it feels like that.” Eluandúnië sighed, his long slender fingers
absently toying with the trampled grass in front of him. “You need to remember,
you are not the only one to have lost their family. Many were left orphans
after the Battle of the Last Alliance, including your father.”
“It’s just that it hurts so much.” Legolas said quietly, his voice cracking
with his pain. “I have nothing but questions. Perhaps if...” He cut himself
off, afraid that actually saying the words would make them true.
“Even if there was a grave to mark the memory, it would not lessen your pain.”
He told him, turning to meet the sad gaze of the young prince. “Like your
grandfather, my father fell at the Battle of Dagorlad.” He said quietly,
dropping his gaze back to the dry grass in his fingers.
“I cannot bury my feelings so easily.” Legolas said, watching Aldalómë in the
distance as he moved among the men.
“You think it is easy for him?” Eluandúnië asked, leaning back as if to get a
better view of the young prince, his brows rising high on his forehead. “He
blames himself for failing to protect him and he is still very much in love
with your Adar (Father).”
“What do you mean still?” Legolas asked, a deep frown creasing his brow as he
continued to stare at the Chief March Warden.
“Aldalómë blames himself for much of the sadness your father has been forced to
endure.” He said, his shoulders slumping slightly as he too watched the tall
golden haired elf move about amongst the troops.
“They have much history together.” He continued, feeling the young prince’s
gaze boring into him. “They were lovers once when they were very young, barely
five hundred years old. The king sought to separate them as he did not approve.
Your father was exiled to Lórinand and forced into a marriage neither he nor
your mother wanted. For his part, Aldalómë was promoted but was sent to Emyn-
nu-Orod (Mirkwood Mountains), only permitted to return once Thranduil’s
betrothal was announced.”
“I knew the marriage between my parents was arranged and that my father was not
happy about it.” Legolas sighed, his gaze turning inward as he thought about
his father and Aldalómë as lovers. It was strange to him that his father only
chose ellyn’s (male elf) as lovers after his mother had abandoned them.
“You have been the light of his life and his greatest joy.” Eluandúnië stated,
finally turning to meet his guarded stare.
“At least I am proof that he is capable of being with an elleth (elf maiden).”
Legolas said softly, almost hesitantly, frowning inwardly as Eluandúnië only
chuckled, realizing he sensed that he was fishing for more information about
that part of his father’s life.
“Your father has not lacked for companionship from either since the Queen chose
to depart these lands.” He said quietly, the lilt of humor still clear in his
tone.
“I have asked him why he never married again.” Legolas stated as he looked away
from him into the distance, not seeing anything but the image of his father in
his thoughts.
“There is no real answer to what you seek Legolas.” Eluandúnië told him as he
reached over, clasping his shoulder. “You must find the way to yourself on your
own, only you know how you feel inside. But I will tell you this, your father
believes in his heart that marriage is to be bound only by true love.”
“Riddles!” Legolas exclaimed silently as he watched the March Warden rise to
his feet and stride off toward the main part of the camp.
Closing his eyes, Legolas tried to shut out the images that crept unbidden into
his mind, stolen memories of things he should not have seen on those nights he
silently snuck into his fathers’ bed chamber. Remembering how horrified he was
at first as he watched his father in the throes of passion with his personal
servant Galion, yet he was fascinated, even aroused by it. It was that
excitement that pulled him back through that long forgotten secret passage from
the nursery in hopes of seeing them together again.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands as he gave in,
allowing the images to flow freely through his mind. The ache in his groin grew
painful as he imagined his beautiful father laying there spread beneath the
Chief March Warden as he took him. Then as always, the images faded to himself
as he looked down at his fathers’ face, his mouth open in a silent cry as he
thrust into him, filling him with his own passion.
Chapter End Notes
     Valar = Also referred to as the “Powers of Arda.” They were spirits
     who shaped and ruled Arda (World) they lived in Aman (the Undying
     Lands).
     Maia = Those ‘spirits’ that helped in the shaping of the world, some
     descended to Arda and took the form of man (Gandalf) as wizards.
     As always, thank you so much for reading! Sometimes chapters are a
     little boring but they help to build onto the history in the story as
     well as the backstory on some of the characters. Which is kind of
     important in my stories since there are far more of my own characters
     than canon. I am hoping the next chapter will be the final one for
     this part of the story, we shall see...
***** The Release *****
Chapter Summary
     Emotions of every sort run high not only within the young Prince
     Legolas and those who knew Thranduil well as well as other the
     returning elves of the Woodland Realm in the north. The elves of
     Fornost struggle to put the past behind them as they release the
     Elvenking and set out for their new home in the forest on the shores
     of the Sea of Rhûn.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The only pass through the northern curve of the Misty Mountains safe enough for
large numbers was the Hoarwell Pass. The only remaining obstacle into the
Woodland Realm was the great Anduin River that started in the foothills of the
Ered Mithrin Mountains in the far north, cutting a path to the southernmost
regions of Gondor. As winter began to loosen its hold, the warmer days of early
spring melted the snow and ice on the lower peaks, fresh streams and waterfalls
formed down the mountainside swelling the waters of the great river to
dangerous levels.
Unreadable slate blue eyes watched the long procession of mounted soldiers from
the Woodland Realm as it moved at what felt like an agonizingly slow pace. The
late morning sun glinted off the armor of the troops as they moved through the
valley of the pass, surrounding a smaller group of men, women, and children
with their wagons filled with all that remained of their worldly possessions.
“Häëmir, get a report from the rear.” Aldalómë stated without turning his gaze
from the view before him.
The Chief March Warden was more than uncomfortable with the escort, yet he
could not in good conscious have left the travelers to find their own way
through the mountains. Many surviving orcs from the battle had fled the plains
of Erebor to the safety of vast caverns and goblin tunnels within the
mountains. Scavenging off unwary travelers, small groups had been spotted on
the higher cliffs, watching yet they were unwilling to attack such a large
armed force.
Many years they had lived in the shadow of the threat of Smaug, his defeat
should have been a joyous occasion not only for the elves of the Woodland Ream
but for the people of Lake Town and Dale. The battle on the plains of Erebor
had cost all of them dearly, beyond the devastating loss of life among the
elves, their beloved King Thranduil was still missing.
“The second group has crossed.” Gráthgör informed him as he reached the higher
ground where the Chief March Warden maintained his vigil over his troops.
“It’ll be nightfall before the last of them reach the other shore.”
“Send word with the next barge to prepare the camp.” Aldalómë said quietly as
he turned to look at his lieutenant, his gaze still unreadable. “We will not be
entering the forest at night.”
“As you wish.” Gráthgör stated with a nod as he turned and guided his mount
back toward the river and the ferrymen.
Struggling to hide his own unbidden memories, Aldalómë continued to watch the
young prince and the two forest patrol captains. It felt like a lifetime ago
that he and most of the other March Wardens had served in the forest patrol
under Thranduil as their Commander. Although much older and more experienced,
he still understood the comradery amongst them and their respect for Legolas as
their Commander. So great was his love for him, that in his heart he knew he
would have followed Thranduil to the end of world if he had asked it of him.
But the world was changing around them and he feared not only for the prince,
but for the elves and the Woodland Realm itself.
“It will not be an easy task going through the forest with such a large group.”
Eluandúnië said quietly as the Chief March Warden guided his mount down from
the small rise to join him.
“You will not be going through the forest.” Aldalómë stated, reining his mount
to a halt. “I want you to take these people and head north. It will be safer if
you follow the trail along the Grey Mountains. I will take the Prince and only
a few guards through the forest as I must return him to the palace without
delay.”
“He is still young.” Eluandúnië said softly, his gaze shifting briefly toward
the prince. “One day he will understand.” He added, meeting the guarded
expression on his friends face.
“I can only hope you are right.” He sighed heavily as he turned to watch the
three of them. “We both know Thranduil has protected him from so much. I think
perhaps overly so.”
“I believe there is more to him than you give him credit.” Eluandúnië stated,
arching a brow as he smiled at his friend. “Still, he will have you and the
rest of us to help guide him.”
“Make sure someone keeps an eye on all three of them for tonight.” Aldalómë
stated in a guarded tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned back to him.
“I will not be comfortable until he has been safely returned to where he
belongs.”
Watching as the Chief March Warden turned his mount quickly away from him,
Eluandúnië knew it was not just the return of the Prince that concerned his
friend. There were memories of his own from the distant past that haunted his
thoughts in Thranduils’ absence. It pained him greatly to see the grief he
struggled to hide from everyone else hidden deep in his eyes, knowing that it
was Aldalómë’s love for him that made it so much harder for him.
“I cannot go against Aldalómë.” Träëliôrn stated, his voice was quiet yet his
frustration and anger at the Prince was clear in his tone. “There is nothing to
be done about it now. You must return to the palace and assume your rightful
position.”
“He is right Legolas.” Ivósaar sighed even as he glared at Träëliôrn. “None of
us can know how you feel right now but your place is in the palace. The people
will look to you for guidance.”
“I do not want this!” Legolas exclaimed through clenched teeth as he hurled the
small stone he had been toying with into the darkness. “I have never wanted the
crown!”
“Then do not accept it.” Eluandúnië stated quietly but clearly as he stood just
beyond the glow of the small fire. “Leave us.” He added, glancing between the
two captains as they all turned quickly to look up at him.
“It does not sound as if I am being given much of a choice.” Legolas stated,
his gaze studying the March Warden as he lowered himself to the ground next to
him.
“There are always choices Legolas.” He said as he shifted into a more
comfortable position, folding his legs in front of him. “True, you have no
choice in who you are, but there is a choice in what you do with who you are.”
“Stop talking to me in riddles.” Legolas complained, turning his attention back
to the fire.
“You see my words as riddles only because you demand answers to questions that
you do not know how to ask.” He replied in a guarded tone so as not to anger
the young prince any further. “You must first set aside the voice in your heart
before you can hear the voice in your mind.”
“How do you expect me to do that, he is my Adar.” (Father) Legolas stated as he
reached for a small twig that jutted out from the glowing embers of the fire.
“He has always been my strength. I cannot believe he is gone.”
“Cannot or will not?” He asked quietly, studying him intently.
“Both.” Legolas replied, his tone was dry and emotionless. “My father is strong
and a great warrior. He would not have been easily taken in battle. If he had
fallen in battle there would have been something of him for us to find.”
“Ayë.” (Yes) He sighed heavily, nodding in agreement. “There are many who also
believe as you do. This is why there is still hope among the people. Even if
you do not accept the crown, you must accept the fact that even as Regent they
will look to you as the symbol of that hope.”
“I am not ready for any of this.” Legolas stated, his shoulders slumping as he
laid his head back and stared up at the stars.
“It is still too soon.” Eluandúnië said quietly as he pushed himself to his
feet. “You will deal with this in your own way, just remember you are not alone
in your pain.”
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The western face of the Misty Mountains was bathed in the reddish golden glow
of the setting sun. The ragged surface and jutting outcroppings casting longer
shadows across the mountain side, making it more difficult to watch for signs
of the orcs and goblins rumored to live deep in the ancient mines of Moria. The
entrance to the Hollin Pass was still at least five leagues ahead of the small
group moving within the foothills of the mountains.
“I do not like going through the pass at night.” Dorinäélin said quietly as he
pulled his mount closer to Taráthiël.
“We have no choice.” He replied, casting him a quick glance. “We cannot afford
being seen by the watch at Hollin Ridge.”
“The sun is setting, they will be watching the Redhorn Pass near Khazad-Dûm.”
Dorinäélin said absently as he scanned the mountain side to their left.
Falling silent once again, they continued to scan the mountain side for any
sign of orcs or goblins as they made their way south. They were in open
grasslands now and could easily be spotted by anything moving in the shadows in
the rocky cliffs above them. This was the most dangerous part of their journey
as they would have to split up once they reached the lee of Hollin Ridge, the
tallest peak in the lower part of the mountain range. They had already agreed
only two would remain with the supplies at their camp while the rest moved
through the pass with the wagons. Once everything had been set, two more would
return to the camp to wait for the other two to return once they knew the fires
had been seen.
“You alright?” Edicûve asked quietly as he turned to look at Cerályië.
“No, but I will be fine.” He replied, turning away from the mountain to look at
his friend, a slight smile curling his lips as he tried to reassure him.
“I wish there was another way.” He sighed, studying his face for a moment.
“This is the best way.” Cerályië said quietly as he turned back toward the face
of the mountain. “I will cherish the memories and be comforted with that much.”
He added almost to himself.
“The fire and the seeming...”
“Will be felt as nothing more than simple elven earth magic.” Cerályië
interrupted him, smiling slightly to take the sting out of his tone.
“I know you lied to him about his memories.” Edicûve stated, the disapproval
ringing clearly in his voice. “That is what concerns me.”
“I have no choice.” He shot back at him, narrowing his eyes. “It is a risk I
must take to protect him and myself.”
“What about you?” Edicûve asked, refusing to leave the matter rest between
them.
“I do not want to forget.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping somewhat as he
turned away from him. “The light within him has shown me that I am not lost in
this darkness. Perhaps one day it will bring me peace.”
“We will be entering the mouth of the pass shortly.” Dorinäélin stated, reining
in his mount as he approached them.
“Anything on the ridge?” Edicûve asked, turning toward him as Dorinäélin guided
his mount next to him.
“Nothing yet but Taráthiël wants to stop and wait until the sun sets. It will
be easier to spot the watcher if there is one.” He said, looking toward
Cerályië.
“Fine, as long as we do not wait long.” He reluctantly agreed, it was already
going to be a long night and wait of any length was dangerous at this point.
“It will be good to stretch our legs anyway.” Edicûve commented as they
followed Dorinäélin back toward the front, stopping at the first wagon. “It has
been too long since we have spent this much time on horseback.”
“The ridge is well beyond the watchtowers of Gondor.” Taráthiël said as they
cantered up to him. “If there is a watcher, they should be watching the
Gianduin Pass used by most of those still trading with Lórinand.” He added,
studying Cerályië’s face as he scanned the mountain side.
“We do not have time for long delays at this point.” Cerályië stated, meeting
his gaze evenly. “As it is it will take most of the night to accomplish what
needs to be done.”
“Ayë.” (Yes) Taráthiël replied in a matter of fact tone. “But it will do us no
good if we are seen too soon. The only blind spot from the ridge is directly
below them at the base of the mountain on the other side of the pass.”
“You are right, of course.” Cerályië sighed as he forced himself to relax in
the saddle.
“He is not handling this very well.” Taráthiël said quietly as they watched
Cerályië turn his mount away from them back toward the covered wagon where
Thranduil still lay in the spell induced slumber.
“I have tried talking to him but it is no use.” Edicûve sighed heavily as they
watched him rein in his mount beside the covered wagon. “How would you feel if
the one you had dreamed of for many years was suddenly a reality?”
“You know him better than most.” Taráthiël commented, turning his attention
back to Edicûve. “Will he go through this?”
“Ayë.” (Yes) He replied, still watching Cerályië as he disappeared in to the
covered wagon. “He knows Thranduil does not belong in our world and the last
thing he wants is trouble from the Woodland Realm.”
“He’s in love with him isn’t he?” Taráthiël stated more than asked, a deep
frown forming on his brow as he shook his head.
“Their bond runs far deeper than love I’m afraid.” He sighed, shifting
uncomfortably in the saddle as he turned to look at the captain. “Their
tormentor is one in the same. Lord Oropher sold him to the dark elf Annûmëä
when he learned that it was Cerá himself that had not only told his wife
Háleärgiliäth of what he had done to him but was planning on assisting her in
taking his son from him to keep him from doing the same to Thranduil.”
“What sort of father would sell his own son?!” Taráthiël spat angrily, a
shudder passed through his entire body at the very thought of it.
“Oropher would not have sold his son.” Edicûve stated in a tone void of
emotion, his gaze turned toward the mountain side as he gathered his thoughts.
“His interest in Cerá was fading, his attentions had already turned toward the
child. After witnessing Oropher’s sexual abuse of the child, he sought only to
protect him.”
“I pray he languish for all eternity in the Halls of Angband.” (Hell*)
Taráthiël hissed through clenched teeth.
Although he knew he would not awaken him, Cerályië crept silently into the
covered wagon as it was time to say his final goodbye to him. Lowering himself
onto the edge of the narrow cot, he felt the ache like a knife in his heart as
he smiled down at the beautiful sleeping face. Unbidden and unnoticed, hot
tears soaked his cheeks as he sat there letting his gaze roam freely over the
exquisitely chiseled features as if he sought to commit them to memory. Though
he knew it was a face that would continue to haunt his dreams as it had done
for so many centuries.
Reaching toward him hesitantly at first, he remembered Edicûves’ words that he
had lied to him about his memories and prayed the powers to be could find a way
to forgive him. With a gentle finger he slowly traced a line across the smooth
brow as he whispered the words that would take his memories into himself.
“The end has come seems, your memories I turn to dreams. From you to me them I
bind, no memory shall you find. What has come to pass, I shatter like glass. I
set you free, I keep the memory of me.” Closing his eyes as he withdrew his
touch, he sat quietly for a moment as he drew the memories into himself and
buried them deeply within his heart.
Sensing the presence once more, Thranduil relaxed slightly as he floated within
the darkness of a velvety night sky. This time he did not reach for it for fear
that it would recoil from him, leaving him alone once more. He watched the
flicker of the spray of starlight, frowning inwardly as they shimmered as if he
gazed upon them from the depths of the sea. Fear crept into his heart yet he
was quickly comforted by the now familiar warmth flow over him, holding him as
if it sought to protect him from something yet unseen. Joy filled him as he
felt the touch, so gentle yet it was the soothing sound that felt more like
thoughts that pulled at him. Slowly it moved him toward slumber then into the
all-encompassing nothingness of the darkness.
“Cerá!” Edicûve exclaimed, rushing toward him as he watched him stumble from
the wagon.
“It is done.” Cerályië stated, choking back the tears as he fell into the tight
embrace.
“Come on.” Edicûve said softy as he led him away from the others, sinking to
the ground as he pulled him closer, trying to comfort him.
“I had to do it.” Cerályië said quietly, his voice thick with overwhelming
sadness as he clung to him, burying his face in his neck. “I had to protect
him.”
“As you always have, so you always will.” Edicûve said quietly, a sad smile
touched his lips as he held him, smoothing his hair in the silence of the
coming evening.
Chapter End Notes
     Halls of Angband.” (Hell*) – These are the Halls reserved for those
     who will not be given the opportunity to return to Middle-Earth as is
     given to those who find themselves in the Halls of Mandos where they
     awaited their fate after a physical death.
     Thanks again for reading! This chapter concludes this part of the
     story. Part two will follow after I have completed the other
     published story in order to be able to concentrate on one storyline
     at a time and therefore (hopefully) publish chapters in a timelier
     manner.
End Notes
     This story is a re-write of the deleted scenes from a current story
     that is still a work in progress. While these scenes did not fit the
     story in which they originally appeared, I really liked them because
     I love Thranduil in any capacity and I actually ended up falling in
     love with my villain, Cerályië. He has such a sad backstory and is
     sort of based on one of my favorite characters from another (Non-
     Tolkien) fantasy series.
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