Elladan stepped from the bathing chamber, and looked up, startled, when he realized his twin was in the room. A flash of guilt shone from his eyes before he looked away. Striding to the armoire, the elder twin tried to make idle conversation while he carefully selected his attire and tended his hair.
Waving away his brother’s futile attempt at pointless words, Elrohir spoke. His concern was evident. “Tôr, I do not need your words, I know who, but please? For Valar’s sake! Practice discretion. Adar is getting suspicious and I am running out of excuses.”
Unable to meet his twin’s gaze, Elladan dropped to the bed. “Forgive me, ‘Roh. I did not mean for you to be dragged into this…”
Elrohir moved to the bed and sat by his brother, bumping their shoulders. “You know that where you go, I go. How could I not help? I have not seen you this happy since we last visited Lórien.”
Chuckling, Elladan finally met his brother’s gaze and only found love and acceptance there. “I expect this to turn out far better than that did.”
Returning his brother’s smile, Elrohir stood and pulled Elladan to stand with him. Even this small renewal of their bond restored him greatly. “I hope you are a better judge of character this time around,” he teased gently, well knowing the sour feelings his Lórien dalliance had left with Elladan. “We should hurry. I doubt your king will be pleased if you did not arrive before he makes his excuses.”
His smile blissful at the mere mention of his king, Elladan hugged his brother tightly before practically dragging him from their room.
Elladan sat in the Hall of Fire, his eyes continually glancing around, but purposefully avoiding Thranduil. The king soon made his apologies and left. Shortly thereafter, Elladan snuck away, hoping to avoid further questions for his twin. Elrohir watched, and worried that his brother was not cautious enough.
Elrohir was not the only one that noted Elladan’s passage. Haldir’s cold blue eyes glinted from a dim corner and he soon followed Elladan. When the Peredhel disappeared into the forest, the blond grinned maliciously. He would have no trouble finding Elladan and his lover. He was Silvan, no wood was barred to him. Once the Galadhel’s footsteps set upon the path into the dark forest, he was not as successful as he expected to be. The very trees seemed to be keeping him from his destination.
Haldir wandered, frustrated, until he heard soft moans and gasps carried aloft on the slight breeze. Stealthily, he climbed into the trees and sought his quarry. Soon he spied the pair, caught in more than an amorous embrace. His eyes widened when Thranduil slid down Elladan’s bare torso and eagerly engulfed the half-elf whose back arched into the king. Haldir angrily tried to pull his eyes away, but the pair was too compelling, locked into each other as though the very world did not exist around them.
Finally, with their shared cries of ecstasy ringing in his ears, Haldir fled. His destination clear. Elrond.
Elladan collapsed onto Thranduil, his dark hair cascading around them both. Thranduil gently stroked the still trembling muscles, soft words spilling from his lips as he placed tender kisses to his lover’s elegant ear and neck. When both hearts slowed from their frantic pace, the king nuzzled his lover’s chin, urging him to lift his head. A soft smile curled Elladan’s full lips and Thranduil could not resist them. He lifted his head and began to nibble and kiss the still bruised lips.
Thranduil rolled them to the side and tossed his cloak over their bodies as he tucked Elladan’s head under his chin. He had no words to describe the overwhelming tenderness he felt for the dark-haired elf. A completely foreign sensation had wrapped itself around the king’s heart and he was left marveling at the warmth and light Elladan brought to his world.
With a contented sigh, Thranduil relaxed into their makeshift bed of cloak-covered moss. It was no king’s chamber, but he had never felt more comfortable. Elladan looked up at his lover from heavy-lidded eyes and asked, “What are you thinking of?”
“You.” Thranduil kissed him again and again, leaving them both a bit breathless as he rolled onto his lover. “Your lips…” he placed a light touch to them, “your eyes…” two more light presses of his lips, “your neck…” longer, lingering kisses and licks, “your ears…” two quick nibbles, “your body…” the king moved down Elladan’s torso, trailing kisses and light bites until his cheek rested upon a strong thigh, “your perfect cock…” no more words were coming as the king licked and suckled the awakening shaft, “but most of all…” Thranduil smiled wickedly at Elladan’s moan of displeasure when he released his erection. He stalked slowly up Elladan’s body and seized his lips once again. “I find I cannot stop thinking of all of you, young one.”
Elladan’s eyes went dark and he pushed up against the thigh that rested between his legs. “You tease! Will you leave me needy and wanting?”
Thranduil raised himself on his arms and drank in the sight of his beautiful lover. The strength and power swathed in silken flesh enflamed him. “Never. I will take care of you.” With his own need overwhelming him, Thranduil pushed Elladan’s legs open and sheathed himself in the still relaxed channel. Their cries and moans echoed through the forest once again until they came in unison, their cries muffled by desperate, open-mouthed kisses.
When Thranduil was at last able to speak without panting, he gave his lover a soft smile. He wanted to mark his feelings and let Elladan know how much he was cared for. If they had been in his realm, he would have insisted on piercing his lover’s left nipple, but this was Imladris and that was not the custom here, nor would such a visible reminder of the Mirkwood king be tolerated by Elrond. Sighing, he shifted and felt Elladan’s hand grasp one of his wide mithril armlets.
“Elladan?” He gently nudged his sated and sleepy lover as he pulled off the left armlet. “I want you to have this… as a symbol…” The king was afraid to put words to his feelings, so he hesitated, “Of what you have come to mean to me.” From Elladan’s startled expression Thranduil feared that he had mis-spoken, so he rushed on, “It is no more than a trinket and does not do you justice, but I would see it against your skin.”
Elladan was stunned, unsure of the meaning of such a gift, and even less sure of what he meant to the king, but he had always liked the way the armlets highlighted Thranduil’s biceps, and the feeling of gripping them tightly while in the throes of passion. He nodded, shyly, and felt the cool metal slide up his arm. It was a snug fit, but the twining vines and leaves seemed to sway as though in the breeze and the silver accentuated Elladan’s lightly tanned skin.
“Beautiful.” Thranduil whispered. “It highlights the color of your skin to best advantage.” He gathered Elladan back in his arms and tucked them tightly together. “I think we should rest now. The morning will come all too soon.” He kissed Elladan’s brow and inhaled the scent of his lover mingled with spent passion. The Council would end long before Thranduil desired it to.
Elladan nodded, sleepily. He was unused to such long nights and never had he had a lover as passionate and insatiable as the king. He most definitely needed rest.
The two lovers dozed, safe in each others’ arms, hidden in the bower amongst the eldest trees.
Thranduil strode into Legolas’ bedchamber, threw open the curtains, and heartily greeted him, “Good morning, iôn!” When the only response was a muffled curse and the blankets pulled tightly over his son’s head, the king chuckled. “Over did it last night, did you? I was certain you were not going to be in any shape to spar with me this morning, so I let you sleep in.” He slapped the prince’s bum and tugged on the covers. “Up with you.”
Hearing a soft knock upon the outer door, Thranduil turned away. When he returned to the prince’s bed, he smirked mischievously and planted his feet. Holding the bedsheets with both hands, he gripped tightly and pulled with all his strength. Unfortunately, Legolas held on with a death grip and both he and the sheets were dumped unceremoniously on the floor.
Thranduil tried not to laugh but his chuckles only made the prince growl louder. “I had breakfast delivered. Have some tea and you will feel better.” He offered his hand to help Legolas stand and slung an arm around his son as he walked him to the table.
Legolas looked at his father and even though he felt horrible from too much drink and too little sleep, he smiled. He could not recall seeing his father so carefree. Not even when the prince was an elfling were Thranduil’s eyes so completely open, hiding nothing. Pushing his father away, Legolas huffed, “You smell like an orc, Adar. What have you been up to?”
“Sparring with Glorfindel. You were in no shape when I left before dawn, so I had to find a suitable partner.” His eyes twinkled. “I daresay I acquitted Mirkwood well, though Glorfindel has no equal with the sword.” He rubbed his shoulders at that. “It is a good thing I am no slouch with a bow, but even there he is formidable.”
Gaping, the prince sat marveling at his father. His bed had not been slept in, how did he have the energy?
“Break your fast, Littleleaf.” He waved toward the large platter of food and began to walk toward the bath chamber. “I will relieve you of my noisome presence so you can eat, but do not dawdle. The Council meets shortly and you could use a bath too.” He ducked as a roll sailed toward him.
Elladan’s heart was in his throat as he stood before his father’s door. He had been summoned from the dining hall and came straight away, after exchanging worried glances with Elrohir before he left breakfast. Swallowing nervously, he knocked.
A muffled, ’Enter’ came from beyond the carved wood and Elladan pushed the door open, trying to feign nonchalance that he did not feel.
Elrond’s eyes were sharp and he quickly noted his son’s nervousness, his words were measured and clipped, conveying no warmth. “Sit down, Elladan. We need to talk.” He waved to the sitting area.
It had been many long years since Elladan felt like a misbehaving elfling, but that was exactly how he felt as he sat in the offered chair before the dark hearth. Elladan swallowed once again and tried not to fidget. “What is it, Adar? The Council is almost done and has gone more smoothly than we expected.”
Elrond chose the chair across from his son and sat down, stiffly. His eyes glittered as he listened to Elladan continue as though nothing untoward was occurring. “Enough! Do you think me a fool, Elladan? I know. This business with Thranduil… it stops… now.”
Stunned speechless, Elladan gaped at his father, quite unsure what to say even if he had words. Slowly, anger kindled and caught fire, regaining the elf-warrior his tongue. “Adar! I am long past my majority. You cannot dictate who I spend time with. I will do as I please!”
Elladan stood, ready to storm out when he was grabbed by the arm and forced to sit. His father’s eyes were dark grey pools. “Aye, I can dictate… and will, if you are unable to see sense. But I think you will agree with me… if you will sit and listen.” Wide eyed at his father’s intensity, Elladan nodded. “Thranduil is not what you believe him to be. You are merely another notch on his scabbard. He will cast you aside once he has tired of you or another has caught his eye. It is his way.”
Angered that his lover was being demeaned, Elladan interrupted. “Stop this! I do not understand why you hate him so, but he is not like that! Do you not think I could tell if I was being lied to?”
“Of course you could… from any but Thranduil. He is a master at seduction. He wanted you. He always gets what he wants. He will tire of you and cast you aside.”
“Nay! You lie! Why, Adar?” Elladan was growing increasingly upset as Elrond continued to lay out each and every transgression and the numerous dalliances in Imladris and Lothlórien of the Mirkwood king.
Elrond’s own emotions and temper flared. He was no liar! “Damn it, Elladan! Do you truly believe you are special? That no other has felt the intensity of those blue eyes when they look at you? How he makes you feel as though no other exists but you? How his whispered words and soft kisses so easily make you beg?” He stopped short when he saw the expression on his son’s face.
Elladan froze. Cold realization dawned and he paled. Barely audible, he uttered, “You? And Thranduil?”
Elrond closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding. He did not want to see that look in Elladan’s eyes. It was near unbearable to think that he had said the words that put it there. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he spoke quietly, trying to soothe. “Aye. It was a long time ago, ‘Dan, but I well remember how it felt to be Thranduil’s lover. I understand.”
Blinking, Elladan stood. His head spun. He needed air. “Thank you, Adar. Forgive me for not listening.” His voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion.
“Elladan? Forgive me. I warned him away from you and Elrohir. Mayhap if I had not, he would have sought out a different conquest.” Elrond was scrabbling for any words that would help.
“You… you told him not to seek us out?” Cold certainty gave way to white hot fury. No one toyed with him, nor would ever again.
“Aye, my son. I am sorry. I did not want you hurt. I will speak to him now… if you wish it.” Elrond clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to offer physical comfort, but could sense that it would not be welcomed.
Elladan set his jaw and lifted his chin, a cold fire flaring in his grey eyes. More than his pride had been assaulted this time. He would deal with the perpetrator. “Nay, thank you, Adar. I will handle the king of Mirkwood in my own manner.” His eyes glanced to the door. He wanted… needed to escape. “May I go?”
“Aye, of course.” Elrond watched, his heart aching, as his son strode purposefully from his office. He prayed he had done the right thing. Damn you, Thranduil!
While Legolas ate, Thranduil bathed. Once done, the king stood on their balcony, enjoying the morning cacophony of Imladris – the song of birds and chirping of insects were pleasant, but he delighted in the happy calls of children and their minders, the sounds of shovel meeting earth in the garden, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestones, the clatter from the kitchens and the sounds from the training fields. Imladris was vibrant and teemed with life. His own realm lived too much in darkness for such simple joy to echo across the halls. He had forgotten how pleasant life could be when not under constant siege.
Legolas walked out on the balcony, toweling his hair dry from his own morning ablutions. “What has you so pensive, Adar?”
“It is nothing, iôn. I am just noticing the freedom from darkness that they enjoy here. It makes me ache for our people all the more and I wish to release them from the constant threat. Our children should know a full day outside, not merely stolen moments.” He sighed and shook his head, trying to dispel his melancholy. “You look better.”
“I feel better. I think I will reconsider next time Elrohir convinces me to try Dwarven brandy.” He grimaced.
“You and Elrohir?” Thranduil waggled an eyebrow at his son, the rest of the question unspoken.
“Adar!” Legolas shoved the king away. “Not everyone I speak to is a bed partner. I consider Elrohir a friend… a good friend. I like his company, and with you and Elladan otherwise occupied, we often find ourselves at loose ends so we pass the time together.” At his father’s suggestive expression the prince continued firmly, “Talking, Adar. Merely talking. We found we have much in common.”
Thranduil threw his hands up and laughed, relenting. “Very well! I just find it ironic. It would drive Elrond mad, if both his sons took up with Mirkwood royals.”
Legolas grinned and began braiding his still-damp hair. He spoke up when he remembered a delivery, “Oh, a small parcel came for you while you were showering. I placed it on the bed.” Smirking, he continued. “It had no name on it, but I suspect it is from El-la-dan.” The last was said in a sing-song manner causing Thranduil to roll his eyes at his teasing son, but he found himself hurrying to his bedchamber nonetheless.
Sitting on the bed, Thranduil eagerly opened the package but stopped, his heart thudding when his mithril armlet dropped onto the coverlet. Swallowing, he opened the letter and began to read. The words tore through him, slicing his heart to ribbons, but he could not stop reading every last line. An idea crossed his mind that it had not been Elladan that penned the letter and hope flared, but the intimacies revealed crushed that notion. His lover had cast him aside, brutally written him off.
His head fell back against the headboard, a single tear trailed down his cheek. He recognized what had occurred, but it hurt no less. His past had been revealed and used against him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath he stood, his decision made. “Legolas!” He bellowed.
The prince ran into the bedchamber and stopped. The ice cold fury radiating from the king could not be mistaken. “Adar?”
“We leave today. There is nothing to keep us here and I want away from this accursed place!” his voice was angry but laced with bitterness.
“But… but, Adar,” his mind awhirl, the prince knew that if he did not act fast there would be no changing his father’s mind. He glanced at the bed and saw a crumpled letter and one of his father’s mithril cuffs. One he had not been wearing earlier. Legolas’ eyes widened. “We cannot leave today. We need this agreement. You know that. We need the armor and weaponry.” He spoke quickly, hoping to appeal to his father’s love for their people. “It is only the formalities and actual signatures. I am certain we could have everything done in two day’s time.” He hoped that was true.
Thranduil knew that Legolas was right. To leave at this moment was worse than foolish and his own personal considerations should not outweigh his people’s needs. Ducking his head so that he could calm himself, he eventually looked up again and nodded. “Fine. We leave two days from now. You and Galion can finish off the details. Make sure everything is ready for me to sign by tomorrow evening.” With that, Thranduil strode from the room, the slam of the outer door signaling that the discussion was ended.
Floundering, Legolas hastily finished dressing and sought out Galion who would need to take his father’s position in council. Once he had explained everything to their chief advisor, the prince went to find Elrohir. He needed someone to talk to, and possibly learn what had gone wrong.
Thranduil was being avoided. He knew it and hated it, but was powerless to remedy the situation. If Elladan would not even be in the same room with him, he could not explain and try to regain the half-elf’s trust. Sighing, he dripped wax upon the letter and pressed his seal into it. He handed the small parcel to a page for delivery. He had paid well to ensure that it was delivered into Elladan’s hands and no other’s.
Standing, he took one last look around the room, certain he would not return. Shouldering his pack, he headed for the courtyard where his escort was already assembling. As he passed the double doors to the gardens, Thranduil hesitated. His feet decided for him and he walked through the forest, bolstering his memories and drinking in the solitude. When he trod upon the flattened moss of their bower, scents and memories overwhelmed him. Breathing deeply, his heart thudding, the king leaned against the wizened beech that had been their silent guardian and allowed everything to wash over him.
As he opened his eyes, no anger remained there, only muted sorrow and silent resignation. Elladan was not to blame, but there was one who was.
Shouldering his discarded pack, Thranduil patted the tree and silently offered his gratitude before striding back through the Last Homely House. By the time he arrived at the top of the steps, his guards were already mounted. Legolas was talking to a dark-haired ellon and for an instant the king thought it might be Elladan, come to see him off. That hope was quickly smashed when he turned and Thranduil knew it was Elrohir.
His eyes continued to scan the courtyard, hoping to alight upon another dark head, but Elladan was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, he moved to the landing and noted the Imladris’ dignitaries that were there to see their party off. As Elrond turned, their eyes met, and white fury overwhelmed Thranduil. He stalked to the elf-lord, his whispered words laced with venom. “I am surprised! To use your own son to take revenge upon me? I never expected you to stoop so low!”
Celebrían gasped at his open hostility and Elrond stood, speechless. Thranduil started down the stairs before turning back to the lady, “Please forgive my outburst, but if you need to know more, I suggest you ask your husband. Thank you for the courtesy of your home, my Lady. You are always a most generous hostess.”
Legolas and Elrohir both turned and witnessed the exchange. None but the three on the steps heard what was said, but their faces made the topic clear. Both elves sighed in frustration. After a mutual hug and quick assurances of continued contact, Elrohir rushed to his parents’ side as Legolas moved to the horses.
Mounting up, Thranduil surveyed the courtyard once again, hoping for a last glimpse of Elladan. As he threw his head back in frustration, a movement in a tower window caught his eye. When he locked his gaze upon the darkened window, he knew Elladan was watching. Thranduil placed his bent arm across his chest, his hand over his heart while he stared, his eyes open and unguarded, revealing his pain. Briefly he bowed his head. When he looked up again, the blue gaze was cold and emotionless as he rapidly urged his stallion away from Imladris.
Elladan stood in the dim tower, staring down at the courtyard. Elrohir called him a coward for not facing Thranduil, for hiding, but he knew he could not be near the king and stay strong in his determination. Elrohir did not understand the pull Thranduil exerted. Even from this distance, the king’s presence beckoned.
Thinking he was unobserved, Elladan moved into the window when Thranduil mounted his horse. But somehow, the king knew he was there, and Elladan felt pinned by that steady gaze, the pain and longing stealing his breath. As quickly as he revealed himself, Thranduil’s emotions were once again veiled and he was gone. The clatter of hooves and muffled shouts covered Elladan’s stifled sob as he rested his face on the cool stone window frame.
Anor moved across the valley as Elladan sat in silence in the dim room, his thoughts continually circling like vultures over, ‘what if’, ‘might have’, and, ‘should have’. The questions were not helping and his legs finally grew restless. He stood and stalked back to his rooms, the scowl on his face keeping any from approaching as he passed.
When he placed his hand upon the door, a small voice spoke up, “Excuse me, milord?”
Elladan whirled and was ready to shout down whoever had dared to disturb his dark thoughts, but the young page had obviously been waiting for him for quite some time, and the wide eyes that greeted him silenced the harsh words. “Aye. What is it?”
A trembling hand held out a small parcel, “I was to give this directly to you and no other. Please?”
“Forgive me, pen neth.” Elladan took the parcel, and offered a slight smile. “Thank you. You have done your duty. You may go.”
Relieved of his burden, the young page hurriedly raced away without a backward glance. Elladan looked down at the carefully wrapped parcel. There was no writing on the outside. Stepping into his rooms, he was glad Elrohir was elsewhere because he did not feel like talking.
Elladan tossed the parcel on his bed and moved to start a bath. He had not slept for two nights and fatigue was overcoming him. Once clean and dry, he physically felt better. As he donned loose sleep pants, his eyes drifted to the plain package on the bed. His curiosity finally won out and after sitting back against the headboard in bed, he opened it.
Inside, he found a plain brown box and a letter addressed to him. Opening the box revealed Thranduil’s mithril armlet. Elladan fingered the vines and scroll work, the touch recalled how the king’s biceps felt when they were wrapped by the cool, silvery metal. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he opened the envelope. The letter was short, written in a vibrant script.
Elladan,
Believe of me what you will, young one, but I never spoke aught but the truth to you. Aye, I did not reveal past dalliances, but I did not dream that your father’s hate for me would overrule his love for you. Forgive me for so gravely misjudging him and for the hurt I have caused you. I would do it differently if I could keep you from any and all pain.
I cannot accept the cuff back. It is yours. Please honor the memories that we made by keeping it. I pray the day will dawn when you can think of me in a better light.
Yours eternally,
Thranduil
Elladan re-read the words. Had he mis-judged Thranduil? Curling up, he held tightly to the cuff and letter. Would he ever know the truth?