Title: Thranduil's Rings of Power
Summary: Thranduil decides Haldir is not good enough for his son...
Pairing: Thranduil/Haldir
Warning: slash. non-con. piercings.
Rating: Hard R leaning towards NC-17
Notes: Inspired by Elisa's Sire 4
Archive: All archivists are welcome to use this tale with proper credit, just let me know where!
Feedback: Very, very welcome!!
Disclaimers: Characters belong to Tolkien. I just bend them to my will.

Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood, sat on his throne in the large stone hall of his palace where he commonly greeted newcomers to his land. To the left of his throne stood his son, Legolas, and to the right stood two of his guard, Silinde and Saelbeth. Sometimes the greetings given in this room were given in friendship. At other times he addressed prisoners here before they were deposited in the dungeons. Today’s greeting was meant to be a friendly one, as Thranduil was welcoming a party of elves from Lothlórien. However, the moment Thranduil saw the leader of this group’s eyes come to rest on Legolas, he wondered if the dungeons would not be put to use soon enough.

“Welcome, Marchwarden,” Thranduil addressed the bold elf, drawing his gaze away from Legolas at last. The elf bowed to him in the traditional fashion as Thranduil took in his fine figure. He was dressed in the traditional greys of the border guards, though the black accents of his sleeves and leggings denoted his station. His long golden hair hung straight half-way down his broad chest and was accented with several small braids. Much of it was pulled back in the same fashion of which his son was fond. Thranduil generally let his own hair fall free in waves to his waist, held in place only by a small circlet. To celebrate the change of seasons he often wore leaves or flowers, but today he wore gold.

Today Thranduil wore all of his finery. His dark green robes were embroidered in gold that matched the circlet. They were heavy and rich, but beneath them he wore only a pair of deep brown suede leggings that clung to his muscular legs like a second skin. He knew he presented a beautiful and imposing picture. Thranduil was not unaware of his own looks. He was also not unaware of his son’s ethereal beauty and the fact that Legolas outshone him rarely bothered Thranduil. Still, the Marchwarden should have possessed more sense and better manners. Even now his gaze was returning to the prince, when the King had scarcely said two words to him.

“What news do you bring from Lady Galadriel?” Thranduil asked irritably. Haldir’s eyes snapped back to the King.

“The Lady of Light sends her greetings and her affection,” said the Marchwarden. His voice was low and melodic. Thranduil found it pleasant to his ear. “I am Haldir, and these are my brothers, Orophin and Rúmil. A shadow falls across the borders of our land which brings great concern to Lady Galadriel. I will share her words with you at length at your convenience. She also bids you make what use of us you like over the summer season, but bids you return us home at the change of leaves.”

Thranduil nodded. This arrangement did not displease him. His household could certainly support three extra warriors for one summer, and perhaps they would come in handy. Silinde could take them to clear out some of the spiders in the Southern quarter of the North wood. Their population was expanding far too rapidly. He was also eager to hear what Galadriel had to say, but Haldir was right. It should be spoken in private. Thranduil decided it would wait until after dinner.

“I am certain I will find a use for you, indeed,” Thranduil said, admiring the full lips and fine features of the Lórien elf’s face. He looked over the Marchwarden’s brothers, who were younger, taller and equally attractive. It might be amusing to take one of these elves as a bed partner over the course of the summer... but Haldir was staring at Legolas once more. Thranduil’s son fidgeted beside him and the King knew that Legolas had noticed the staring as well. “Saelbeth will show you to some chambers that you make use of while you are in my home. We will dine at eight in the banquet hall. I look forward to conversing with you then, Haldir.”

Haldir bowed again and Saelbeth stepped forward to lead the Lórien party out. Thranduil dismissed Silinde as well and turned towards his son. Legolas was his pride and joy. His mother had sailed for Valinor long ago and the prince had grown up almost entirely in his father’s care. Thranduil could be a cold and violent King, but he never had anything but kindness and patience for Legolas. He had done his utmost to raise his son well, and he felt he had succeeded. Legolas was intelligent and well-read, and he was an expert with many different weapons, the bow and sword being the least of them. He knew a far deeper kindness and compassion than Thranduil ever showed, and the King reckoned that came from his mother.

“What think you of this Marchwarden of Lórien?” Thranduil asked idly.

“I think he is the sort to push the limits. To know the rules, but only to follow them if it suits him. That was my first impression,” Legolas said softly. “I think I shall look forward to knowing him better.”

“If I permit it,” Thranduil said irritably. Legolas returned the Marchwarden’s interest. Thranduil was not at all certain he approved.

Later that evening, when all the elves of Mirkwood gathered in the banquet hall to fete the party from Lórien and the beginning of summer, Thranduil watched the attraction flare between them. It distracted him, ate at him, soured the taste of his wine. Saelbeth attempted to get his attention several times, but Thranduil simply ignored him, watching Haldir flirt shamelessly with his son.

Why did he feel so jealous? Normally he paid little mind to what lovers Legolas took, for it was seldom that his son had a bed partner at all. Did he want Haldir for himself? The Marchwarden was attractive, but so was Saelbeth. Or Silinde. Or one of the brothers. Thranduil had seen Rúmil looking at him appraisingly. He filed that thought away in his mind for later. Rúmil certainly had possibilities. Legolas’ comment about Haldir rang in Thranduil’s mind and the King determined that he would make sure that the Marchwarden knew who was in charge here and that he followed the rules whether they suited him or not.

“Come to my rooms, Haldir.”

Legolas whispered the words, but Thranduil’s hearing was sharp and the wine his son had imbibed had made his whisper quite voluminous. Thranduil rested his face against his hand as he heard Legolas give directions to his chamber. Haldir apparently agreed to join him, and Legolas stood up from the table.

“Good night, Father,” he said loudly.

Thranduil lifted his head and gave his son a bemused look. Legolas looked so excited and earnest, his blue eyes shining brightly, that it almost made him feel guilty about the plan formulating in his mind. He smiled benevolently.

“Good night, my son,” he replied just as loudly and watched Legolas saunter off.

Thranduil turned his attention to the Marchwarden. Haldir opened his mouth and Thranduil knew he was about to make his excuses for the evening. He clapped a hand on the Marchwarden’s shoulder.

“Stay and have a cup of wine with me, Haldir,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He motioned to Galion, his butler, and another flagon of wine was brought forth and poured for them both. “Tell me, what think you of Mirkwood?”

“I find it filled with great beauty,” Haldir said tactfully. “I think I shall enjoy my stay.”

“I hope that you do,” Thranduil replied softly. “Come with me. I wish to hear what news you carry from Galadriel and Celeborn in private.”

He watched Haldir closely, but the Marchwarden betrayed no hint of alarm or disappointment. If he meant to jump up and follow after Legolas, he did not show it. He merely nodded.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Thranduil stood and led Haldir out of the banquet hall. He did not look back, but assumed the Marchwarden would follow. His own bed chamber was not far away and he opened the door to escort Haldir inside. Closing it behind them, he turned hungrily to face the other elf. Haldir looked at him calmly, his emotions impossible to read.

“I desire you, Haldir of Lórien,” he said. Part of him hoped merely to get a reaction from the other elf, but part of him found the words to be true. “Surely Galadriel knew I would have you in my bed when she sent you to me.”

“She sent me only to bring news,” Haldir maintained.

“Do you find me distasteful, then?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Haldir replied smoothly. “I find myself far below your notice.”

“But not below the notice of my son,” said Thranduil.

“I meant no harm.”

“And you will cause none,” said Thranduil. “Would you lie with me? For I would have you, will you or not.”

Haldir did not reply as Thranduil stepped forward and began to remove his tunic. The King stripped off the outer garment, the skirt, and the under-shirt, leaving the Captain of the Warriors of the Galadhrim bare-chested and stripped to the waist. Haldir had a firm, muscular chest and beautifully sculpted torso. Thranduil ran an appraising hand over Haldir’s ribcage, squeezing gently then running his thumb over the Marchwarden’s pale brown nipple. Thranduil lifted his fingers so he could pinch Haldir’s nipple between them thoughtfully. It stiffened in his grasp, as did its twin, and Haldir let out a thin hiss of breath.

“Sensitive?” Thranduil teased.

“Yes,” said Haldir breathlessly.

Thranduil let go of Haldir’s nipple, then bent his tawny head to lick the raised flesh. Haldir threw his head back and gasped. Thranduil chuckled wickedly. He straightened up and began to remove his thick green robe so that he too was stripped down to his leggings. He watched the Marchwarden’s eyebrow lift when he saw Thranduil’s rings. Pierced through the flesh of each of the King’s nipples was a small hoop of gold which glittered in the dim light of the room.

“Do you like them?” he asked in a low voice.

“I have never seen such a thing on the body of an elf,” Haldir admitted. “At least not in such a sensitive spot. I admit to having noticed a hoop through the ear of your councilor, Saelbeth, though I did not ask how he came by it.”

“I like to leave my lovers with a small souvenir,” Thranduil said. “I think yours will lie close to your heart.”

A slight look of dismay came into the Marchwarden’s eyes. So the facade was cracked at last, Thranduil thought. Before Haldir could speak, Thranduil put his hands on the other elf’s cheeks and kissed him. He invaded Haldir’s mouth mercilessly, and soon enough the Marchwarden opened to him and returned the kiss with equal passion. Thranduil backed him up against the bed and leaned against him so they fell together into the soft depth of fur blankets and large pillows.

"My lord," said Haldir. "I am here to serve you as you please, of course, but I would not take home such a souvenir."

"Perhaps you would prefer something like this?" Thranduil asked. He stood up from the bed and presented Haldir with his backside. He stripped off his leggings. Lifting his heavy mass of burnished wavy hair from his shoulders, he pulled it forward to display the tattoo that encompassed most of his pale skin. It was a dragon, beautifully rendered he knew. He heard Haldir's appreciative gasp.

"You are bold, my King. I am not so bold."

Thranduil turned back around. He watched as the Marchwarden caressed him with his eyes, pleased by what he saw reflected there. So Haldir did not reserve his lust only for Legolas. This was good, and it was bad. It meant that the Marchwarden did not deserve his son's attention, if he would turn so easily in the king's favor. It also meant that Thranduil could take him without guilt, without worrying about Legolas' feelings.

Thranduil slid onto the bed beside Haldir and took the Marchwarden into his arms. He kissed Haldir viciously, eagerly. His mouth pillaged the mouth of the Lórien elf. His tongue sought quarter within the heated depths. With one practiced hand he untied Haldir's leggings and pushed them down. Haldir kissed Thranduil back with equal measure, his own hands exploring the body of the King. Thranduil knew that this was no elf used to lying beneath another. He would take some taming.

The kisses and caresses they shared grew rougher with each passing moment. Haldir was trying to match him. While Thranduil might have enjoyed an equal partner, he was not used to such things, and Haldir could not be led to think he might master the King. With his knee Thranduil pushed the Marchwarden's thighs apart and settled between them, the tip of his excitement pressing against the tight entrance to Haldir's body. Haldir writhed beneath him. He fought to maintain his calm, but he was failing. Thranduil stopped kissing him and held him still for a long moment.

"Are you worth one ring or two?" Thranduil mused, pinching each of Haldir's nipples in turn.

"I fear I am rather worth neither," Haldir said.

"I thought you were here to serve me however I pleased?" Thranduil mused.

"If… if I give myself, will you abstain from piercing me?" Haldir asked.

Thranduil chuckled. "I will have you, and you will have whatever jewelry I care to give you, and you will wear it proudly or I will consider it an insult."

He took Haldir's right hand and thrust it upwards, pinning it above the Marchwarden's head. With his other hand he slipped a cuff that was attached to the corner of the bed out from under a pillow and secured it to Haldir's wrist. Before Haldir could realize what had happened, Thranduil did the same to his left wrist. He slid off of Haldir and stood by the edge of his bed to look at his handiwork. Haldir pulled at the cuffs and stared at Thranduil with rage.

"Galadriel did not send me here to be abused!" he hissed.

"Galadriel has a ring herself, on a part of her person you are not likely ever to see. So does Celeborn, for that matter. They are very good friends of mine, and I imagine they would be insulted if I returned you to them without some small sign of my enjoyment. Now, must I secure your ankles to the bed as well, or will you behave?"

Haldir stopped fighting. He lay still, looking defeated. Thranduil reached for a small dish of oil he kept at the side of his bed for this purpose and slicked it over his length, which was already straining with his excitement. The Marchwarden glared at Thranduil and said nothing as the King positioned himself between his legs and slowly began to push himself inside the beautiful body of his captive lover.

Haldir closed his eyes and hid the pain Thranduil knew he would feel at this first joining. Thranduil kissed him tenderly, as if to make up for taking him against his will. Haldir sighed against his lips and as Thranduil began to move his hips the Marchwarden kissed him back again. Soon enough Haldir gave in to what was happening to him and Thranduil knew he felt pleasure in the coupling. Haldir struggled to hide it, but his body betrayed him, and soon he cried out the King's name. Thranduil was well pleased. He met his own release and lay panting atop the firm body of his delicious prey.

He let Haldir rest. Thranduil did not unchain the Marchwarden, nor did he take his own rest. The King of Mirkwood required very little sleep, and he used this to his advantage. He left Haldir in his bed while he went to wash in his bathing chamber and took some breakfast. It was close to dawn and in the dining hall he saw his son.

"Good morning, Legolas," Thranduil said cheerfully.

Legolas looked up at him, dark circles rimming his blue eyes that so resembled his father's. "Good morning," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Is something wrong?" Thranduil asked with concern, but he knew. He knew why Legolas was suffering.

"No," Legolas lied, looking down at his untouched breakfast plate.

Thranduil sighed inwardly, telling himself that this was for the best. Haldir was not good enough for his son. Besides, if Legolas could not admit what was troubling him, then he could not ask for what he desired. Thranduil would have denied Legolas nothing.

"Come to me, when you know what you want," Thranduil said, then he left his child in peace to return to his prisoner.

Haldir was still asleep, which suited Thranduil's purposes. From a small chest he removed two golden rings and a silver pin. He had the pin through Haldir's left nipple before the Marchwarden knew what hit him. He awakened with a yell, his blue eyes angry, thrashing on the bed. Thranduil watched as Haldir remembered that he was chained. When he stopped moving, the King slipped the gold ring through Haldir's flesh.

Haldir glared at Thranduil, radiating hatred. Thranduil looked back at him calmly. He had expected as much. That would be changed before Haldir was allowed to leave the bed chamber. The Marchwarden lay still, lifting his head slightly to watch as Thranduil pierced his other nipple. This time he did not cry out, though he gasped as the pin slid through his flesh. Thranduil poured a little wine over each wound to clean it, sucking at each freshly ringed nipple in turn. A glance downward told him that Haldir was already experiencing a newfound sensitivity.

"They will be fully healed by tomorrow," Thranduil said.

"Will you release me now?" Haldir asked in a voice that clearly fought to maintain calm.

"Not just yet," Thranduil said. "I want to watch over the healing process…and enjoy you a bit longer."

The King slid down the Marchwarden's body and took him into his mouth. Haldir moaned and bucked against him. The next twenty-four hours passed quickly. At dawn the next morning Thranduil unchained his prisoner at last. Haldir sat up and rubbed his wrists. He looked at Thranduil now with respect, and the King knew that from this day on he always would.

"Come, Haldir," he said. "Dress yourself. You must be starving. Breakfast awaits."