bold is used for emphasis
Chapter 19:
Ethuil, Imladris, 2818 T.A.
Saelbeth smiled broadly as he opened the door, steeling himself for the usual chaos that had reigned in his household since Sídhiel came to stay with them, but he was met with silence. “Sila?” He strode from the salon to their bedroom, where he found his wife, standing by the railing on the balcony. As he stepped out, Silamothien turned, and her radiant smile lit up his entire being. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her passionately, until both needed to breathe.
Brilliant blue eyes sparkling, Silamothien teased, “To what do I owe such devout attention, Híren?”
“I could not resist you, nor could I fail to take advantage of a moment alone. Those are so few and far between, especially lately. Just where are Mel and Sídhiel? Should they not be studying?”
Turning to look into the gardens, but never leaving Saelbeth’s strong embrace, Silamothien pointed to the edge of the garden where two figures were laughing and chasing each other, Sídhiel’s auburn hair flying behind her as she obviously won whatever game was being played when she caught Mel’s dark headed form and tackled him to the ground. Their laughter wafted to the balcony.
Saelbeth’s eyes widened in astonishment as he watched his usually timid son get up and run at full speed to tag Sídhiel before they both tripped and fell to the ground again. “That is our Mel?”
“Yes. I could not stop watching them.” Silamothien was elated and looked into her husband’s grey eyes. “She has been so good for him. I cannot fathom how she has coaxed him from his shell, but as you can see, she has done so.”
Resting his head on his wife’s shoulder, he nuzzled her ear and whispered huskily. “How long do you expect them to stay out there, melethril?”
Shivering as his words brushed past her ear, Silamothien closed her eyes and leaned into Saelbeth’s embrace, inhaling his scent of parchment and ink with that underlying fragrance that was uniquely her husband’s. “They have an assignment to find twenty different leaves, identify them, and make rubbings of them. Of course, Sídhiel has turned it into a competition to see who could identify the most. I think she will be surprised at Mel’s knowledge in this.” She chuckled. “I only bade them be home before dinner. Have you some free time?” Saelbeth nibbled her neck, causing a moan to escape from her lips.
“Some…” Unable to restrain himself, he turned Silamothien and kissed her gently, lightly running his tongue along her full, lower lip. Pulling back to gaze at his beloved, he breathed deeply, basking in her love. “It seems the Council is finished. No more meetings and Elrond has released me for three days.”
“Ah, meleth! That is wonderful!” Wasting not even a glance over her shoulder, she grabbed her husband’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom. “I have missed you so.”
“And I, you.”
Thranduil straightened his tunic and debated again if he should be here, behaving like an insecure youth with his first crush. Determined that the ellon behind this door had vexed him long enough, he knocked. As the door opened, startled light grey eyes looked into his.
“Your Highness?” Aurvellas was nonplussed, never expecting to see Thranduil at his door. Completely forgetting himself, he stood there in confusion, without saying anything further.
“May I come in?” Thranduil was greatly amused at the brown haired ellon’s reaction. His fair skin flushed and he was obviously stunned that the king was standing there. “Or would you prefer that we talk in the hallway?” The blond was not above teasing, for he delighted in watching Aurvellas’ flustered state and enjoyed staring at the stunning picture the warrior made as he stood in the doorway, wearing a flowing, loose white shirt tucked into tight, dark brown leggings. With his bare feet and unbound hair, the king was hard pressed to school his own reaction, for Aurvellas was proving to be quite the temptation.
Recovering his wits, Aurvellas hastily stepped back and motioned the king into his chambers. “Oh… uh… aye... Please, do come in.” Realizing that his quarters had not been tidied up in quite some time, he quickly moved to pick up the clothes strewn on chairs and the floor. “Make yourself comfortable, I will be but a moment.” Thranduil watched the flurry of activity with amusement, as he went to be seated in the cozy sitting area in front of the unlit hearth. Finding no clear space, he picked up maps and books; glancing at the titles, he noted with some interest the predominance of ancient strategic texts and battle analyses, but what caught his eye were two slim volumes of Silvan poetry. Interesting mixture, treatises on warfare and love poems. Aí, Aurvellas, you are hiding much under that delicious exterior.
Aurvellas was beside himself with nerves and completely aghast at his inability to be composed around the king. Since their first meeting, and every time after, he felt he became a babbling fool whenever those piercing blue eyes were trained on him. The warrior struggled in the council whenever he and the king were debating, but he had at last been able to keep from being too tongue tied, and had hoped that he finally managed to make a good impression. But now here he was, flailing in his own rooms!
Being initially quite attracted to the king, Aurvellas had gone to the Hall of Fire as often as was possible to simply observe, but he had instead been often drawn into the king’s discussions with the leaders of the other realms. Unfortunately, no matter how much the warrior enjoyed those times, the further out of reach the golden monarch seemed; the gulf in their lives was too great to span. But now here was Thranduil in his own chambers and the warrior was flitting about trying to avoid facing him. Chiding himself for his nerves, he mustered his courage and walked to the sitting area and casually stood by the hearth. He groaned inwardly when he realized that the only clear space was next to the king on the small settee, and must have been cleared off by Thranduil himself. To cover his skittishness, he lit some candles on the mantle, and then turned. “Your Majesty, would you care for some wine? I have nothing as fine as your Dorwinion, but I may have some miruvor.”
“Some miruvor would be perfect.” Thranduil leaned back into the settee and stretched his long legs out before him. He exhibited the grace and alertness of a large cat as he watched his ‘prey’ lean down to take two glasses and the Imladris’ cordial from the cabinet beneath the overflowing book shelves. After pouring the drinks, Aurvellas turned and walked toward the settee, intending to overcome his shakiness and sit next to the king. Thranduil licked his lips when the warrior’s neckline slipped open, revealing a hint of smooth flesh, as he handed the king his drink. “Hannon le, Aurvellas, but please… call me Thranduil. Tonight I wish to be nothing more than an ellon having a drink with a friend.”
Relaxing at those words, the brunette finally sat down. He sat in his usual manner, with his back to the arm and his right leg tucked up under him, while the other rested on the soft rug, which he scrunched his toes into. This position had the effect of forcing him to face Thranduil directly and caused his knee to brush against the king’s thigh. “So, Your Hi… Thranduil, to what do I owe the good fortune of your visit?” Aurvellas thrilled at the nearness of the king, but did not want to overreact to him as he had observed the king for long enough to realize he did not care for obsequious elves.
“Actually I chose to come here because all of our talks, whether in Council or the Hall of Fire, intrigued me. I always sensed that you were hiding things, keeping yourself apart for some reason. Why?” In truth, Thranduil had been strongly attracted to Aurvellas from the first time their eyes met, and their subsequent interactions only reinforced that attraction, as the warrior had not only a glorious body and lovely face, but also a sharp mind and dry wit. Sitting here so near to him was testing the king’s patience as he was not accustomed to moving slowly or even having to wait to express exactly what he desired.
Aurvellas’ emotions swirled dramatically as he struggled for the right words. The Mirkwood delegation was leaving in a few short days; could he answer honestly? The room suddenly seemed to grow warm as he felt the intense scrutiny of the king. Not daring to look into Thranduil’s face, Aurvellas tipped his head down and answered quietly, “Your High… Thranduil, I find myself attracted to you and wish to be near you, but…” Hesitating, unsure, he took a deep breath and continued, “I do not desire to be but another notch on your scabbard, merely a toy, used and then cast aside.”
The softly spoken admission rang in Thranduil’s head. The attractive warrior found him desirable, but was unwilling to be a mere diversion. Such heartfelt honesty was unusual around the king as most always spoke what they thought he wanted to hear. That this one was willing to speak up, and even more telling, willing to walk away, inspired a deep longing in the king. He wanted to know this ellon better, and right now, the sight of him, dark hair falling around his face as he looked down, caused a surge of desire and lust that would not be denied. Thranduil reached out and gently tipped Aurvellas’ face up. “Please. Look at me.” The depth of feeling reflected in those light grey eyes took the king’s breath away. He had inspired many feelings in the past, but did not recall seeing a light so pure shining just for him. Leaning across, he brushed his lips gently against soft pink ones, his tongue lightly asking for entrance.
When the king leaned in and kissed him lightly, Aurvellas was lost. In that moment he knew that he was deeply in love and readily granted the king’s request. As he opened, his mouth was plundered and he was gently pressed against the arm of the settee as Thranduil shifted and leaned against him. His head spun and he reached up to tangle his hands in the silken golden strands to steady himself.
Thranduil pulled back slightly and moved from his mouth to lick at his jaw, teasingly nipping upward until his breath whispered past Aurvellas’ ear, causing him to tremble. The king spoke huskily, “Aurvellas, you are so beautiful. I want you.”
All of Aurvellas’ earlier protestations of not wanting to be a mere dalliance flew away upon Thranduil’s breath. He could deny the king nothing and, though a small part of him feared for his heart, he answered eagerly. “Aye, take me! But…not…here…” His words were punctuated by small kisses to Thranduil’s teasing lips. “My bed…more comfortable.”
Thranduil’s heart leapt in his chest at how responsive and eager Aurvellas was. Standing, he offered a hand and helped him up. As the brunette stood, Thranduil pulled their bodies together tightly as he wrapped one arm around Aurvellas’ neck and kissed him soundly, the other reached around to caress firm back muscles.
Aurvellas moaned as their groins were pressed firmly together and his mouth was demandingly taken. He could not stop himself from lightly rocking against Thranduil’s hardness and he tangled his hands in the golden hair, momentarily stopping to undo the braids. He loved the king’s hair and couldn’t stop running his hands through the silky strands.
The pair delighted in the ravenous kisses and roaming hands, but their desire was rapidly increasing to an incendiary level and soon Thranduil had Aurvellas’ shirt off and his own tunic and boots removed. Never breaking their kiss, Aurvellas walked backwards as Thranduil gently pushed him toward the large bed, its four large posters and ornate headboard of pale, carved wood highlighted by the coverlet and pillows in pale, autumnal shades.
When Aurvellas’ legs touched the edge of the bed, he reluctantly pulled away from Thranduil’s insistent lips and sat, quickly divesting himself of his leggings. His blood was boiling and his head reeling; he had never felt so strongly before and he was unwilling to restrain himself any longer. Sinuously he wriggled up the bed until he was leaning against the headboard and lightly running his hands over his chest. His eyes never left Thranduil’s aquamarine blue ones, now many shades darker. The king was breathing heavily as he gazed at his lover. “You are overdressed, my liege…” Aurvellas voice was low and breathy with desire. He opened his arms and licked his lips. “Join me?”
Thranduil swayed from the powerful surge of desire and quickly stripped off his leggings and practically leapt into Aurvellas’ arms. His mouth latched eagerly onto his lover’s and refused to let go as his hands explored the strong physique beneath him. Aurvellas’ fair skin was flushed and heated where Thranduil’s hands touched him. Their hips thrust together and both were moaning incoherently, as hands, lips, and legs tangled into one writhing mass. The overwhelming need both were feeling continued to grow until Thranduil pulled back, gasping. “Oil?”
Aurvellas could not speak; he was insensate with desire. Trying to gain a semblance of control so that he could answer, he took a deep breath and pointed to the small table beside the bed. Understanding, Thranduil kissed him again and then moved to straddle Aurvellas as he leaned to the table. He pulled the drawer open and found a small, stoppered bottle, which he hastily picked up and laid down on the bed beside Aurvellas’ thigh. Leaning down, he kissed the brunette again, and relished the strong arms wrapping about him, pulling them tightly together, forcing his groin to press down into Aurvellas’ hardness. The friction pulled a moan from his lips and Aurvellas whimpered.
Quickly the king licked and nipped his way down the firm muscles, only stopping to nip at the sensitive crease between thigh and groin. When Aurvellas pulled back slightly, opening his legs, Thranduil slid between the strong legs and began to lick and nip at Aurvellas’ inner thigh, finally sucking firmly and marking the brunette. That pressure, the very idea, that the king was marking him caused Aurvellas to arch upwards and moan. “Take me. Please,” he begged.
Thranduil was almost overcome by the needy request, but he gained enough control to slow his attentions slightly. Aurvellas would feel only joy at his hands and would be writhing in ecstasy before the king would take him. To that end Thranduil leaned over and swallowed Aurvellas’ sizable member completely. The warm wetness was almost too much for the brunette to take and he bucked up, until the king pressed him down against the bed. Reaching for the oil, Thranduil flipped open the stopper and poured oil into his palm. He moved to press into Aurvellas’ tight flesh while continuing to suck firmly on his arousal. As his sweet spot was rapidly stroked, Aurvellas’ body tightened and he came, shouting his lover’s name. His orgasm was so intense he was left quivering and boneless. Thranduil moved up to gather the brunette in his arms and hold him. For once, he cared not for his own desires; he only wanted to see Aurvellas’ in the throes of ecstasy once again. Gently kissing the dark hair, Thranduil whispered soft, meaningless phrases hoping to calm and soothe his trembling lover.
Aurvellas was sated and floating, adrift on a warm sea, a steady heartbeat thrumming in his ear. As he was gently held and calmed, he gradually became aware of his surroundings again, especially the strong arms enclosing him. Opening his eyes, he looked up into his lover’s face. The emotion shining back at him took his breath away. “Kiss me?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.
Thranduil leaned down and gently pressed their lips together before lightly licking and nibbling Aurvellas’ full lower lip. Though the king had not obtained his release, his mood had changed, gentling from an all consuming, engulfing passion, into something sweet, and infinitely precious. “Aí, Aur nín, I could spend the rest of my days here, just kissing you. Mere kisses have never felt thusly before.”
Hoping the king felt a measure of what he himself was feeling, Aurvellas pushed Thranduil onto his back and then moved atop him. Taking the bottle, he dumped some oil into his palm, and stared down at the king as he pressed a finger into his own tight passage. Thranduil moaned at the sight of Aurvellas preparing himself. The king lifted his hands and began rubbing the slightly sweaty skin, caressing and massaging any flesh he could touch.
When Aurvellas was thoroughly stretched and quite hard again, he lifted up and impaled himself in one firm downward stroke. The speed that he was engulfed left Thranduil gasping and breathless as his arousal was tightly gripped. The sight above him was almost too magnificent for words. Aurvellas’ skin was flushed and glowing, a thin sheen of sweat covering it. His back arched and his mouth opened in silent ecstasy as he began to rock on the firm rod impaling him.
Thranduil knew he could not last long and he reached and gripped Aurvellas’ hips firmly to help him slide up and down in time with Thranduil’s own thrusts. As he felt himself close to the edge, he reached forward and stroked Aurvellas firmly. “Please… come with me!” Aurvellas screamed his release and his clenching passage tore Thranduil’s from him as well. Unable to stay upright, Aurvellas collapsed heavily on the king, who was a boneless mass, but managed to wrap his arms about the brunette before they both fell instantly asleep.
Lammaen’s eyes swept the Hall of Fire, for once wishing he was one of the guards instead of an advisor, as he jealously watched the easy camaraderie among the warriors from the three realms. Gulping down yet another glass of wine, he waved the empty glass in his prince’s direction, where Elladan and Legolas were sitting near to each other holding an animated discussion with Elrond and Glorfindel. “Even Legolas is enjoying the best hospitality this realm offers, why must I sit here, alone?”
Tegilbor glanced at his friend, before returning his eyes back to the stage where Master Gellon was performing a beautiful love song. “Why, indeed? If you would quit mooning over Master Erestor I am certain there would be an entire bevy of ellyn desirous of your company.”
As a serving maid walked by, Lammaen quickly divested her of two glasses of wine from her tray, without even glancing at the young elleth. “I simply appreciate true beauty, for there is no other that compares to him. That is not ‘mooning’; it is merely desiring to worship that comeliness with more than glances.”
“Have a care with your tongue, meldir. I hear Glorfindel is quite possessive of the darkling advisor and I am certain you would end up with far worse than a bent nose from the legendary balrog slayer.”
The first glass of wine was quickly finished, and the arrogant advisor started on yet another, as he replied in a conspiratory whisper, “Well, I have heard rumors that Erestor is no longer interested in Glorfindel, so I shall be looking him up as soon as he is strong enough for visitors. Since he is now available, we shall get along famously.”
Although Tegilbor did consider Lammaen a friend, he often found him too cocksure, and wondered if his friend might be about to get taken down a peg or two. Rolling his eyes at Lammaen’s words, the younger advisor began to stand, “You are drunk. I suggest you turn in before you allow your tongue to lead you into trouble.” Finally catching the eye of a dark haired elleth, Tegilbor smiled sweetly, and nodded. “Now, I am going to go dance. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Lammaen’s glassy eyes narrowed dangerously and he frowned. Downing the rest of his wine, he stood, swaying slightly, and straightened his robes. He was determined to enjoy his evening and that meant going to the House of Healing. Head held high, he walked unsteadily out of the hall and straight for the healing wing.
After a couple of missteps and wrong turns, Lammaen arrived at the simple door and easily strode in. His steel blue eyes took in the comfortable seating area, the many doors radiating from the entry, and the long corridor stretching from the archway at the back of the foyer. Straightening his braids, he strode down the corridor, hoping to easily find Erestor’s room.
When he opened a random door on his right, he noticed a young ellon surrounded by books, vials, and herbs. Deciding that it would be quicker to interrogate the healer than to continue to open doors, Lammaen walked into the room and spoke. “Excuse me. I would like to visit with one of your patients. Erestor is his name. Could you direct me to his room?”
Sadron was puzzled when the Mirkwood advisor walked into the room, but he was nearly overwhelmed by the strong smell of wine when the advisor began speaking. “Híren, it is too late for visitors tonight. Please come back tomorrow and I should be able to aid you.”
Lammaen was not pleased at the attempted rebuff, so he persisted. “Ah, Erestor would not want me to wait. We are good friends and I have much to tell him.” The advisor plied his diplomacy and cool demeanor upon the young ellon, quite confident that he could get the information he sought.
Sadron was instantly suspicious as Erestor had never mentioned a friend from Mirkwood. “I am deeply sorry, Milord, but we have rules for visiting hours in the House of Healing, and it is far past those designated times. I must insist that you leave and return tomorrow.” Sadron stood and began to gently push the advisor toward the door.
Frustrated that such a youngster could attempt to keep him from his goal, Lammaen pulled away and walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. He would just find Erestor himself! As he strode down the long corridor, a door at the end opened and an auburn haired child walked out. Before she closed the door, he overheard her say something about wishing Glorfindel goodnight when he returns. Lammaen decided that must be Erestor’s room. He smiled and nodded at the elfling as they passed in the hall.
Slowing his steps so that he did not arrive at Erestor’s door until the child was out of sight, he eagerly reached for the handle and walked in.
TBC
Translations:
Ethuil – late spring
Híren – my lord
melethril – my lover (female)
meleth – love
hannon le – I thank you
Aur nín – my sunlight
meldir – my friend (male)