Title: Secret Alliance Author: Emma Keigh E-mail: emmakeigh@ithilas.com Rating: NC-17 Characters: Elrond, Thranduil Pairings: Elrond/Thranduil Category: PWP, first time, romance Status: new, complete Date: 5 June 2004 Archive: The Library of Moria, Slashlords Archive and where posted; elsewhere please ask first Series: don’t think so Website: http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma Summary: The rulers of two Elven realms meet secretly. Disclaimer: The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anything or anyone new, however, is mine (left-overs again!). Warning: This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult male Elves. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, obrigado. Feedback will be cherished. *italics* **bold** SECRET ALLIANCE an Elrond/Thranduil story **The Misty Mountains, the Third Age.** The secret meetings began in the second millennium of the Third Age, once adequate time had passed to close the wounds left by the War of the Last Alliance. Those wounds would never heal, for far too much and too many had been lost, but after a thousand years and more the pain no longer overwhelmed either Elrond or Thranduil. Their first meeting had been to ease the tensions between their two realms, to keep the remainder of Elf-kind from splintering even more than it had already. Against the advice of all their councilors, the two leaders -- one crowned king, the other uncrowned -- met apart from either court, high in the mountains that separated their lands, sheltered in a derelict way- station. Under Gil-galad's firm rule such shelters had been built throughout Middle-earth, and maintained for the succor of all who traveled. Since the High king's death at Sauron's hand, most of them had fallen into disrepair or been destroyed completely by marauding bands of orcs or goblins. This shelter had been kept in half-way decent repair, as it stood on the route from Imladris to Lothlórien. Elrond routinely sent a party of warriors ahead to ready the way whenever his wife and children traveled to the Golden Wood, but it had been several years since the last repairs had been made, and the harsh weather high in the Misty Mountains wreaked havoc on even the best-built structures. It was late enough in the spring that the snows had melted from even the highest passes, and the mud of the long-used road dried to a hard-packed surface. The brush alongside the trail was green with new growth, and the alpine wildflowers bloomed white and yellow and blue in the bright sunshine. The Peredhel arrived first, stabled his horse, and awaited Mirkwood's king. The way-station was a single roomed cabin, little more than four walls and a roof, with a stone hearth for both heating and cooking. It was sparsely furnished with plainly-worked wooden pieces -- a bed with only a thin pad for a mattress, a sturdy table and half a dozen chairs. Pegs along one wall served as a wardrobe, and a barrel outside the doorway collected rainwater. The Elf-lord shook the dust from his outer cloak, hung it from a peg, and kindled a fire before he reprovisioned the cupboard with the emergency supplies he'd brought along -- lembas and dried meats, a flask of miruvor and healing herbs. Though the day was comfortably warm, night fell quickly this high in the mountains, bringing chill winds from the north. He drew a pot of water from the barrel and set it to boil, and had just thrown in a handful of tea leaves when he heard a horse approach from the east. *Thranduil.* By nightfall it was obvious why leaders met with throngs of advisors at their sides; there was no one to redirect the conversation if it wandered off topic, to break an awkward silence, or indeed to keep the two rulers from coming to blows at their differences. Thranduil and Elrond sat sullenly at the bare table, each with a mug of now-cold tea before him. Elrond sat stiffly upright on the edge of his seat, his back nowhere near the wooden slats of the chair's back, his booted feet firmly planted on the floor directly in front of him. Thranduil, at the opposite end of the table, leaned back in his chair, his feet in soft suede shoes propped up on the seat of a second chair. "My people cannot bear any more losses," Thranduil stated firmly. "Fully a third of our warriors perished in the last war, and their widows have faded or journeyed to the West." He lowered his feet to the floor and sat forward. "We shall never be as strong as we once were." "Our numbers are diminishing in all the Elven realms," Elrond replied calmly. "We must be all the more diligent in the fight against evil, lest the Enemy return." "I fear he already has," Thranduil confided. "A shadow is encroaching in the south. The curséd spawn of Ungoliant have multiplied until it is no longer safe to travel alone save on the main roads." "That is grave news indeed." Elrond leaned forward as well, his arms resting on the tabletop. "My scouts tell me many of the old Dwarf mines have become lairs for goblins -- and worse, for orcs." The Elf-king glared across the table. "The mountains have always been your responsibility." "I know. But our losses have been great as well. We have too few warriors to patrol the eastern slopes." "And you would risk my guards?" He stood and strode to the hearth, returning with the steaming pot of tea, refilling both mugs. Elrond dipped his head in thanks. "My people are as much at risk. More, since we patrol the wilds all the way to the borders of Lindon." He paused as Thranduil took his seat again. "We shouldn't be arguing over this. Once we agree to work together, our ministers can work out the details." "You presume much, Peredhel. I haven't decided." "You haven't decided to work with us?" he interrupted. "I haven't decided whether I can trust you." The cup fell from Elrond's hand, the tea spilling onto the floor, and he jumped to his feet. His grey eyes flashed as he glared at the Elf-king. "How dare you doubt me?" "So you *do* have emotions. I wasn't sure." Thranduil rose again and stepped to face Elrond. He grasped the Peredhel's shoulders and caught Elrond's gaze with his indigo-blue eyes. "Now I know I can trust you." For all the centuries Elrond and Thranduil had been acquainted, they had never stood this close to one another. Elrond looked for the first time into the king's blue eyes. Never before had he noticed how dark the lashes and brows were, how perfectly sculpted the cheekbones, how lush and inviting the rosy lips. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes lost their focus as Thranduil angled his face and bent his head, their lips touching in the barest hint of a kiss. "Forgive me if I presume too much," Thranduil whispered. "Long have I dreamed of you, but never before has there been opportunity." His voice was husky and low, full of desire and need. "To forgive, I would have to forget," Elrond replied, "and I don't wish to forget that." He raised his hands to Thranduil's waist and pulled the Elf- king close. Their lips met again as they molded to each other, Thranduil only a finger's breadth taller than Elrond, both of them slender in form but strongly built. Elrond opened to the first touch of Thranduil's tongue, a moan of pleasure sounding deep in his chest as his mouth was explored and possessed. Fires of heretofore unknown passions flared in Elrond's loins, and he pressed his growing arousal against Thranduil's body. He was content in his marriage to Celebrían, but there had never been passion between them, and he had been celibate for centuries. He thought he was satisfied with his life, thought himself fulfilled by work and family, but now he knew that to be delusion. The single kiss stripped away his veneer of happiness, revealing to his soul a desperate desire he hadn't felt for another since Gil- galad's death. Elrond pulled away when he felt Thranduil's fingers fumble with the fastenings of his tunic. "Is this wise?" he asked, stopping the Elf-king's hands by grasping them in his own. "Wisdom has nothing to do with this," Thranduil growled. He took a deep, gasping breath, and went on, his voice softer. "It is desire, lust if you will." He pulled a hand from Elrond's grasp and gently touched the Peredhel ‘s face. "We are alone," he reminded Elrond. "Whatever we share here will be completely secret -- from your councilors, your wife, your people." The caress on his cheek was everything Elrond needed, everything he hadn't realized he had wished for. "And from yours." Thranduil nodded. They gazed into each other's eyes, grey and indigo, for a long moment. It wasn't truly mind-speak they shared, but the aspects of arousal -- pupils dilating, nostrils flaring, the scent of musk and desire filling the air around them -- that brought them to an unspoken agreement. With their gazes fixed on each other, their fingers found fastenings and clasps, ties and laces. Hands caressed bared skin as they explored each other's bodies for the first time; they discovered each other's favorite pleasures and needs. "Tell me," Elrond pleaded as Thranduil licked and nipped at the sensitive hollow just above his collar bone. "Tell me of your dreams." The Elf-king hummed deep in his throat as he traced a line up Elrond's neck to nip a fleshy earlobe. "I have longed for us to lie together," he whispered, his breath hot in Elrond's ear, sending a shudder throughout the Peredhel's body. "To be one flesh." Thranduil's words, spoken with such honesty, moved Elrond nearly to tears. He let the dizzying sensations wash over and through him, aware of the Elf-king's hands and lips touching him, caressing him. "Yes," he sighed, and gave himself over to the moment, no longer concerned with Imladris or Mirkwood or the safety of Middle-earth. They shared but a single night in the mountain cabin, and by dawn's light they had joined not only their bodies but their fea as well, and parted with promises to meet again. *** Years pass quickly for those for whom time holds no doom. But each year, at the time of the last full moon before the summer solstice, the Lord of Imladris took leave of his family and advisors and rode into the mountains. When he returned he was invigorated, even jovial, and those closest to him, Elf-kind and Men alike, noted the light in his eyes seemed brighter than it had in an age. Their realms coexisted throughout this time, once major differences between them fading into memory. Healers from Mirkwood studied in Imladris while warriors from the valley trained with the woodland Elves whose archers were without peer. Trade flourished as it had when the High-king had reigned, among the Elves as well as the scattered settlements of Men. But the shadow of evil continued to grow in the south, and even the secret alliance of Imladris and Mirkwood could not stop it. While traveling to her childhood home, the wife of Lord Elrond was beset by orcs, her spirit so wounded she could no longer abide in Middle-earth. *** "You are distracted, my love." The lord of Imladris lay in his lover's arms, his midnight-hued hair spread across the pillow they shared. Thranduil toyed absently with a stray strand, and pressed a kiss to Elrond's brow. A gentle nod was Elrond's only response. "Tell me, and we shall share the burden." "Celebrían knows -- knew about us." The lock of dark hair slipped from Thranduil's fingers. "Though I did not tell her," Elrond went on. "When she left in the white ship, she told me she knew I would fare well, since I had found a lover who would hold my heart safe." "Wives can be strange creatures," Thranduil observed. "I suspect my wife knows as well. Not who you are, but that there is someone I meet in the mountains each year." "What shall we do?" Elrond could not see the smile that lit Thranduil's face. The Elf-king turned his head so his lips brushed the edge of Elrond's ear, and whispered. Using the crude language of the common folk, Thranduil detailed his intentions and desires, the words alone arousing them both. When the king's strong hand encircled Elrond's organ, pumping it to hardness, his narrative was stopped by a forceful, demanding kiss. Elrond pushed Thranduil to his back and swung a leg over the slender hips, straddling the Elf-king. The king was hard too, and the two erections slid against each other as the kiss deepened. Thranduil clutched at Elrond's firm rear, guiding his thrusts, grunting as he bucked beneath the Peredhel. "Take me inside you," he commanded, and Elrond rose up on his knees, then impaled himself on Thranduil's member. "Ai!" he cried out as the hot, throbbing erection pushed into him, stretching him to his limits. Elrond rode the king as though he were a wild horse who bucked and writhed beneath him, and when he reached his climax he poured his seed onto the king's belly. The spasms drove Thranduil to abandon, and he thrust even deeper into the Peredhel, filling him with his essence, shouting his devotion. The full moon rose as the sun set, and as it reached its zenith the soft light shone through the cabin's windows, playing over the bodies of the lovers, glowing silver and gold in its rays. Elrond's fingertips lightly stroked and teased the tan nipples on the broad chest, while Thranduil ran his hands gently over the smooth-skinned back under the dark hair. He wished they could stay in that cabin till the breaking of the world, far from the concerns of day-to-day life as well as the ominous shadow that covered far too much of Middle-earth. Only duty had kept him from following his first love, Gil-galad, to the Halls of Mandos, only duty had kept him at the side of a cold wife; only duty remained to keep him from taking his final journey to the Undying Lands. The bond he now shared with Thranduil anchored him, keeping the weariness from living through five millennia from driving his fea to the West. Come the dawn, however, they would rise and say their farewells. Thranduil would ride east, returning to his kingdom and his family, and he would ride west, but only as far as his valley home. His visions of the future told him how much more had to be done, how much had to be endured before his duties were fulfilled. The Elf-king and the Peredhel lay together throughout the short night, neither needing to sleep. They kissed and caressed each other lazily, and as the sky began to lighten with the dawn, Elrond was once more filled with urgent desires. He bade Thranduil to linger, and directed him to lie back, his legs spread wide. Using only his mouth, he brought the Elf-king to full arousal, then took the thick shaft deep into his throat while he teased the tight entrance with oiled fingers. He carefully prepared the opening, then slowly released the throbbing erection, his strong hands taking the place of his talented mouth. Thranduil's blue eyes were glazed and rolled upwards; his hands were fisted in the bedclothes. His chest heaved with each gasping breath. Elrond breathed heavily as well as he oiled his straining member and slowly pushed into the King's body. The hot channel gripped his organ, and it took every bit of control Elrond could muster to maintain the slow slide. Every fiber in his body told him to thrust strongly, to take Thranduil hard and fast, but he grit his teeth and held himself in check. Once the mushroom-shaped crown was past the guardian muscles, he stilled himself. A keening wail issued from the king's mouth, and he squirmed, trying to force Elrond to push deeper. The Peredhel's strong hands held the slim hips still until he could stand the tension no longer, and completed his slow penetration. Thranduil took all of his length, until the sensitive skin of Elrond's sac pressed against the King's backside. Once again the Peredhel held himself still. "By Varda," Thranduil swore. "Move!" He breath came in great gasps and again he tried to move his own body, but Elrond held his hips tightly, bruising the golden flesh. He turned his head from side to side, the long blond hair falling over his face. When he could restrain himself no longer, Elrond pulled back and thrust again, settling into a rhythm that drove the Elf-king to a shuddering climax, tumbling them both from the pinnacle of their passion. It was nearly midday before they readied themselves to return to their respective homes, realms, and duties. Neither of them wanted to leave, even their promises to return the following year unable to ease the pain they each felt at the coming separation. Even mounted on their steeds they did not wish to part, their outstretched hands still grasped, their gazes still locked on one another. Thranduil nudged his horse closer to Elrond's till they sat knee to knee, close enough to kiss one last time. "You are a part of me," the Elf-king vowed. "And you are part of me," Elrond responded. "Nothing can truly separate us." "Never," Thranduil agreed, and spurred his horse eastward. Elrond knew they had to part, that each of them had duties and obligations to fulfill. He also knew that he only felt truly alive in this rude cabin high in the mountains, in the arms of the Elf-king of Mirkwood, in their secret alliance. THE END © 2004 Emma Keigh 2,841 words