Title: A Game of Cat and Mouse, 1/4 Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Thranduil, Glorfindel Rating: PG-13 to start, NC-17 eventually. Beta: None, all mistakes are mine. Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Blatant excuse to write romance and smut, PWP, explicit descriptions of homoerotic acts. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: For the Library of Moria’s “International Day of Slash”, a better holiday could not exist. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Thranduil visits Imladris. Thranduil’s eyes scanned the wood; his ears listened intently to the strange sounds around him. Each forest had its own life force, its own rhythm and music that was innate. The forest of the Hidden Valley, with its tall, slender, white-barked trees of birch, and tall grasses that looked like an amber wave as the wind set the blades to swaying, sounded, smelled, and felt entirely different from his home. Greenwood was immense, thick with massive stands of cedar and spruce that formed a thick canopy overhead and allowed few of Anor’s rays to reach the ground. Below, the forest floor was sparsely populated with ferns and vines, and fox, wolves, small predatory cats, and deer, along with a myriad of small rodents and reptiles populated his home. Large birds of prey made their nests in the treetops, soaring high above the Anduin valley searching for fresh fish, and occasionally a traveler might spy a flying squirrel soaring from branch to branch overhead. His home forest was dark, dense and mysterious, and on mornings like this one a thick mist hung heavy on the ground, and one could smell pungent pine mixed with cool, fresh snow from the mountains. By contrast, the woods of Imladris were open and brightly lit, Anor’s golden rays filtered through the amber-leaved boughs, causing the light to dance upon the forest floor. He could still smell the snow, as they were close to the mountains, but he also detected the clean scent of heather and lilac, and the warm, slightly sweet aroma of waning summer grasses. He could hear the roar of the falls at the west end of the valley, and the ever present, musical flow of the Bruinen filled his ears as the water rolled It was a cool, autumn morning and Anor shown brightly overhead. The soft rustle of the slowly dying leaves and the clean scent of the river caused him to close his eyes for a moment, breathing deep the fresh, clear air. There were no evil beasts, no orcs, no spiders here, yet he remained on guard. He remembered well the trip east after the fall of Beleriand: the rolling green grasslands, the Misty Mountains, taller than any mountains he had ever crossed, though he remembered well seeing the massive peaks of the Iron Mountains from his home in Doriath. The trip down from the High Pass had been arduous the previous day, increasingly so in the slowly waning daylight. He had camped at the foot of the mountains and then began the final leg of the journey just hours before daybreak. The trails leading westward, toward the House of Elrond, were, in the beginning, nearly as treacherous as the path over the mountains, bounded on one side by sheer cliffs and on the other by a drop to the river below, but at least the worry of ambush was not present here and his stallion was sure-footed. Now that he had emerged from the canyon onto a forested plain, the trail was less hazardous. Nonetheless, Thranduil remained alert – years of hard lessons learned could not be easily forgotten. As he stroked his stallion’s neck, he caught a unique scent upon the air: it was sweet and spicy. He whispered to his stallion to halt, and then he waited for his watcher to reveal himself. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword and his keen gaze scanned the tree line. This was a bad place for conflict – there were too many places where one could be hidden, and too many places for traps to be laid. He reminded himself that he had been invited and that he was among allies, though the relationship between his father’s realm and Lord Elrond’s was tenuous at best. It was unlikely that he was riding into a trap. Brief moments felt like long hours as he waited for his watcher to reveal himself. Finally, a golden stallion stepped out from behind a thicket. The stallion’s rider was nearly a perfect match to his mount and the surrounding wood; with bright blue eyes, regal features, and wisps of golden hair that peeked out from his hooded cloak, he was dressed in muted, natural colors of pale tan and ivory, nearly blending into the wood around him. The rider held up his hand in greeting. “Mae govannen,” the elf said, his deep voice traveling the distance between them. “You must be Thranduil Oropherion. I am Glorfindel O’ Imladris. Welcome to the Hidden Valley, my liege.” Thranduil watched as the elf bowed his head and covered his heart with a gloved hand. To his surprise, his heart was beating more rapidly than normal, partly from anticipation of conflict, and partly from hearing the elf’s name – Glorfindel. He knew exactly who this elf was; he was a legend. Thranduil bowed his head in return and answered, “Mae govannen. It is a pleasure to meet you, Glorfindel.” He approached his watcher, and as he grew closer, Thranduil could not help but notice how striking this elf was. “You travel alone, my lord?” the Elda queried. “Aye, my companions turned back at the High Pass. My father can spare precious few warriors these days, and the west side of the mountains is not as dangerous as the eastern slopes. I insisted that I make the rest of the journey alone.” “You are brave to travel alone.” “I am a seasoned warrior, Glorfindel.” “That is unfortunate…” Thranduil bristled at the remark. “Not all of us have the luxury of living in a safe haven. I have been wielding a sword since I had the strength to lift it.” “Understood. My apologies if I have caused offense.” “No apologies necessary.” “Come, I shall escort you the rest of the way.” All elves are uniquely beautiful, and each has their own distinct taste as to what they find attractive. Some elves prefer female company, some male, and some, like Thranduil, are ambivalent as to the sex of the one they find attractive. He felt young, compared to Glorfindel, yet he had lived longer so far than the Elda had since his return to Middle-earth. He was also older than Elrond, though he was still a prince; but he knew well that years spent on earth had little to do with wisdom, and he respected both Glorfindel’s and Elrond’s experience. As the golden horse turned, Thranduil’s eyes scanned the elf’s back. He wore a tan cloak, which obscured the finer details of his shape, but Thranduil could see that he had a swordsman’s build, with broad shoulders; the tanned leather breeches he wore accentuated the length of his legs and their strength; and from his vantage point as they approached, he could see the warrior cut a fine form. Thranduil guessed that the Noldo was taller and broader than he was himself. It took some effort to conceal his appreciation as his horse stepped alongside Glorfindel’s, but he managed. He was eager to further admire his guide without the cloak that hid some of Glorfindel’s physical attributes. Glorfindel cast a quick, sidelong glance at the prince. He was more attractive than he had anticipated, though he knew well the potency of Oropher’s beauty. Thranduil was softer than his father, and he imagined that was the queen’s influence. Glorfindel spied a wisp of flaxen hair as it escaped the confines of one of the prince’s braids, and watched as a gloved hand tucked it back inside the hood of his cloak. He had always been fascinated by eyes, and the prince’s eyes were stunning: they were the color of the summer sky, bright, sparkling blue, with thick honey-colored lashes framing them. Thranduil’s skin was a soft shade of alabaster that shone brightly against his dark- colored garments. He was a lovely specimen, indeed, but then Glorfindel had always been partial to the Sindar. “I trust your travels were uneventful?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “For the greater part,” Thranduil answered, “though a storm was brewing as I descended the mountains.” “You will find the climate here in the Hidden Valley to be most temperate, my lord. Firith is one of the most beautiful times of the year in this land.” “Then I am fortunate to come at such a glorious time,” Thranduil answered smoothly. “Is Rhîw mild as well?” “Certainly. Snow does fall here, but the temperature is not harsh, and your quarters will be well equipped to keep you comfortable, regardless of the weather.” Thranduil nodded. “Unlike most Wood-elves, my people are accustomed to sleeping indoors. My family once lived in Menegroth.” “It must have been a remarkable place,” Glorfindel returned. “I never had the opportunity to see Thingol’s land.” “Of course not,” Thranduil answered quietly. “Forgive me, I am speaking as though you know nothing of me or my people, when in fact, you may know more than I do.” “How so, my liege?” “You have seen much more of this world than I. When we lived in Doriath, I was still young and we were not permitted to travel beyond its borders. Since we arrived in Greenwood, we have not explored the surrounding grasslands.” “You have seen Lothlórien, yes?” “Aye, but not since our arrival in the Great Wood.” “Keeping one’s home safe is difficult work, and the Elves of Greenwood have a more daunting task than many.” “I am glad to hear that you are sensitive to our plight. My father was hoping that Lord Elrond might be amiable to speaking with me about it.” “I am sure he will be, your majesty. Lord Elrond is always concerned with the safety and well-being of all Elvish nations.” They rode some distance in silence, then emerged from the forest to find lush green gardens with manicured hedges, tall fruit trees, and flowering shrubs of many kinds. The rich fragrance was almost overwhelming to Thranduil, who was accustomed to more woodsy scents. The pathway was bordered by fruit trees, and as they walked along, he reached up and plucked a ripe, red berry. He raised one eyebrow and inspected it. “Cherries, your majesty,” Glorfindel said, turning his head to conceal his bemused expression. “They are quite sweet.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Sinda’s smooth, pink lips curl around the berry, then pluck it from the stem. A smile curved Thranduil’s lips as he chewed the fruit. “Mind the pit,” Glorfindel added, then grinned as the Sinda turned his head and politely spit the small seed into the bushes that lined the path. “That was quite good,” Thranduil remarked, quickly licking the corners of his mouth. “Our chef makes several tasty delicacies with the fruit: pies, tarts, breads, even tea.” “I look forward to sampling them all,” Thranduil answered with a smile, and then he reached over his head and plucked another berry. Soon, they came to a fork in the path, and followed it around the southern wall of the Last Homely House where they arrived at a courtyard. Several smaller paths split off from the courtyard, and in the distance, Thranduil could see stables and a rough-hewn stone building with a smoking chimney. The sound of metal clanging against metal rang in the distance and Thranduil surmised that the smaller stone building must be a forge; among Imladris’ inhabitants were the Mírdain, the world-renowned metal smiths of Eregion. Several young ellon and elleth came forward offering to see the horses stabled and cared for. Thranduil removed his pack, which was taken immediately by a handsome young valet, and then he followed Glorfindel toward the Last Homely House. They climbed a short flight of stairs and arrived on a wide, sweeping porch that had a view of the westward edge of the valley. The Bruinen was quite loud here, as it ran some thousand feet below. Thranduil could see a stone bridge, which led over the river to a grassy meadow on the southern bank; from there, it looked as if the path ambled uphill and then disappeared. As they gained entrance to the Last Homely House, Thranduil was immediately struck by the size of it. To the left was a massive hall with the largest fireplace he had ever seen. The polished floor was surrounded by tall, stuffed chairs and long upholstered benches, and at the far end was the dais, which now sat empty. The room appeared to be an entertainment hall of some kind, as it was less formal than a throne room. To the right was a large feasting hall, complete with a long table and several buffets upon which food would be laid. They began to ascend a long stairway, which branched off into two directions about thirty steps up. They took the staircase to the right, and after a moderate climb, reached the guest wing. Glorfindel opened an ornately carved set of double doors, and invited Thranduil to step inside the room. Thranduil was amazed at what greeted his eyes. Thick, richly dyed and embroidered carpets covered the floor, and on the far side of the room were another set of doors, these with glass panels, that led to a private balcony overlooking the river and cliffs beyond it. A large, ornately dressed, canopied bed stood on one side, and there was an elaborately carved armoire, a dressing table with a mirror, a privacy screen, and another full-length mirror. Two overstuffed chairs, with a small table next to each, sat in front of a carved stone fireplace, and through a single door was a private bathing chamber. “I trust this will be sufficient?” Glorfindel queried. Thranduil turned, the lately concealed look of surprise soon transformed into a fresh gaze of unabashed admiration as he took in the Elda’s total visage. Glorfindel had removed his cloak, and revealed one the finest bodies Thranduil had ever seen. The tailored tunic and breeches hinted at a muscular form, and the Noldo’s hair fell around his face like a golden waterfall. He noted the smile of appreciation on Glorfindel’s face as he removed his own cloak, and then he nodded and bowed his head. “I shall leave you to bathe and dress for dinner, my liege,” Glorfindel said smoothly. “I look forward to your company this eve.” “Will Lord Elrond be in attendance?” Thranduil queried. “Nay, my prince. But he shall return to Imladris within the week. He is returning from Lindon and a visit with his majesty, Gil-galad. His return was unexpectedly delayed by heavy storms that caused flooding in the plains to the west.” “So it will be just you and I then?” Thranduil asked, fighting off the sly grin that threatened to curve his lips. “And one or two others, my lord. Unless you prefer to dine alone this eve?” “No, no,” Thranduil replied. “I look forward to meeting your kinsmen.” “Until later, your majesty.” Glorfindel bowed his head and departed. As the doors closed behind the Elda, Thranduil removed his gloves and placed his travel- worn cloak in a basket by the door for collection by the chambermaid later. His empty pack was already sitting at the foot of his bed, and he found his clothing hanging in the open armoire. He removed his quiver and the belt that held his sword, placing them both by the bed, then he slipped off his boots and socks and wiggled his toes on the thick rug. A smile curved his lips as he sighed. It had been a long, long time since he had the pleasure of so opulent a bedchamber. Walking around the room, his fingertips brushed delicate buds of roses and deep purple flowers that were tube shaped and gave off a most extraordinary scent. The bed coverings were silk and dyed in pale hues of blue and silver, the frame of the bed itself was elegantly carved of smooth beech. A sheer ivory canopy was tied back at the corners, and an ornate and detailed tapestry hung upon the wall over his bed. He closed his eyes and swallowed, then looked at the tapestry again. It was a remarkable representation of Lúthien, just as he remembered seeing her dancing through the woods when he was an elfling. “Greetings, my lady,” he whispered, as his fingertips caressed her representation. “I have so missed the sound of your voice.” He sighed then turned toward the doors that led to the veranda, and then stepped outside. The view was remarkable; he could see the gardens and the Bruinen below, and to the west, he could see the falls and a staircase that was built into the hillside to the southwest, which led to the High Moors beyond. After lingering upon the balcony for some time, he stepped inside his private bathing chamber, filled the tub with warm water, and disrobed. He bathed languidly, enjoying the fact that he did not have to be vigilant and could actually enjoy soaking in the warm water with his eyes closed. He uncorked several glass phials, smelling each one, then choosing the one that smelled like cedar. He poured the amber liquid into the warm water and smiled, then let his thoughts drift to his dinner companion for the evening. To be continued… Title: A Game of Cat and Mouse, 2/4 Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir Rating: PG-13 to start, NC-17 eventually. Beta: None, all mistakes are mine. Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Blatant excuse to write romance and smut, PWP, explicit descriptions of homoerotic acts. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: For the Library of Moria’s “International Day of Slash”. What better holiday could there be? Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Thranduil meets Elrond’s senior staff and finds himself at the center of an interesting game. Thranduil heard a knock upon his bedchamber door and answered it. He was unable to suppress the slight gasp that escaped his lips as he stepped backward, his hand unwittingly moving to his left hip, where his sword normally rested. In the doorway stood a raven-haired elf, with stormy grey eyes and pale skin. For the briefest of moments, he thought one of the Sons of Fëanor had returned to finish what they started so long ago in Doriath. The elf, clad in black, his hands clasped in front of him, furrowed his brow and softly said, “My liege, is everything all right?” “I . . . I am sorry, I thought for a moment you were someone else,” Thranduil answered. Erestor bowed his head in response. “Of course, I often encounter this reaction upon meeting those from Thingol’s realm. My name is Erestor, I am Chief Councilor to Lord Elrond, and a senior member of his staff.” “Mae govannen, Erestor. Forgive me for my display.” Erestor smiled. “Nothing to forgive, my lord. I have often been told that I resemble Fëanor; but I assure you, I am no relation, nor have I ever been involved in that conflict. I was born here in Middle-earth, in Lindon.” “You need not explain yourself, Erestor.” “I am happy to do anything that puts you at ease, my liege. I want you to feel comfortable during your stay here.” “I am sure I will. You have my appreciation for your courtesy, Erestor.” Once Thranduil recovered from the initial shock of the Noldo’s appearance, he noted that Erestor was quite attractive. The councilor’s raven hair and pale eyes gave him a dramatic appearance, which offset the understated garments he wore. Erestor smiled and held out his hand, directing Thranduil into the corridor. “I have come to escort you to dinner. Tonight, Glorfindel, myself, and Lindir will be dining with you, as the most senior members of Lord Elrond’s household.” Thranduil stepped into the hallway and followed Erestor toward a wing of the house he had yet to see. “We have a special celebration prepared for you this eve, my lord. Rather than dine in the feasting hall, we thought you might appreciate something more intimate and informal.” “Where will we be dining?” Erestor smiled. “The veranda overlooking the eastern gardens. It is a clear and temperate night, and the stars are quite beautiful this eve.” Thranduil smiled. “Sounds lovely.” He followed the Noldo down a few flights of stairs then through a large, open room, and then outside to a stone porch. The scent of jasmine filled his nostrils and he smiled again. “It is quite beautiful this evening.” Erestor nodded, then motioned to him toward a small, but elegantly dressed table. Glorfindel and a slender, fair-haired young Noldo stood beside the table with their hands clasped behind their back. Lanterns burned around them and white flowers floated upon water inside a crystal bowl. Glorfindel bowed as Thranduil arrived. “You look most handsome this evening, if I might be so bold, your majesty.” Thranduil smiled. “As do you, Glorfindel.” “This is Lindir, Chief Minstrel to Lord Elrond; he also manages the substantial library with Erestor.” Lindir bowed. “It is an honor, my lord.” Thranduil bowed his head. “Mae govannen, Lindir.” Erestor motioned toward the table. “Please, my liege, sit.” Thranduil sat at the table and was joined by his dinner companions. The first course arrived as Glorfindel poured the wine, and Lindir started the conversation by asking Thranduil all about his homeland. They lingered over dinner, making polite conversation and enjoying a hearty Imladris vintage. Thranduil found the affair somewhat curious, as each elf seemed to be sizing him up, not in an adversarial way, but in a far more solicitous fashion. It was both curious and brazen, as if they thought they had earned the right to compete for his favor. However, if there was one thing Thranduil found appealing, it was brazenness, so, he allowed the game to continue. As he observed each one, he also sized them up, not in order to decide which he would have between them, but to decide whom he would have first. Glorfindel was the most self-assured and openly flirtatious of the three; his demeanor exuded confidence, and this amused Thranduil. The Elda seemed to be quite sure he would be the victor in this little game. Erestor, on the other hand, was far more subtle, yet still predatory in his own way; Thranduil swore he could almost see gears turning in the Noldo’s mind as the councilor smiled and gazed at him. Then there was Lindir, the chief minstrel. Thranduil was not quite sure what Lindir’s approach to this game was. The Noldo seemed to be content to sit across the table and allow the other two to compete more fervently for his affection; yet Thranduil could not ignore him – those large, pale eyes, aristocratic features, and his slender form seemed to silently command his attention. The game progressed late into the evening, with flirtatious glances being cast between the prince and each of his hosts, then, as the stars waned and Anor first began to stir, Thranduil rose from the table, thanked his hosts, and departed, leaving them stunned in his wake. Glorfindel sat back heavily in his chair. “That went well,” he said sarcastically. “It is but his first night here,” Erestor argued. “We have months yet to see who is most worthy of the prince’s affection.” “I could not tell whom he preferred,” Lindir said, his fair brow furrowed. Glorfindel lifted his glass. “Perhaps he thinks the three of us buffoons.” “Or worse yet, beneath him,” Erestor grumbled. “You should have seen the look on his face when I met him at his door, it was a mix of shock and revulsion. I had hoped he would find my unusual appearance to be enticing.” Glorfindel snorted. Erestor opened his mouth to protest when Lindir interrupted him. “Well, I am most like his own kindred in appearance, and he showed me no extraordinary amount of appreciation, so apparently, we have yet to discern his taste.” “Perhaps he prefers more gentle company,” Erestor answered. “More gentle than Lindir?” Glorfindel rejoined, as Lindir grumbled in protest. “Doubtful. Nor do I think his majesty prefers females. No, I am quite sure he finds male company appealing, if the way he was watching me earlier is any indication.” Glorfindel swirled his wine in his goblet. “I am afraid that this contest is going to require diligence and patience.” Lindir rubbed his temples. “I was so hoping to have this wager settled before Lord Elrond’s return. If he finds out what we are up to…” Erestor crossed his legs. “He will not find out, because none of us is going to tell him. We will just have to be a bit more . . . subtle upon his return.” Glorfindel set his glass upon the table. “I, for one, have little patience or inclination for subtlety.” He rose from the table. “If you will excuse me…” Erestor rose. “And where do you think you are going?” Glorfindel turned and winked at the glowers he was receiving from both Lindir and Erestor. “To see that our majesty has everything he needs.” Then he disappeared inside the house. Erestor grumbled his discontent as Lindir crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. * * * * Thranduil sat at his dressing table, running a brush through his loose hair as he gazed absently at the mirror. It appeared that he was the subject of interest to three high- ranking and most handsome elves in Imladris. There was Glorfindel the legendary warrior, tall and powerfully built, and oozing sensuality; Erestor the Chief Councilor, mysterious, exotic, with a most engaging wit; and Lindir, gentle, beautiful, soft, made to be commanded. It was all that he could hope for and more, in terms of options. However, while he had no problem with friendly, casual relations, he found it most curious that all three of his dinner companions were vying for his attention. Though he had long ago realized the effect his appearance had on some, he found it difficult to believe that it had that effect on all three of them. A knock upon his chamber door caused him to chuckle and shake his head – the game was yet afoot. Setting the hairbrush down, he affected an expression of innocence and made to open the door. Glorfindel was the first to play his hand, and Thranduil had to admit, it did not disappoint him. The prince leaned casually upon the doorframe, and schooled his expression into one of coyness. “Glorfindel, what could be the occasion of such a late and unexpected visit?” Glorfindel swallowed hard when Thranduil opened the door. He had not expected the prince to be so . . . irresistible when dressed for bed. The Sinda wore a plain linen sleeping robe, open at the neck. His hair, lovely enough when braided, was most enticing when hanging loose around his elegant face. He cleared his throat and answered, “I wanted to be sure you had all you require this evening.” “I have a warm, soft, comfortable bed. What more could I need?” Thranduil blinked slowly, turning his charm up a notch. “Perhaps . . . perhaps you require…” Glorfindel clenched his jaw. He could not decide if the prince was waiting for an offer or just toying with him. “Something further…” “Like?” Glorfindel gathered his wits. “I would not deem to know your mind, my liege. You have but to ask for anything you need, or want.” Thranduil smiled and leaned forward slightly. “You are a most gracious host, Glorfindel.” He lifted his chin, knowing full well that the Elda’s gaze was fixed on his throat and the small bit of his chest that could be seen through the open neckline of his robe. “At this time,” he leaned forward a bit more, “I find I have all that I need.” Glorfindel heard the door of opportunity slam shut in his mind, and he inwardly chastised himself for being so forward. “Very well, your majesty. Please know that I am but one floor below you, should you require anything.” “Of course; it will be of comfort knowing you are beneath me.” Thranduil smiled beguilingly. “Again, my thanks, Glorfindel.” He slowly closed the door, casting his most enticing glance over his shoulder as he did so. Glorfindel grasped the doorframe as the door closed, and mockingly pounded his forehead against it. “Blast,” he grumbled, and then he looked down at his lap. “Now I must take care of this alone.” He tugged at his breeches, then made for his chambers. * * * * Thranduil walked through the gardens after the mid-afternoon meal, stopping occasionally to smell the flowering bushes and admire the birds that twittered and splashed in the marble fountain that was the centerpiece of this particular section of the garden. He heard soft humming coming from the veranda above him and he looked up. It was Lindir, who appeared to be shadowing him, though at the moment, the elf’s back was turned. He grinned broadly and climbed the stairs, pretending he had not seen the Noldo. However, when he reached the top of the stair, he was transfixed by Lindir’s voice. What had been most pleasant when quietly humming, was breathtaking as the minstrel began to sing. Thranduil felt his heart constrict, though he smiled; it was the Lay of Lúthien that the Noldo sang. He perched next to the balustrade, in a half-sitting/half- standing position and listened as the minstrel softly sang the song that brought both profound sadness and fathomless joy to his heart. As the song concluded, Lindir turned, as if he decided to walk in another direction, and their eyes met. “My lord,” Lindir said quietly, with a tone akin to reverence. “Forgive me, I was unaware…” Thranduil held up his hand. “You need not ask for forgiveness, unless my joy appears to be offence.” Lindir smiled. “I am most glad you enjoyed it, your majesty. It is one of my favorite songs to sing.” “You sing it beautifully, Lindir. So beautifully, that I could listen to you sing all the day long.” Lindir blushed and canted his head sideways. “Perhaps your majesty would like to join me for a walk through the forest?” Thranduil smiled. ‘Oh, this one is quite good,’ he thought. “Certainly, if I am not intruding.” “No, no, my lord. I would most enjoy the company.” Thranduil stood and motioned toward the wood. “Lead on, gentle Lindir.” Lindir smiled, clasping his hands behind his back as they descended the stair. Erestor furrowed his brow as he gazed through the window. “Damn,” he grumbled, and placed the tome containing the story of Olwë back on the shelf. “So Lindir will play the fawning doe to the prince’s buck? I wonder if our prince would not prefer a wolf to a doe?” A mischievous grin curved Erestor’s lips and he returned to his work. Glorfindel squinted against the afternoon sun as he watched Lindir and Thranduil walk toward the wood. He grumbled in discontent. Were it not for his duties, it would be he that led the prince toward the shaded forest. ‘Ah well,’ he thought, ‘I will make up for this later.’ Shaking his head, he continued toward the barracks. * * * * Lindir edged closer to Thranduil as they walked through the woods, chatting amiably about life in Imladris. Thranduil nearly had to bite through the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. This lovely, lithe, young Noldo was an apt flirt, but his efforts were little more than obvious. Lindir stopped and leaned against the bole of a tall tree, then smiled. “Tell me, your majesty, is there anyone among your people whom you hold dear?” “I hold them all dear, Lindir. They are my charges, my responsibility,” Thranduil answered with a slight smile. “Of course, my lord. What I meant to say was…” Thranduil placed his hands on the tree, on each side of Lindir’s head. He watched as the Noldo’s eyelids lowered a small bit and his chin rose so that their lips aligned. “Do I have a lover…” “Yes, my lord, if you forgive me for being so bold as to ask,” Lindir answered softly. “I have many lovers, Lindir. My attentions are often sought after.” “I can imagine that they are, for you are most beautiful.” “Ah, but beauty is deeper than the flesh, my friend. True beauty lies deep within and takes many years to uncover.” Lindir closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Of course, you are correct, my lord. Forgive me for being so…” “Competitive?” Thranduil finished. It pained him a little to see the frown on Lindir’s face and the way the Noldo bit his lower lip. “I have never done such a thing as this; I would not have if I had not seen how much they wanted you. I was afraid if I did nothing, I would never get the chance to…” “Enjoy me?” “No! No… to get to know you, my lord. Truly, I am not so callous as to…” Thranduil smiled and nodded. Now he was getting somewhere; now he was getting a glimpse of the Noldo’s heart. He placed two fingers on Lindir’s lips, silencing him. “Either you are a consummate actor, or the most gentle-hearted elf I have ever met,” Thranduil said quietly. He watched as Lindir’s eyes widened and began to glisten slightly with tears that threatened to well. “Time will tell, my songbird,” he murmured. “If you are true of heart, I will see it; if not, then I am afraid you played your hand too soon.” Lindir shook his head vehemently. “For now, let us leave it at this…” He removed his fingers and covered Lindir’s lips with his own. The way the lithe young Noldo arched into him, the way he grasped his shoulders, was almost too enticing to resist; yet Thranduil would not be used as a pawn, and he had still to decide the true nature of Lindir’s interest. It was one thing to be blatant with desire, that was something he could abide, but to play to the sympathy of one’s heart and be false about it; that was something he would never tolerate. This young minstrel had to prove his words were true, and if they were, who knew where the path might take them? He allowed himself the indulgence of one, brief but thorough sweep of the inside of the Noldo’s mouth with his tongue, and then he pulled away. With his eyes closed he murmured, “Oh, I do hope you are true, songbird.” Then he departed before Lindir could say another word. To be continued… Title: A Game of Cat and Mouse, 3/4 Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir Rating: PG-13 to start, NC-17 very soon. Beta: None, all mistakes are mine. Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Blatant excuse to write romance and smut, PWP, explicit descriptions of homoerotic acts. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: For the Library of Moria’s “International Day of Slash”. What finer holiday could there be? Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: The game is in full swing, and Thranduil makes an interesting discovery. “So tell me,” Thranduil said as he allowed Lindir to reposition his fingers on the harp strings, “what exactly is the nature of this little competition between you, Erestor, and Glorfindel?” Lindir sighed. “Well, it all began when Glorfindel returned and told us how beautiful you were. You see, Glorfindel and Erestor have long been rivals with one another, each constantly tries to outwit, outmatch, and outperform the other, and not just in matters of desire, but also in all things. There are areas in which Glorfindel has the obvious upper hand, such as war craft, and areas in which Erestor has the upper hand - he is far more crafty than Glorfindel – not that Glorfindel is dull, of course!” Thranduil chuckled and nodded in understanding, and Lindir continued, “Upon your arrival, Glorfindel announced that he would…” Lindir bit his lip. “Would what?” Thranduil asked as he plucked a string. “I do not know if I should say. If he finds out I have told you, he will be most displeased.” “I will protect you, my songbird. Now, do tell,” he continued as he plucked another string. “He announced to us that he would bed you within a fortnight.” Lindir cringed. Thranduil laughed heartily and placed his hands on his knees. “Oh ho! He is a bold one!” “I am sure he meant no disrespect, my lord. He just felt that the two of you had much in common and seemed to have a mutual appreciation of one another.” Thranduil looked at Lindir with a gentle smile. “Do not concern yourself with Glorfindel’s motives, Lindir. I am quite sure he can handle himself. Now, continue.” Lindir nodded. “When he announced to Erestor and I that he would . . . well, I guess I have told you that already . . . Erestor immediately challenged him. I was left no choice; if I did not also join in the challenge, I would never have the opportunity to know you, for they would have kept all of your attention.” “Do not worry, gentle Lindir,” Thranduil said quietly. “I know your mind and your motives.” Lindir smiled and continued. “So the three of us put forth a wager to see which one could bed you.” “What are the terms of the bargain?” “The losers must do the bidding of the winner until the end of Rhîw.” “Whatever he asks?” “Whatever he asks.” Thranduil chuckled. “This sounds like something Mablung would have come up with. What is the nature of this rivalry between Erestor and Glorfindel?” Lindir looked around the music hall to ensure they were alone. Then he leaned in close and whispered, “If you ask me, I think they are each in love with the other and both too stubborn to admit it for fear of rejection.” Thranduil nodded. “You are wise as well as fair, my songbird.” He smiled as Lindir blushed. “Let us put them together, shall we?” Lindir smiled broadly and nodded. “Aye! It is something that both Lord Elrond and I have longed to do. But how to do it?” “I think I may know a way…” He motioned to Lindir to lean in close, and then he whispered in the minstrel’s ear. * * * * Thranduil stepped inside the library, holding Erestor’s note in his hand. “Erestor?” he called. Erestor emerged from his office, a deferential smile curving his lips. “Ah, my note.” “Yes, it is one in the same. Perhaps I could inquire as to why you left this note for me?” “I have something I wish to show you,” Erestor answered, holding out his hand in a sweeping gesture and motioning toward the back of the library. Thranduil raised an eyebrow and followed Erestor’s direction, walking past the long shelves of books to a smaller back room. There was a small table, which held several dusty scrolls, a lantern hanging overhead, and two chairs. Erestor invited him to sit down, and he did, then the councilor unrolled the first scroll. “I have taken the liberty of retrieving some maps of your region that pinpoint Human and Dwarven settlements. These maps are several years old, but I doubt things have changed greatly.” He leaned over Thranduil’s shoulder as he pointed to a narrow place in the Anduin. “There are several rich grasslands to the north of your current homeland, and a small mountain range to the northeast of your current location…” Thranduil leaned slightly to one side and looked at Erestor, barely hiding a look of amusement. This was, without a doubt, the thinnest ruse to get close to him he had ever seen; Erestor must be growing desperate. He let the councilor ramble on about the quality of the grasslands and locations where bridges over the Anduin might be built. The Noldo had to know that he knew the Anduin Vale as well as anyone on earth. Erestor turned his head to gaze into Thranduil’s eyes. He had to admit, the Sinda was a striking beauty, and now that he was fully engaged in the game, he found the prince to be an increasingly enticing subject. Their faces were but a hair’s breadth apart and Erestor fell silent, staring into fathomless pools of sapphire. He titled his head a small bit and began to lean forward, when the prince suddenly stood up. “Tell me, Councilor, do you think me a fool?” Erestor righted himself and immediately realized his blunder; he should have admitted why he had the prince there before moving to kiss him. “Why, no, your majesty, I do not. Why would you think I did?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “Did you think that I would not know the Anduin Vale better than anyone in Imladris? I have lived next to it for the better part of seven hundred years.” “I . . . I uh . . . I was only trying…” “To get close to me, yes, I know.” “How?” “I have also lived long enough to recognize interest in one when I see it. Let us dispense with this game and be frank, shall we?” “Of course, my lord.” Thranduil grasped the Noldo by the wrists and bent him backward over the table, sending several maps sliding to the floor. “One thing I must make perfectly clear, my raven- haired friend, I play the sheath to no elf. If you want me, then you will be taken by me, understood?” Erestor gasped as he was pinned to the table, and he had to admit, it was not an altogether unpleasant position to be in. He did not normally like to yield, but if that was what he needed to do to win, then so be it. He bent his knees and raised his legs high upon the Sinda’s hips. “Perfectly,” he crooned. “Shall you have me now?” Thranduil chuckled. “A no-nonsense elf. I like that.” He leaned closer. “Personally, I prefer a little foreplay, unless you are in a hurry for some reason...” Erestor arched against Thranduil and turned his head, as the Sinda leaned in to taste the curve of his ear. “Oh yes, my prince, foreplay is essential,” he breathed. He found himself becoming aroused much faster than he anticipated. “Then I shall see you two bells after the evening meal, in my chambers. When you enter, do not speak, nor will I speak to you. I find that words,” he bestowed a nibble to the point of Erestor’s ear, earning a small moan from the councilor, “interfere with more . . . physical means of communication.” He released the Noldo and stepped away from the table. “What of Glorfindel?” Erestor queried as he sat up. “What of Glorfindel?” Thranduil countered. “You said you recognized interest…” Thranduil smiled. “Ah, yes, I did notice he is interested; it would be difficult not to. Strange that so many elves are so suddenly interested in me; it seems I have my choice of bed partners here in Imladris.” He turned toward the doorway and cast a glance over his shoulder. “Leave Glorfindel to me.” He winked, and then departed the library. Erestor stood and tidied his hair and smoothed his robes, and then he smirked and headed for his office. * * * * Glorfindel bowed, biting the inside of his lip to conceal the grin that threatened to curve his lips. The prince’s interest upon seeing him shirtless, clad in nothing but leather breeches, was a little more than obvious. For his own part, he had to suppress a shudder of desire as he watched Thranduil remove his own shirt and shoes, then pick up the training lance and turn to face him in the sand pit. “I expect you to treat me no differently than your other recruits,” Thranduil said smoothly, slowly turning the lance in his hands in a broad, sweeping circle. “Of course, your majesty,” Glorfindel answered, a smile curving his lips. He twirled the wooden training blade in his hand as he adopted a battle stance. They started slowly, parry and thrust, each testing the other’s reflexes and discerning the other’s style. Then they continued in earnest, spinning, leaping backward, lunging forward, and attempting to strike a blow with the training weapons. Glorfindel had to admit he was surprised by not only the prince’s speed, but also his skill with what was a Noldor invention. The Sindar tended to prefer the bow and long knives for weapons. He leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the end of the long lance as it swept past him in a wide arc. He then ducked as it came back across, and he spun attempting to sweep the prince’s feet out from under him with his leg. Thranduil leapt up and over Glorfindel’s leg, and brought the tip of the lance downward, in a stabbing motion, narrowly, but purposefully avoiding the crouching Elda. His legs coiled beneath him like springs, Glorfindel pushed off the ground, catching the prince in the chest with his shoulder and driving him backward, off his feet and onto his back in the deep sand. Once there, he pinned the slighter Sinda beneath his weight and held Thranduil’s wrists over his head. Unarmed, Thranduil could only yield, but he made sure that he received the appropriate reaction from his victor. “I know when I am bested,” he purred. “Therefore, I yield to one who is superior.” He shifted beneath Glorfindel. “I hope you are not disappointed, my prince,” Glorfindel murmured. “But I do have years more battle experience than you.” “Of course, and I would be remiss to not thank you for your thorough and diligent instruction thus far.” Glorfindel smiled seductively and leaned closer. “There is much yet that I wish to teach you, my lord.” Thranduil smiled as well. “And I am a willing and apt pupil, Glorfindel,” he murmured. Glorfindel practically felt his sex twitch inside his breeches. Finally, finally he had his prize. He leaned down for a kiss when he heard his regiment coming down the path. They could not be found in this position, it would look ill for the prince and go even worse for him with Elrond. Quickly, he rose and extended his hand, helping Thranduil rise from the ground. Before releasing Glorfindel’s hand, Thranduil leaned forward and murmured, “We can finish our lesson this eve, and perhaps I can teach you one. Come to my chamber one bell after the evening meal. You will find a blindfold and a scarf upon the bed. I trust you can bind your own wrists behind you?” Glorfindel nodded. “I will come to you shortly after you do this. Do not speak, and I will not speak either. I find that some forms of communication are far superior to others.” He released Glorfindel’s hand then stepped backward, bowing as the recruits arrived, and then taking his leave. Glorfindel watched the prince depart, fighting to hide the wolfish grin that threatened to curve his lips. This would be a most pleasant evening. To be continued… Title: A Game of Cat and Mouse, 4/4 Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir Rating: NC-17. Beta: None, all mistakes are mine. Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn, Library of Moria. All others please ask. WARNING: Blatant excuse to write romance and smut, PWP, explicit descriptions of homoerotic acts. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: For the Library of Moria’s “International Day of Slash”. What better holiday could there be? Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Thranduil’s plan is executed. Thranduil and Lindir perched on a tree branch outside his room as the first bell rang after the evening meal. The whole night had been most unusual; Lindir had sensed the sexual tension at the table, with both Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s attentions fixed on Thranduil, and Thranduil expertly keeping them both in thrall without giving an inch of ground. Lindir thought that perhaps he had never seen one who was so adept at the art of seduction as this Sinda prince, and that finally, Glorfindel and Erestor had met their match. Lindir had feigned defeat and left the table early to scout out the most appropriate place in which they could watch their plan unfold, then he waited outside until Thranduil departed, caught the prince by the wrist, and then led him to their hiding place. Thranduil smiled as he saw Glorfindel enter his dimly lit bedchamber. They watched as the Elda spied the blindfold and scarf, removed his tunic, loosened the laces on his breeches, and un-tucked the thin undershirt he wore. He sat on the edge of the bed and tied the blindfold around his eyes, it was wide enough to obscure most of his face, and then bound his wrists loosely in front of him. He bent his knees then pulled his legs through his arms with a little effort, then waited patiently for his new lover to arrive. A short time later, Thranduil and Lindir watched Erestor open the door to the bedchamber and step inside. In the dimly lit room, Erestor could not make out details, but he saw enough to be utterly enticed. His conquest sat on the edge of the bed, his wrists bound behind his back, a blindfold tied across his eyes. He approached slowly, each step causing him to grow more aroused, and then he knelt on the floor and placed his hands on the elf’s knees. The slow rise of the blonde’s chest as he breathed deeply caused him to swallow, and he leaned forward, placing his hand on the pack of the elf’s neck and drawing his conquest’s lips down to his own for a kiss. It was much more than he anticipated: hot, wet, full of yearning desire; this was going to be a most pleasant evening indeed. He reluctantly left the delicious mouth, moving around to an elegantly curved ear. The deep needful moan that escaped the elf’s lips caused a deep sigh to escape his own. He wanted to speak, to tell the prince how much they would both enjoy this evening, but he remembered the rules and kept silent. His fingers unlaced the ties on his lover’s undershirt, and he peeled it away to reveal a muscular chest. He was pleasantly surprised; he had not thought that the prince would be so powerfully built. As his mouth explored this warm, soft, powerful chest, he saw evidence of his lover’s appreciation of his efforts, as the elf’s arousal strained against his breeches. Moving lower, he began to slide the breeches down as he kissed his lover’s stomach and then he saw something that made him freeze in his tracks. A scar, old and refusing to fade marred otherwise flawless flesh, running from midway up the elf’s side and disappearing below his breeches near his hip. It was ragged in shape, thick, and telling of an agonizing death. He knew the tale well; it was one that featured his best friend. Quickly he stood and backed away, one hand over his mouth as he gazed in disbelief. For a moment, he hovered in indecision, unable to decide between pride-saving flight and the overwhelming temptation that presented itself to his eyes. Glorfindel was clearly aroused and more desirable than he ever could have imagined he would be. The Elda searched the room with shrouded eyes, unable to even reach out since his hands were bound behind his back. His chest still rose and fell rapidly, his dusky nipples erect, his proud length straining against his velvet breeches. Erestor quickly departed the room, making sure Glorfindel heard his departure. Glorfindel called out to Thranduil, and when no one answered, he slipped his wrists from his bonds and removed his blindfold. “Your majesty?” he called again, looking around the empty room in confusion. “What happened?” Lindir whispered. Thranduil furrowed his brow. “I do not know. He just suddenly stopped.” “Perhaps he knows, perhaps he recognized him.” “You said you did not believe that they had lain together.” Lindir nodded. “Aye, it is true. They have not.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Well, either Erestor had second thoughts, which might not be an altogether troublesome development, or he saw something that made him recognize…” “Valar,” Lindir whispered as he placed his hand upon his forehead. “What?” “The scar. He must have seen the scar.” Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head. “Of course, I saw it this afternoon. How could I be so foolish?” “Now what do we do?” Thranduil tapped his chin. “I am not sure. Give me a moment…” “Wait!” Lindir whispered as he grabbed Thranduil’s arm. “He returns…” They turned their gazes back to Thranduil’s room and saw Erestor re-enter. “Glorfindel? What are you doing here?” Glorfindel turned to see Erestor standing in the open doorway. “I have an engagement with the prince. What are you doing here?” “I have an engagement with the prince,” Erestor answered quietly, and he slowly approached. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Well, it seems our prince decided he would have both of us then.” He shook his head. “Or neither, or perhaps just you.” “What happened?” “I was so close, Erestor. He was kissing me - Valar, the way he kissed…” Erestor cautiously moved closer. “Good?” “Oh, more than good. I do not know if I have ever been kissed so well. His lips were so warm, so soft; his hands, sweet Elbereth, the way he touched me…” Erestor tried to hide the smirk that threatened to curve his lips. “And he smelled like… honey, and oranges, and cinnamon… sweet and spicy. He smelled like…” Glorfindel turned and his eyes widened. He watched Erestor start to back away and he caught the councilor by the arms. “He smelled like you! You! It was you!” “I . . . I did not know it was you…” “How could you not know? You have known me for the better part of an age…” “He told me to come here and that I would find him. He said not to speak… he said that…” “There were more effective means of communication,” Glorfindel finished. “Well, actually, he said that words got in the way of more physical means of communication.” Glorfindel released Erestor’s arms and dropped his head. “Well, it appears the prince has beat us at our own game.” “And I have a very good idea who helped him,” Erestor answered with narrowed eyes. “To the victor go the spoils…” Glorfindel murmured. “Well, not all of them,” Erestor answered softly. “Tell me, would it have made a difference to you if you had known it was me kissing you, instead of him?” His heart hammered in his chest, but sometimes one had to just take a chance. Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at his friend. “No, not when I was being kissed like that.” “I can do better,” Erestor murmured, a shy smile curving his lips as he watched Glorfindel step closer. “Especially now that I know…” “Know what?” Glorfindel whispered as he leaned closer. “Know that it is you,” Erestor finished, a soft gasp escaping him as Glorfindel’s lips closed on his own. Lindir began to shout triumphantly when Thranduil clapped his hand over the minstrel’s lips, a broad grin curving his own. When the prince removed his hand, Lindir grinned broadly. “It worked, my liege, look at them…” “Indeed, my songbird,” Thranduil murmured. “You were right, they are in love.” Erestor arched into Glorfindel’s arms, moaning deeply into the possessive kiss the Elda bestowed upon him. As a strong hand grasped his buttocks, he groaned and wrapped one leg around Glorfindel’s and clutched at the warrior’s back. Glorfindel released Erestor’s mouth and whispered, “Valar, Erestor, I had no idea…” “You have not always been the sharpest blade in the armory,” he murmured, suckling at the warrior’s earlobe. Glorfindel bit down on the councilor’s neck, leaving a deep purple love bite behind. “Are you saying I am dull?” “No, not at all,” Erestor groaned as he clutched at Glorfindel’s back. “Merely single- minded. I suppose I have been less than obvious as well.” “Indeed you have been. I would have thought that I was the last elf in Middle-earth that you would have wanted to bed.” “There was much at stake to lose, Glorfindel,” Erestor said softly. He wrapped his arms around the warrior’s shoulders. “There still is.” “Like our friendship?” “And our hearts.” Glorfindel drew back and smiled. “If I am to lose my heart, I would lose it to you, my dear Erestor. There is no one I trust it with more.” Erestor smiled and caressed Glorfindel’s face. “I shall take good care of it, if you promise to do the same for mine.” Glorfindel lifted Erestor into his arms as the councilor laughed. “I will, my raven- haired beauty, and now I plan to bed you right well.” “I am more of the giving than the receiving type, my lion,” Erestor purred. “But I think in your case, I can make an exception.” “You will not regret it,” Glorfindel murmured, then carried Erestor to his bedchamber. * * * * Thranduil held his arms up and caught Lindir as the minstrel hopped down from the tall tree. “A well laid plan, if I do say so myself,” he said quietly. “Aye, my lord, most ingenious,” Lindir said as he gazed up into Thranduil’s eyes. “You are brilliant and beautiful, a deadly combination…” Thranduil smiled. “In my short time here, you have proven to be a good and kind friend, Lindir.” Lindir smiled and stepped back. “Thank you, my lord.” He sighed. “It is growing late and I suppose you are looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Matchmaking is difficult work.” “I am looking forward to a good night’s sleep.” He caught the minstrel’s hand before he could walk away. “But I can think of nothing better to help me to it than having you with me.” Lindir looked at Thranduil and smiled. “Are you saying that you want me to…” “Come to my bed,” Thranduil purred. “I have heard your voice sing beautiful odes, now I think I wish to hear it sing a different kind of song.” Lindir wrapped his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders. “Aye, and what better inspiration could I have to sing such a song than one so beautiful as you?” Thranduil led Lindir by the hand. “Come, songbird, I shall make you sing to the rooftops.” Lindir laughed softly and followed the prince to his bedchamber. * * * * Erestor moaned deeply and arched against Glorfindel. They lay on their sides, the warrior’s strong form molded to his own, his length buried inside his body. He grasped Glorfindel’s hips and pushed back into the Elda’s slow thrust; his own length held securely in Glorfindel’s strong hand, squeezed at the root. His free hand grasped the head of Glorfindel’s bed, his long fingers curling around the smooth, carved wood. It had been a long time since he had taken another inside him, and this time felt better than any other before. It was as though the warrior was made for him specially. “Valar, yes,” he moaned. “We should have done this years ago,” Glorfindel murmured as he pushed deep inside Erestor, biting his lip as he struggled to hold on. “Elbereth, you feel so good…” “I do not know how much longer I can last,” Erestor whispered raggedly. The ache threatened to overwhelm him and he arched his back, a strangled cry escaping his lips as his length twitched inside Glorfindel’s sure grip once again. “Nor do I,” Glorfindel replied hoarsely. “But I am determined to find out…” He withdrew then thrust forward again. Their sweat-slicked bodies moved against one another, their deep moans filling the chamber. Glorfindel slowly began to quicken his movement and Erestor moved with him. Erestor groaned as Glorfindel sucked hard on his throat and began to slowly stroke his turgid length. A long, slow stroke upward, a squeeze at the tip, then a stroke downward punctuated by a hard squeeze at the base. Erestor began to tense and struggle against Glorfindel; it was too much, he burned all over; he needed it to end, as much as he wanted it to continue. “Please, Valar, please, Glorfindel… I need…” “Stay with me, my love,” Glorfindel murmured, his own body aching for completion. He wrapped his free arm tighter around Erestor’s chest, crushing him against his body. He increased the speed and depth of his thrusts, beginning to ride the councilor’s body hard. “Yes, sweet Elbereth, yes!” Erestor cried. “Harder, harder, Glorfindel…” They shifted, Erestor moving to his hands and knees with Glorfindel behind him. He grasped the headboard of the Elda’s bed and braced himself as Glorfindel began to pound into him relentlessly. Their cries and groans echoed in the chamber, and as Glorfindel released his length, he cried out the Elda’s name as he spilled his essence upon the mattress. Trembling, he struggled to remain on his knees as the warrior rode out his desire, thrusting deep and growling before finally spilling deep inside him. They collapsed upon the bed in a sweaty tangle of limbs. Erestor sighed as Glorfindel stroked his arms and dropped kisses to the back of his shoulders. “Next time, it will be my turn to ride you until you cannot sit,” he murmured, his voice partially muffled by the pillow. Glorfindel chuckled and nuzzled Erestor’s neck. “Agreed, my love.” “My love? That is the second time you called me that.” “And I meant it both times.” He pressed a soft kiss to Erestor’s ear. “I have long loved you in many ways, Erestor, this is just the latest incarnation.” Erestor turned his head. “Really?” “Aye, really. I have loved you as kinsman, as one who helps to see that this realm stays safe, as one who faithfully serves my lord, as my friend, and now, as my lover. It seems my love for you keeps growing.” Erestor lifted his head and kissed his warrior. “My beautiful, brave, kind-hearted lion,” he murmured. “I have long loved you as well.” “It is a pity it took us so long to discover this newly growing love of ours.” “Yes, but now that we have, we can take advantage of it.” “Mmm… indeed…” Glorfindel murmured, slowly flexing his hips, sliding his lately sated desire between his lover’s legs. “For Elbereth’s sake, I do not think I can take another pounding like the one you just gave me, Glorfindel,” Erestor murmured. Glorfindel chuckled. “Well then, perhaps you should return the favor.” Erestor squirmed and turned over beneath Glorfindel. “Gladly, my love,” he murmured, before taking his lover’s mouth in a heated kiss. * * * * Lindir sighed and arched against the prince; Thranduil’s extraordinarily talented mouth and hands explored every inch of his body. He gripped the Sinda’s flaxen hair in his fists as he flexed his hips, his swollen arousal seeking contact with the prince’s warm, wet mouth. “Please, my lord,” he whispered. “I need you…” “And you have me,” Thranduil answered in a husky murmur. He took Lindir’s length in his mouth, swirling his tongue from base to tip, tasting the salty-sweet essence that wept from his songbird’s arousal. He took the Noldo deep, drawing the tip of his turgid length to the back of his throat. Lindir released the prince’s hair as he felt the Sinda shift position so that they lay parallel, heads near toes. Gently grasping the prince’s muscular thighs, he took Thranduil’s length into his mouth and began to swallow him in kind. Deep moans reverberated along his length, and he bent one knee, sliding his leg over Thranduil’s shoulder and draping it over the prince’s waist. He whimpered with need as his length slipped from Thranduil’s lips and the prince’s mouth began to explore deeper between his legs. Swallowing the Sinda deeper, he cupped the soft, velvety sac of skin between the prince’s legs in his hand and slowly rolled it. A growl of pleasure escaped the Sinda’s lips, and then he moaned plaintively as a hot, wet tongue breached his body. Lindir’s moans along his rapidly swelling length were driving him mad. As he delved into the minstrel’s body, he began to flex his hips and thrust into the Noldo’s throat. For all his innocence, Lindir was an apt lover, taking every inch of his substantial length without difficulty or complaint. As the Noldo began to swallow, he closed his eyes and gave himself over, welcoming the fall as he spilled deep inside Lindir’s throat with a low growl. Lindir felt Thranduil shift and the prince’s length slipped from his lips; he groaned plaintively as a strong hand stroked his aching arousal. He spread his legs further apart, pressing his backside into the prince’s face as Thranduil stroked him to completion. He came, spilling over the prince’s hand and his own hip as his body convulsed around the Sinda’s hot, wet tongue. Panting, he watched through lust glazed eyes as his prince shifted, lapping his seed from his hip, then kissing the length of his sated body before curling against him in the soft bed. “I want you to have me, my liege,” he whispered. “There will be many nights for me to take you, my songbird,” Thranduil murmured into Lindir’s ear. “But this night, I wish to hold you close and fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat and your breathing.” Lindir smiled and snuggled closer. It would be a long and wonderful winter in Imladris. ~Finis