Part Twenty-One

Elrond whistled the 'Ballad of Nimrodel' as he strolled down the corridor from Thranduil's room back towards his own. He felt wonderful. It had been incredible to have Thranduil at his command, unable to fight his whim, as much as he tried. The King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood had taken to the role of the slave rather well, Elrond thought.

It had been nearly two decades since Elrond's body had had any relief, and it had been sorely needed. He could not have asked for a better choice of method to rid himself of his frustration than this -- and it did no small part in relieving his frustration with Thranduil. He wondered if the King would be furious with him for leaving him chained to the bed, and if he would take his revenge by preventing the marriage of their children.

He was amused by the fact that Erestor had apparently taken up with the young and beautiful Silindë. This was a good match, to Elrond's mind, for many reasons. First, he did not approve of Thranduil's gratuitous use of the young elf to warm his bed. Erestor would never do such. If he wanted Silindë, he was destined to cherish him, perhaps even love him. Elrond had known Erestor for several thousand years, and never before had he put himself on the line this way for a lover. If he was willing to ask Thranduil for permission to take the elf to Imladris, it had the potential to be something serious.

Last, but hardly the least, this was one less elf to be lusting over the luscious Legolas and pining for his attention, which unfortunately it seemed the Prince was all too willing to give him. Egad, the Prince was a powder keg. He needed to be safely wed to Arwen before he exploded. And had he not just had the father, the son would have been tempting indeed even for him…

As he passed Legolas' room, Elrond heard a moan issue from within. He froze in his tracks. Had someone gotten to Legolas already? His heart stopped cold in his chest. He stood there for a moment, debating knocking on the door. He was going to kill his own sons if they had interfered where he had commanded them not to -- and Rúmil and Orophin could easily meet a similar fate.

Or was it the would-be Marchwarden, Haldir of Lothlórien?

After all, Haldir had kissed the Prince in front of the entire population of Mirkwood. Of course, Thranduil had warned him away, and Haldir had taken himself off. He would have found himself warming the King's bed by now if Elrond had not been so desperate to have the King for himself. In his lust, Elrond had not been thinking clearly when he left Legolas and Haldir together.

He knocked on the door. "Legolas?"

No answer came.

"Are you in there? I heard a noise…"

"Just a moment!" Legolas called back at last. He sounded frazzled. Elrond frowned. It seemed an eternity before the Prince opened the door.

Elrond looked Legolas over in a long glance. Yes, he had acquired all of his father's best features. Thranduil had a tender face, Legolas even more so. His wide blue eyes were slightly dilated, his full lips…were they swollen? He still had an awful mark on his throat from the twins' assault on him earlier… of course, now his father had a similar one in an unmentionable spot. He would think of Elrond every time he sat down for a few days. Legolas was more ethereal, with long, straight golden hair -- his father's was longer and hung in waves, but that was the only way in which the father perhaps outshone the son.

The thought of those golden waves tangled and soft against his own body almost made him forget what he was doing here. He had delighted in stripping the King of his gold circlet and tossing it across the room like a toy. Why had he left Thranduil so early in the night? He wondered if there was any chance at all that Erestor and Silindë would have left the King secured to his bed… awaiting Elrond's pleasure.

No, Erestor was far too sensible, and besides, surely Silindë was worth the price of Thranduil's freedom.

"Did you require something of me, Lord Elrond?" Legolas asked politely, bringing him back to the present.

"Are you alone in there?" Elrond asked sharply, remembering to give the lad a stern look. It seemed the huge blue eyes grew even larger and rounder, giving Legolas the look of a naughty elfling.

"Ah…" said Legolas.

"I heard… a moan," said Elrond.

"Oh!"

Elrond peered past the Prince into the dim room as the young elf turned as red as a ruby. His pointed ears looked as though they were about to catch on fire. Elrond did not see anyone else in the room, and Legolas' bed was made as neat as a pin. He clearly had not been rolling around in it with anyone. Suddenly the source of the Prince's embarrassment occurred to him.

"I understand," Elrond said conspiratorially. "You were… enjoying your own company?"

If possible, Legolas turned even more red. He stuttered incomprehensibly.

"It is all right, perfectly natural," Elrond assured him. "And quite a responsible way for an elf to take care of his urges before he gets married."

"Married?" Legolas squeaked.

Elrond remembered his promise to Thranduil and did not inform the Prince of his plan to wed him to Arwen. It was enough to know his virtue was safe for the time being.

"I will leave you to your pursuits, and trust me, I will not speak of it to anyone."

"Thank you," Legolas said automatically. "Good night, Lord Elrond."

"Good ni--" Before Elrond could finish, the door was closed in his face.

Shaking his head, the Lord of Imladris smiled to himself and continued back to his room. He removed his robes and lay down naked between the soft blankets. He was tired, he realized, and would sleep well this night. He thought about Thranduil, chained to his bed, panting and crying out his name, and smiled slightly. Heat flooded him at the thought. He lay there in a pleasant haze between sleep and wakefulness, dreaming about the King.

Elrond heard the door open, but in his restful state he did not identify the sound. It was only when he felt the weight pressing down on the bed beside him that he became fully aware. He focused his eyes on the big blond elf next to him.

"Thranduil."

"It was rude of you to leave me so abruptly," the Elvenking said, his voice heated and wanton.

"Come to have your revenge?" Elrond teased. "Go back to your own bed, Thranduil. I have no more use of you this night."

"No?" Thranduil slipped underneath the blankets beside him. He was unclothed as well, and Elrond could feel heat pouring from his body in waves. Thranduil's hand slipped between Elrond's legs and he groaned. "I think you do."

He was not going to let Thranduil take control. He had precious little command over the entire betrothal situation, so mastering the King between the sheets would be in his favor. He slipped a small knife with a jeweled handle out from under his pillow and pressed it against Thranduil's throat hard enough to prick him. A bead of blood rose on the white column of his flesh.

"Let go of me."

Thranduil withdrew his hand. He frowned, but there was a flash of excitement in his eyes. He liked this, Elrond, thought. He liked this, because no one else dared do it to him.

"You would not cut my throat," he said evenly.

Elrond lowered the knife just enough to run a finger over the bead of blood. He showed it to Thranduil, then licked his finger. "You do not know how far I will go."

"I do know you are not adverse to my charms. Your body told me that."

"Perhaps," Elrond said. "Very well, I shall see to our mutual gratification -- but only if you obey my every command."

"I do not care for this arrangement!"

"I think you do, Thranduil. I think you do. Now get up on your hands and knees for me…"