Title: A Perfect Fit
Author: Larien Elengasse, larienelengasse@yahoo.com
Pairing: Thranduil / Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Thranduil offers assistance and shelter to the Balrog Slayer 
and things do not go as planned for the Mirkwood King
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine, they are the 
property of JRR Tolkien, I just decide their fates…
Warning: Angst
Authors Note (if needed/desired): This is my first fic and I want to thank 
Eowyn, my beta reader, and Celebrethil, my moral support. This is 
dedicated to my muse, Thranduil.

Glorfindel sits on the side of a long table; the gash in his left arm has 
been freshly cleaned and bandaged. He sits, exhausted, looking about 
the room at his wounded soldiers. His ruined tunic and cloak have been 
removed and destroyed and he wears only his blood soaked leggings. 
The ambush by the Uruks and Orcs had been brutal, seven members of 
his party were seriously injured and four lay dead. His party had been 
outnumbered four to one and the battle had been fierce. Had it not been 
for the Mirkwood Elves that came to their rescue they might all be dead. 
He is exhausted and weak from the battle and his injuries, and he is 
preoccupied with concern for his soldiers. He does not hear Thranduil 
approach.

Thranduil stands in the open doorway to the dining hall that has been 
transformed into an infirmary; it echoes with the groans of the wounded. 
Glorfindel looks quite out of place amongst the wounded Elves and the 
healers. He is tall and lean but very strong. His golden mane falls wildly 
about his strong chest and shoulders and even though it is soiled with dirt 
and blood it still glows in the candlelight. Thranduil quietly approaches 
him and softly speaks, "It pleases me to see that you will recover, 
Glorfindel. The great Balrog Slayer lives to fight another day."

Glorfindel turns to meet the gaze of the warrior he saw earlier, the Elf who 
saved his life. He had been locked in combat when he had heard the 
swoosh of air and had seen the flash of light upon metal. A broadsword 
sliced through the air next to him, striking its target, the chest of a Uruk 
poised to stab him in the back. Thranduil had saved his life. He has never 
met nor seen the King of Mirkwood and now he sees that the stories he 
has heard are not exaggerated. The King stands before him in a green 
and silver velvet cloak; his battle gear has been replaced by an 
elaborately decorated velvet tunic and suede leggings. All signs of the 
battle have been washed away and his still damp golden hair falls softly 
around his shoulders. He wears none of the ceremonial braids that are 
the custom for one of his rank, preferring only two simple ones on each 
side, tucked back behind his ears, those of a warrior. His eyes are brilliant 
light blue, like the sky on a crisp fall day, and his skin is a soft ivory. He is 
an imposing figure, as tall as Glorfindel and slightly larger in build. His 
rosebud pink lips curve into a smile as he speaks and his voice is musical 
to the warrior’s ears, "A few days rest and you should recover fully. Yet 
another story to tell to Elrond’s sons I suppose."

Glorfindel finds it impossible not to stare as he speaks to him, "My 
soldiers and I are in your debt, my Lord. Especially me, for it appears you 
saved me from a second death."

Thranduil flashes a disarming smile, "That is something I would be greatly 
saddened by, the world is sorely lacking in beauty and grace such as 
yours, Glorfindel. However, at the moment your beauty seems to be 
covered in Orc blood," he smiles and reaches down, taking the warrior’s 
strong hand, "Come, let us remedy this." Glorfindel doesn’t speak as he 
allows Thranduil to lead him away, down the long dark hall and through 
the door into his chamber. They pass through an arched doorway 
covered in sheer curtains to an enclosed garden, in the center of which is 
a natural hot spring. As Glorfindel stands looking into the steamy pool, 
Thranduil steps in close behind him, inclining his head toward the warriors 
golden mane, resisting the urge to reach out and take it into his hands. 
He speaks quietly into his ear, "Take as long as you like, there is a robe 
hanging on the chair just inside the door when you are finished. I have 
sent word to Elrond that you and your soldiers are under my care until 
you are well enough to travel." As Glorfindel turns to thank him he 
catches a glimpse of his green cloak passing through the doorway.

He pulls off his boots and peels off his sweat and blood soaked leggings 
and steps into the warm pool. He sighs as he sinks into the water, letting 
it wash away all of the grime and aches from the battle. He closes his 
eyes and submerges his head beneath the water for a few moments, 
when he rises he tilts his head back, resting it against the rocks. He rests 
in the warm water for a while, his eyes closed, thinking of Thranduil, of his 
strength and beauty, of the fire in his eyes during battle. He opens his 
eyes with a start, shaking his head, trying to clear the thoughts that begin 
to creep into his mind. He is determined not to fall prey to Thranduil’s 
magic or his charm; he will not be one more in an endless list of 
conquests for the Mirkwood King.

Thranduil sits in the great oak chair by the fireplace, watching the golden 
warrior through the sheer fabric. The legendary Balrog Slayer is here, in 
his garden. He is mesmerized by his strength and his grace. He admires 
his beauty, his wet, golden hair softly clinging to his face, drops of water 
trickling across his alabaster skin. His lips are full and soft, begging to be 
kissed. His lean, muscular body is a work of art; he is the most beautiful 
being Thranduil has ever seen. He could easily weave a spell that would 
hold him here but that would be too easy. No, he wants to seduce the 
warrior; he wants him to come to him freely, without aid of magic. He 
shifts in his chair as he feels desire lighting inside him. He will not take 
him tonight, he will wait; wait until the warrior comes to him, until he begs 
to taken. He rises from his chair and departs to find a young Elf with 
which to satiate his desire.

Glorfindel rises from the pool, his muscles languid from exhaustion and 
from soaking in the warm water. He passes through the curtains back into 
Thranduil’s chamber and finds it empty. He plucks the robe from the chair 
and wraps himself in it as he looks around. The King’s chamber is warm 
and seductive, lit by candlelight and the glow of the fire. In the center is a 
great iron bed covered in silk and velvet, he has never seen a bed that 
size, four well built males could easily sleep in it. He crosses the room 
and bends down to touch the luxurious bedding. This last thought causes 
a sly grin to cross his lips as he imagines why the King would want a bed 
that large. Rumors of Thranduil’s sexual prowess are legendary. It is said 
that no one he wants ever escapes his grasp. It is also said that he has 
had more lovers in a season than the heartiest Elves take in a year. The 
fierce battle, combined with his weakened state from being wounded and 
exhausted, cause him to feel slightly dizzy. He places one hand upon the 
bed to steady himself as he slowly sits down upon it. His skin is still warm 
and pink from the bath and the fire makes the room quite warm as well. 
He lies back on the plush bed and thinks he will close his eyes just for a 
moment. What harm could it do? The King is obviously not there and he 
did invite him in.

Moments pass into hours as Thranduil returns to find him soundly asleep 
on his bed. He smiles, thinking to himself this may be easier than he had 
imagined and feels a slight twinge of disappointment in that. He removes 
his cloak and his tunic, folding them and hanging them upon a chair. He 
sits and removes his boots and his leggings and walks to the far side of 
the bed. He carefully lifts the covers and slides his naked body 
underneath, taking care not to wake the sleeping warrior. As he settles in, 
Glorfindel sighs in his sleep, rolling across the bed to come to rest next to  
Thranduil.

The King rolls onto his side, facing his guest, smiling and enjoying 
watching him sleep. He finally closes his eyes and allows himself to drift 
off as well.

It is very early in the morning, before sunrise, as Glorfindel begins to  stir.

He rolls to his back and stretches and he feels something silky brush 
against his hand. He is slightly disoriented and furrows his brow as he 
blinks to adjust his newly awakened eyes to the dim, predawn light. As he 
regains his focus and looks to see what his hand has brushed against he 
sits up with a start. Thranduil lies on his side; one muscular arm tucked 
beneath his head and the other hand resting upon his rippled abdomen. 
His eyes are closed and his lips are softly parted. The sheets rest far 
down his side, just covering his lap. His chest slowly rises and falls with 
each breath and he appears to sleep deeply. Glorfindel shifts to his side 
and studies the King; his chest, arms and abdomen are well muscled 
from years of training with the broadsword and from battle. One small 
silver ring pierces each nipple and his soft golden hair gently falls across 
his shoulders. He is radiant in his sleep and Glorfindel thinks he is 
perhaps the most beautiful Elf he has ever seen. In this state, he looks so 
peaceful, almost innocent, and the urge to reach out and touch him is 
nearly overwhelming. Thranduil takes a deep breath, his chest fully 
expanding as he stretches, his right hand falling upon Glorfindel’s arm. 
His touch makes the warrior shudder with both trepidation and desire. 
The sleeping King utters a soft moan as he shifts, his left hand reaching 
out from under his head and coming to rest upon the warrior’s lower back. 
Glorfindel is frozen, wanting to take him in his arms and to flee at the 
same time. Thranduil’s eyes slowly blink open, and his pale blue gaze 
turns up to meet Glorfindel’s.

He smiles sleepily as he sits up and speaks softly, "You are awake. I did 
not have the heart to wake you when I returned, you were sleeping so 
peacefully."

He replies nervously, "I owe you many thanks my Lord. You have been 
more than generous with your hospitality. I fear I have overstepped my 
bounds by taking over half your bed."

Thranduil laughs softly as he sits up, his gaze holding Glorfindel’s, 
"Nonsense, there is plenty of room here for both of us, it was no trouble 
my friend. You are welcome here as long as you would like to stay," he 
pauses as he slowly draws his hand from Glorfindel’s arm, "I do hope you 
will stay Glorfindel. Your company brings me much pleasure."

He feels himself being drawn into the King’s gaze, as if he were sinking. 
His voice is but a soft whisper as he replies, "I am glad that you enjoy my 
company my Lord, I enjoy yours as well. I will stay until my soldiers have 
recovered enough to travel back to Imladris."

Thranduil smiles and takes a deep breath, throwing back the covers and 
rising from the bed. The vision of his nude body causes Glorfindel to draw 
a ragged breath; his powerful form glides across the floor like a cat. He 
crosses the room where he retrieves his robe and pulls it on as he turns 
to face Glorfindel, drawing his robe closed and tying the belt. His smile is 
warm and seductive as he speaks, "You must be hungry. When was the 
last time you were able to eat?"

His voice seems to come from outside his body as he answers, 
"Sometime yesterday, early I think." He is aware he is staring at the King 
but cannot seem to stop himself.

Thranduil holds out his hand and smiles gently, "Then come, let us get 
some nourishment for you. Join me for breakfast."

Glorfindel slowly rises from the bed and follows Thranduil to his private 
study where the King instructs his servants to bring food and drink. The 
two sit at the table leisurely talking and eating breakfast, exchanging 
stories of battle and talking of their respective lives in Mirkwood and 
Imladris. Glorfindel had never really thought of what it was like for the 
Mirkwood Elves, living under constant threat of attack; violence has 
become part of their daily existence. Thranduil’s caves lay behind a 
protective veil of his magic, but the surrounding forest could be 
treacherous. Venturing out into the wood could bring the end of one’s life 
quite easily. The Mirkwood King appears to take it all in stride, as if 
violence is a part of everyone’s life. His quiet confidence and serene 
manner are in stark contrast to the stories Glorfindel has heard of the 
King.

He appears to be a contradiction, both fierce and bold in battle and 
confident and peaceful within the palace. The more time he spends with 
him the more intrigued he becomes.

Thranduil leans back in his chair, looking at his guest, admiring his 
elegant grace and his radiant beauty. He knows Glorfindel has long been 
allied with Elrond and he wonders if Elrond has taken him for a lover. He 
imagines that Glorfindel is not taken as anything unless it is also his idea.

This Eldar that now sits before him has seen and experienced so many 
things in his long life. Thranduil believes he is one who would truly 
understand him and the fact that he obviously does not intimidate him is 
very alluring, for so many fear him. The great warrior shows no lack of 
confidence and control on the battlefield or off. ‘What would it be like?’ he 
wonders, ‘What would it be like to touch him, to kiss his full lips, to run his 
hands over his strong body?’ The longer he is with the great warrior the 
more enamored of him he becomes.

After a few moments of silence Glorfindel realizes he has been staring at 
the beautiful King without saying a word. Thranduil has been returning his 
gaze, also in silence. The way the King reclines in his chair, his robe open 
to just above his navel, his muscled chest exposed, the hungry look in his 
eye causes the warrior to feel the familiar spark of desire inside his  belly.

The tension in the air is thick and heavy. Glorfindel feels his pulse 
pounding in his head so hard that he wonders if the King can hear it 
himself. His mouth has gone completely dry despite the drink in front of 
him. His palms rest upon his thighs and he can feel his hands beginning 
to tremble slightly. He swallows hard and struggles to maintain a steady 
voice as he speaks, "I must go and check on my soldiers, Sire. Will you 
excuse me?"

Thranduil slowly blinks, as if he himself had been daydreaming, and takes 
a deep breath as he slowly replies, "Yes, of course my friend. Please tell 
me if there is anything further I can do." Glorfindel quickly departs the 
room and heads for the main dining hall.

Thranduil lingers behind, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He 
slowly sits forward resting his elbows on the great table in front of him, 
placing his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. ‘By the Valar, this 
Elf has all but possessed his every thought.’ To be near him causes his 
heart to race and his palms to sweat. He is not sure he will have the 
strength to wait for the Eldar to come to him, the desire he feels for him 
grows stronger by the passing minute.

Legolas casts his kind blue gaze upon his father; he has rarely seen him 
in this state, "Ada? Are you alright?"

Thranduil looks up to meet the warm face of his son. He smiles gently 
and rises from his chair, crossing the room to Legolas and cupping his 
cheek in one strong hand, "Yes Iôn, just lost in thought. How do 
Glorfindel’s soldiers fare?"

Legolas places his hand on his father’s shoulder, "Not well I am afraid. He 
lost one during the night and another will not last much longer. The 
healers are doing all they can but their injuries are too great."

Thranduil takes his son in a strong embrace, cradling his head against his 
shoulder, "Thank the Valar I did not lose you, Iôn, I could not bear it. It is 
a fear I live with each time you ride out on patrol." He holds him close to 
his chest, reluctant to let him go for a few moments before finally 
releasing him.

Legolas smiles at his father, noting that he has become more affectionate 
in his elder years, "You will never lose me, Ada. I am too stubborn to die, 
just as you are."

Thranduil laughs softly, "Yes you are that Iôn, stubborn like me and 
strong," he places a gentle kiss on his son’s forehead, "I should check on 
Glorfindel, he will need our support before it is over. Hopefully the worst is 
past."

Legolas and Thranduil depart his study and Thranduil continues down the 
hall to the makeshift infirmary. The room is filled with the moans of the 
wounded and the healers are busy at work, trying to save and comfort 
those they can. He enters the room and finds Glorfindel kneeling beside 
the body of his most seriously wounded soldier. He holds the soldier’s 
hand in his, pressing it against his forehead, his head slowly shaking back 
and forth; his shoulders are rounded and Thranduil sees them begin to 
shake as if he is weeping. The King can see that the soldier has just died, 
bringing the total lost to six now. ‘It is too much,’ Glorfindel thinks. He 
whispers sadly, "Too much death, too many fallen and this is but a boy."

The sadness in his voice is heartbreaking. He throws back his head and 
howls in agony dropping the young man’s hand back to his bloody chest. 
Thranduil quickly crosses the room, dropping to his knees behind 
Glorfindel catching him as he begins to fall backward. The great warrior 
has lost any trace of dignity and sobs in Thranduil’s arms like a child. The 
King looks at the face of the dead soldier and sees the face of a boy, just 
past his majority. ‘Such loss, such waste of life.’ The King thinks. He 
takes the Eldar in his arms and rises from the floor, carrying his grief-
wracked body back to his quarters.

He gently lays Glorfindel on the bed and stretches out beside him, holding 
him in his arms, trying to bring him some comfort. He strokes his golden 
hair and whispers, "Ssshh… meldir. Let me calm the storm that rages in 
your heart. It is not your fault, you did all that you could to save them." 
Glorfindel’s sobs fade as he looks up into the face of the golden King.

Thranduil places a soft kiss on his forehead as he whispers to him, "I 
know what you feel, I too have lost many soldiers, too many to count, but 
I remember them all. Each one felt as though I lost part of myself. I felt 
responsible for their deaths; I was the one who sent them out to do battle, 
knowing they might fall. But, you know, as well as I, that it is what we 
must do if we are to hold evil at bay, to keep it from swallowing all of 
Arda. It is the burden we must bear. Death and life, good and evil, they 
are forever entwined, there cannot be one without the other."

Glorfindel rises up looking into the deep blue expanse of the King’s eyes 
and sees nothing but kindness and compassion. This is an Elf who truly 
understands him, a fellow warrior. One who has walked Arda longer than 
many, who has seen as much violence, experienced as much loss as he. 
He reaches out and touches his radiant face, drawing his hand along his 
ivory cheek. He leans forward, inches at a time, slowly closing the 
distance between them. His breath quickens, his heart races, until he is 
so close that he can feel Thranduil’s breath on his face. He closes his 
eyes and presses his mouth to his; the feeling of the King’s warm, soft 
lips causes him to quietly moan into his mouth. Thranduil’s heart stops 
and he feels as if the room is spinning. The warrior’s mouth against his, 
his tongue softly seeking entrance into his own mouth, his strong hands 
beginning to caress his body. ‘By the Valar,’ Thranduil thinks, ‘I am 
drowning in his kiss, in his beauty...’ Thranduil sighs softly as he opens 
his mouth allowing the warrior’s tongue entrance, softly caressing it and 
encircling it with his own. In a brief moment of clarity he finds it strange 
that this is how it should begin, not with seduction, but through kindness. 
He can feel Glorfindel’s fingers deftly untying his belt and sliding his robe 
open, exposing his naked skin. The kiss feels as if it goes on forever, 
warm, soft, and wet; so intimate and so passionate, neither has ever 
experienced the like.

"You are beautiful Thranduil," Glorfindel sighs, "so warm, so soft and yet 
so strong." He kisses every inch of his ivory skin, concentrating on each 
nipple for what feels like an eternity, fondling the small rings that pierce 
each one against his tongue as the King moans in response, "Aaahh 
meleth nín, you kill me with your mouth."

Thranduil pushes his head back against the pillows, moaning, his desire 
mounting with each flick and caress of the beautiful warrior’s tongue. He 
feels Glorfindel’s lips curve into a smile against his bare chest as the 
warrior whispers, "I will kill you very slowly, my King, inch by inch." He 
continues down his rippled abdomen, pausing to brush his lips against the 
fine, down-like hair just above his rising erection. Thranduil grinds his 
teeth and hisses through his clenched jaw as the Eldar brushes his full, 
soft lips along his length. He grasps the velvet bed coverings in his fists 
as he groans, lifting his shoulders off of the bed and letting his legs fall 
further apart. Glorfindel continues his torture as he softly licks and sucks 
at his velvety pouch and the feel of the Eldar’s mouth upon it almost 
drives the King over the edge. He reaches down and firmly grasps 
Glorfindel by the hair, quickly hauling his mouth back up to his own, 
drowning him in a deep, passionate kiss. He swiftly rolls over on top of 
the warrior, plundering his mouth and ravaging his neck while deftly 
untying his robe. Thranduil has never felt so hungry for another in all of 
his long days or after all of his lovers. Glorfindel grabs Thranduil’s hair 
and pulls his  head back, his strong hand traveling down the King’s 
abdomen and taking hold of his firm erection, "Why did you stop me, 
Sire? I have not finished with you yet." His eyes have turned dark with 
desire and his chest rises and falls quickly as he breathes rapidly against 
him.

Thranduil flashes a wicked smile, "Indeed, you are not finished, but I am 
not the only one who will be slain in my bed this evening, mir nín. I intend 
to do some slaying myself." Thranduil’s powerful hand slides down the 
warrior’s belly in one smooth, quick movement and before Glorfindel can 
catch his breath the King has seized the source of his desire. The warrior 
gasps as the King takes hold of him, stroking him and squeezing him 
while whispering erotic words in his ear. He feels as if he is floating 
outside his body as the golden King manipulates and caresses him, 
stroking the Eldar’s erection with his own.

Glorfindel closes his eyes and whispers breathlessly in the King’s ear, "I 
ache for you Thranduil, I have since I first saw you. I have been searching 
for one like you for many long years." He runs his hands down the King’s 
strong back, removing his robe and casting it to the floor.

Thranduil’s deep voice echoes in the warrior’s ear, "You have found me 
now, you need search no longer. I will never leave you Glorfindel." He 
rolls to his back, removing the warrior’s robe and caressing his round 
buttocks, his mouth never leaving his skin.

Glorfindel slides down, resuming his previous task, taking the King’s 
arousal in his mouth, gently sucking and swirling his tongue around it as 
Thranduil moans and closes his eyes, surrendering himself to the Eldar’s 
wet embrace. As the warrior takes him into the back of his throat 
Thranduil does something that he has not done in an age, he opens his 
heart to the beautiful warrior, giving him something that he has not given 
anyone since he was but an Elfling first discovering love. His strong 
hands reach down and gently stroke Glorfindel’s soft hair as one small 
tear rolls from his eye. He is amazed at how different this is than what he 
had intended, from what he had imagined, how full of tenderness and 
love it is..

He feels a twinge of guilt at what he had planned, what he had originally 
wanted. He knows now he could never bear to see this proud warrior beg 
for anything, including himself. Glorfindel draws groans and sighs from 
the King until he can bear it no longer and he spends himself inside his 
beautiful mouth groaning his name. Glorfindel drinks him in luxuriating in 
his lover’s taste. He then lifts up and slides back up to his beloved King, 
lying his head on the pillow next to his, watching him. He looks so 
peaceful, his eyes are closed, a soft smile plays across his lips, his chest 
rises and falls with each deep breath.

Thranduil lies quietly for a few moments before slowly opening his eyes 
and turning his ice blue gaze to his new lover. A seductive smile crosses 
his lips as he slowly recovers his breath and rolls toward him, sliding over 
him, feeling the result of his lover’s performance pressing into his own 
thigh. He slowly and deliberately kisses the Eldar, exploring every inch of 
his body, not with the fevered pitch he had before, but with the soft, 
seductive touch of one who worships the warrior. "It is your turn, meleth 
nín. What would you have of me?"

Glorfindel’s breath catches in his throat, he hadn’t thought the King would 
ask him what he wanted, he just assumed he would take what he was 
given. The wheels in Glorfindel’s brain almost spin out of control at the 
thought and Thranduil slowly begins working his way down the warrior’s 
battle-hardened stomach. Glorfindel can feel his whole body quivering at 
the idea that he can command anything he wants of this Elf, of this 
beautiful King. He whispers hoarsely, "I want you inside me, Thranduil; I 
want to feel you inside me." As the words leave his mouth he is shocked 
to hear them, he has never actually asked this of anyone before, usually 
preferring to be the dominant one. He feels Thranduil softly chuckle 
against his stomach, as he trembles beneath him.

Thranduil’s lips curve into a smile, brushing the length of the warrior’s 
now throbbing erection, "Then you shall have what you want, seneschal." 
He reaches across the bed into a drawer, retrieving a small vial of oil. He 
sits up, pouring a small amount of the oil into his palms, rubbing them 
together to warm it. Glorfindel watches how deliberate he is in this task, 
his silky hair mussed and falling haphazardly about his shoulders, his 
eyes turning a deep midnight blue once again as his desire begins to rise. 
He seductively applies the oil to himself, all the while staring deep into the 
warrior’s eyes. Suddenly Glorfindel feels like a young Elfling, staring up 
into those impossibly blue eyes; he feels like it is his first time all over 
again. He finds it slightly ironic that he feels this way, seeing he is older 
than the King. This is so different than what he intended. When he 
reached for him, for that first kiss, his only intent was to drown the pain 
and sorrow in his heart, now all he can think of is him, how much he 
wants him, how much he needs him. Thranduil applies an additional small 
amount of the oil to his hands and rubs them together again before sliding 
his finger down to rub the warrior’s tight entrance. He leans down 
whispering in his ear, "Have you done this before, meldir?" he flicks his 
tongue against the sensitive tip of his ear as he speaks.

Glorfindel draws a ragged breath as he replies in a hoarse whisper, "Yes, 
but it has been some time since." Thranduil’s weight presses him into the 
bed; his warm wet tongue probes his ear driving the warrior mad.

"Then I will be careful and I will go no further than you want, meleth nín. 
You are in control here all right?" The taste of his skin is intoxicating as he 
continues to kiss his neck. He slowly slides one finger inside as Glorfindel 
takes a deep shuddering breath. He slowly begins probing him and 
massaging that magical spot that drives all males mad. Glorfindel tangles 
his strong hands in the King’s hair as he moans into his ear, spreading his 
legs and pushing down onto his hand. Thranduil slides a second finger in, 
breathing deeply; trying to contain his own mounting desire as he lovingly 
massages the relaxing entrance and strokes his lover’s erection with both 
his hand and his own rigid desire. As he slips a third finger in Glorfindel 
pleads with him not to delay, not to prolong this torture. "As you wish, 
meleth nín," he whispers as he rises to his knees, gathering the warrior’s 
muscular legs in his arms, drawing them up and apart as he slowly slides 
inside him. The tight, velvet heat encasing him causes him to throw his 
head back and groan deeply, pausing inside him, trying to keep from 
spending himself too soon. He continues to stroke and squeeze his lover 
as he takes a deep breath, slowly beginning to thrust inside him as they 
both moan. The pace begins to quicken and Glorfindel grasps the head of 
the great iron headboard in his hands, bracing himself against it, allowing 
his lover to thrust deeper. He can see Thranduil is getting close, his face 
is flushed and his eyelids begin to flutter. He is fighting to hold back, he 
wants to wait for him, he wants both of them to climax together but it is 
getting so hard to hold on. He lets out a moan as Thranduil whispers, "I 
am close, meleth nín, very close, just a few moments longer." Glorfindel 
takes a deep breath, holding it in his chest, clamping his eyes shut when 
he feels it; Thranduil drives in deeply and spends himself inside him 
moaning loudly and Glorfindel gasps as he floods his lover’s hand and his 
own stomach with his release. Thranduil slowly withdraws, lazily lapping 
up his lover’s seed from his stomach while spreading it across his own 
stomach with the hand that once held him. Watching Thranduil’s hand 
slowly caress his own stomach, combined with the feeling of his lover’s 
tongue slowly sliding across his skin, his mouth gently sucking at him, 
sends tremors through his body as he still quakes in the aftermath of one 
of the most intense orgasms he has ever had.

He lies quietly, eyes closed and breath labored, trembling as his lover 
slides up next to him, taking him in his arms and holding him close. He is 
unable to fight back the flood of emotion that has overcome him that 
morning and begins to shake and weep in his King’s arms. Thranduil pulls 
the bedcovers up around them, holding him close, stroking him, 
"Glorfindel, meldiramin. I am here, weep as long as you need." With those 
kind words the dam breaks and a flood of tears flow from Glorfindel’s 
eyes as Thranduil silently holds him, stroking him and comforting him. He 
holds the warrior until he finally cries himself to sleep.

Hours later he awakes, still in his lover’s arms and sits up. Thranduil 
smiles gently at him blinking sleepily. Glorfindel strokes his beautiful face 
and leans in pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He looks at the bed rubbing 
his face in his hands feeling embarrassed at how he broke down and 
wept like a child. Thranduil sits up and places his arm around him, "What 
is it meldir?"

Glorfindel slowly shakes his head, "I am ashamed. I have been weeping 
like a child; you must think me very weak. What right do I have to weep? 
The number of soldiers I have lost must be small in comparison to the 
losses you have had to suffer, living so close to evil. I have been 
insensitive and weak."

Thranduil places his hand on the side of his head, drawing it to his lips. 
He smiles and his voice is so kind, "You keep saying you are weak. That 
is not true, you do not weep from weakness, you weep because your 
heart is noble and you care for your soldiers. This is not weakness; this is 
love and true nobility Eldar. You are the bravest and strongest warrior I 
have ever known." He takes the warrior’s strong hand in his own bringing 
it to his lips.

Glorfindel takes a deep breath and turns to look at the King. He smiles 
and caresses his hair and he hears his own voice saying words he never 
thought he would hear, "A’maelamin, Thranduil, what would I ever do 
without you?"

Thranduil chuckles, "You are far stronger than you believe my Balrog 
Slayer. It is I that has been reduced to a fawning boy, longing for your 
touch," he smiles, "come, let us take a bath and replenish our strength. I 
will go check on your soldiers while you take some rest."

Glorfindel smiles, "A bath sounds very good. But, I will check on my 
soldiers my Lord, they are my responsibility. You have shielded me from 
enough this day."

Thranduil throws the covers back and rises from the bed, extending his 
hand, "Come meldir, step into my garden," he flashes a wicked smile. 
Glorfindel takes his hand rising from the bed and following him to the 
garden and into the warm, steaming pool. They linger there for quite 
some time, luxuriating in each other’s touch before succumbing to their 
desire for one another. They stand in the center of the steaming water 
facing each other as Thranduil gazes deeply into the warrior’s eyes. He 
feels Glorfindel’s hand slide down his stomach; softly taking him in his 
battle hardened hands. The Eldar takes both himself and Thranduil in his 
hand, rubbing himself against the King’s hardening erection. Thranduil 
gasps as he feels the warrior’s arousal stroking against his own, his 
tongue lapping at his lips begging for entry into the golden ruler’s mouth. 
He whispers hoarsely, "Ai, Glorfindel, you will be the death of me." 

Glorfindel’s free hand slides around the King’s back drawing him closer 
and sliding down his back, in between the firm, perfect round orbs of his 
buttocks. He hoarsely whispers in his ear, "I have thought of something 
else I want, Sire." His finger presses against the tight entrance he finds 
there.

Thranduil clenches his jaw; no one has ever been allowed to do this. He 
grabs him by the hair, pulling his head back to expose his powerful neck. 
He growls in reply, "No one has ever dared to ask for that, seneschal, and 
no one has ever been permitted to do what you ask of me now."

The warrior’s grip strengthens and he strokes the King with renewed 
fervor, now thrusting and sliding against him as his head is pulled back as 
far as it can go and the King bites down roughly on his neck. "I only ask to 
show you the pleasure you showed me, my King." He clenches his teeth, 
bracing against the sensation of his hair pulling and his neck bruising 
beneath the King’s mouth. Thranduil’s strong hands move to his 
shoulders as he pushes him away, quickly rising from the pool and 
entering his chamber. Glorfindel shakes his head trying to clear the fog 
that seems to encircle him. His now throbbing erection is beginning to 
demand release. He is surprised and defeated at the result of his brazen 
request, at the taste he just received of Thranduil’s legendary temper. He 
never should have dared to go so far, he should have known better. After 
a few moments alone he moves to rise from the warm water, his 
pounding desire just beginning to subside. He looks up and sees the King 
standing before him, water trickling from his powerful body, his arousal 
still prominent, arching toward his stomach.

He steps back down into the steaming water, running his hand to the 
back of the warrior’s strong neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss 
before whispering in his ear, "I am sorry, meleth nín. I did not know how 
to react, no one has ever asked for this, I have never considered granting 
it to a single soul." He extends his other hand from behind his back; in it is 
the small vial he had kept by the bed. He presses his lips into Glorfindel’s 
ear as he whispers, "I will grant you what you wish," he takes a ragged 
breath as he continues quietly, "because I love you."

The sound of those three words in his ear cause his heart to stop, ‘I love 
you, he said I love you,’ he thinks. His head is swimming and his heart is 
pounding as the Kings lips softly caress his skin and his warm, wet 
tongue draws a trail from his ear to his nipple. His voice quivers as he 
whispers, "Are you sure, my Lord?"

Thranduil hoarsely replies, "Yes, meleth nín, I am quite sure." He knows 
now he is lost to the beautiful warrior, utterly possessed by his beauty and 
his grace. His heart and his body threaten to betray him as he begins to 
tremble at Glorfindel’s touch; he both hates and loves what the beautiful 
Balrog Slayer has done to him, how he has enslaved his heart.

Glorfindel pours the oil into his hand warming it as he moves behind 
Thranduil. He places soft passionate kisses on the back of his neck and 
on his shoulders as he slides his well-oiled finger to his entrance, slowly 
rubbing it and placing his other hand upon the King’s firm stomach. His 
silky voice floats into the King’s ears as he leans in, "Lean forward, 
meleth nín," Thranduil closes his eyes, his lids flutter and his eyes begin 
to roll back as he succumbs to the Eldar’s touch. He does as instructed, 
his heart pounding in his chest, not sure what to expect. Glorfindel slowly 
slides his finger in as his King takes a ragged breath, bracing himself 
against the side of the pool with one arm. Thranduil grinds his teeth, 
taking the discomfort with the mounting pleasure he feels, never believing 
he could allow himself to experience what happens to him now. Glorfindel 
whispers, "Aaah, my Lord, you are so tight, so soft, you feel so good." He 
slowly slides a second finger in, further tormenting his beautiful King. 
Thranduil takes a deep breath and growls, "Get on with it, Glorfindel, do 
not handle me like some young Elfling."

The Eldar is shocked at his reply, not sure if the King knows what he 
asks, "I do not want to cause you pain, Sire, I want.."

Thranduil brusquely cuts him off, "Pain? You think I fear pain? There is 
much you need to learn about me, Balrog Slayer. Now stop toying with 
me and do what you will."

Glorfindel smiles, he understands the meaning behind his words, "As you 
command, Sire." He positions himself at the tight entrance and slowly 
thrusts inside him as the King clenches his teeth and groans. Glorfindel 
gasps as he feels Thranduil’s impossibly tight, throbbing heat sheath him. 
He grasps his hips, trying to hold him still to give them both time to adjust 
to the sensation. "My Lord," he whispers breathlessly, "Are you alright?"

Thranduil moans as the initial shock and pain begins to fade. He rocks 
back against him, his own arousal throbbing, his voice waivers as he 
speaks, "Do not torture me like this, Glorfindel, please do not make me 
beg for you." 

Glorfindel reaches around him, taking him in his hand and strokes him as 
he resumes his motion, slowly thrusting inside him each time deeper than 
the last. ‘By the Valar, he feels so good’, it has been ages since he has 
taken a male for the first time and he has forgotten how it feels. He 
continues his thrusting, increasing in speed and depth as he goes, 
breathing deeply trying to control his own climax; changing his angle to 
brush the gland that gives so much pleasure.

The pain is subsiding and all Thranduil feels is incredible pleasure, 
pleasure he has never felt in his life. As Glorfindel changes his angle and 
brushes up against that spot that Thranduil had touched in him earlier he 
groans loudly. He feels an electric bolt of ecstasy course through his 
body, traveling from deep within his core all the way to his fingers and 
toes. He throws his head back moaning Glorfindel’s name as he seeks 
release. Glorfindel spends himself inside his King, gripping him tightly by 
the base, containing his orgasm.

Thranduil groans, "Let go of me Glorfindel, let me release." He smiles, 
"Not yet, meleth nín, wait." He slowly withdraws from his lover, causing 
him to shudder. He slides around in front of him beckoning him to step up 
onto a small rock at the bottom so that he is above the water line. 
Thranduil does as instructed, seeing he has little choice as the Balrog 
Slayer has him in a death grip. The Eldar lowers himself into the water, 
taking him in his mouth, still gripping him at the base and begins sucking 
on him, drawing him into the back of his throat as Thranduil throws his 
head back and groans loudly. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, 
Glorfindel releases his grip and allows the King to spill down into his 
throat. It is so powerful that the Eldar almost chokes, his eyes watering as 
he endeavors to take him all in. He slowly rises, guided by the King’s 
strong hands, to meet his gaze. Thranduil takes his face in his hands 
caressing his pink cheeks with his thumbs. The Eldar sees a tear trickle 
from the radiant eyes of his love as he presses his lips to his. He 
whispers into Thranduil’s ear, "Amin mela le, Thranduil, I truly do."

The two warriors stand in the center of the pool, locked into an embrace, 
their muscular bodies pressing against one another, their strong hands 
caressing one another, their blonde manes intermingled with one another. 
They are a vision of power, of strength, and of absolute beauty; they are 
perfection.

Legolas stands at the window looking into the garden. He sees the two 
warriors through the steam, locked in their loving embrace. He smiles as 
he sees how happy his father is and prays that the great warrior will not 
leave him broken hearted.

The two rise from the pool and dress. Glorfindel walks down the long hall 
to the infirmary, dreading what he might find. As he enters he finds all is 
quiet and one of the healers approaches him informing him the worst is 
over; that he can look forward to leaving with his remaining soldiers in a 
few weeks. He sits quietly beside his Second; while he is relieved that his 
soldiers will recover, the thought of leaving his lover fills him with despair. 
He has taken an oath to Elrond, to serve him and look after his family, he 
knows he cannot break that oath but leaving Thranduil will break the 
King’s heart, and his own.

A month passes and Thranduil and Glorfindel spend every moment 
together. Glorfindel serves as an advisor and trains with him and his 
soldiers. He lies in his arms every night, making love to him, cherishing 
each moment they spend together. Each passing day causes the dread 
within the warrior to build as he tries to decide what to do, how to resolve 
the impossible dilemma.

It is late in the afternoon and Thranduil sits upon his throne, Glorfindel at 
his side, as the herald from Imladris approaches. Glorfindel’s mouth goes 
dry and his pulse pounds in his head as he sees the look in the herald’s 
eye. The herald bows in respect and greets the Mirkwood King, "My Lord, 
I bear greetings from Lord Elrond."

Thranduil’s gaze narrows as he addresses the herald, "You are welcome 
here, as are greetings from your Lord. What news from Imladris?" 

The herald clears his throat before firing a quick glance at Glorfindel, 
"Lord Elrond thanks you for the assistance and care you have given his 
soldiers and wonders if Lord Glorfindel and his soldiers have recovered 
enough to return to Imladris."

Thranduil settles back into his chair and thoughtfully strokes his jaw, "Yes, 
I suppose they have. Although most of the soldiers are still too weak to do 
battle and will require an escort as the roads are not entirely safe. Due to 
the continued attacks on my borders I am unfortunately unable to spare 
any soldiers to escort them at this time. Perhaps you should return to 
Imladris and inform Lord Elrond that he must send an escort party back 
for them."

The herald continues, "Lord Elrond assumed as much, being a healer 
himself, and has requested that an escort meet me here from Lothlórien. 
They are due to arrive in two days, they can provide escort for his soldiers 
back to Imladris."

Thranduil flashes a glance over his shoulder at Glorfindel and looks back 
at the herald, "Very well, we will look for their arrival," he claps his hands 
and a host of servants rush forward, "in the meantime, please enjoy your 
stay. My servants will prepare quarters for you. That will be all."

The herald narrows his eyes as he bows, not liking the curt dismissal by 
the King and departs with his servants. Thranduil rises from his throne 
and turns to Glorfindel, "A word, seneschal, in my chambers."

Glorfindel rises and follows Thranduil to his chamber where he closes the 
door behind him. Thranduil turns to face him, his piercing blue eyes 
delving into his heart, "So, meldir, what do you plan to do? Will you stay 
here with me or return to Elrond?"

Glorfindel is unable to look in his eyes as he speaks and casts his gaze to 
the floor, "I cannot forsake my oath to Lord Elrond, as much as it pains 
me to honor it. I must leave you, meleth nín."

Thranduil feels as if he has been run through. He staggers back and sits 
upon the bed, he supposes he knew this is what would happen all along 
but he had hoped that his love would be enough to hold the warrior by his 
side. His voice sounds small as he speaks, "So you leave me then? Cast 
aside the love I have given you and break my heart?"

Glorfindel rushes to him kneeling at his feet. This was the last reaction he 
expected, to see the great King so broken, "My Lord, I do not want to 
leave, my heart breaks as well. But you, most of all, must understand 
what I say, you know I cannot break my oath to him." He takes his strong 
hands in his own, pressing his lips upon them his tears falling upon them, 
"Forgive me, Sire. I should never have allowed this to happen, to either of 
us."

Thranduil looks at his lover, radiant in his golden glory, kneeling at his 
feet. He takes a deep breath, "Would it change anything if I begged you," 
he swallows and closes his eyes tight, "if I begged Elrond to release you 
from your oath."

His heart stops and his breath catches in his throat, ‘Beg? He is willing to 
beg his oldest enemy?’ The fact that his beloved is willing to humble 
himself that much; to cast aside his pride and beg Elrond, the last person 
he would ever debase himself to, for his release, tells Glorfindel all he 
ever needed to know about Thranduil’s love for him. He looks up at him, 
"No, meleth nín, I could not bear to see you beg, not for anything. Please 
Thranduil, let me go; do not make me beg you."

Thranduil caresses his hair and lifts him from the floor by the chin, pulling 
him on top of himself and onto the bed. The sadness in his voice is 
palpable as he softly speaks, "Never, Glorfindel, I would never have you 
beg for anything," tears begin to trickle from his eyes, "I will release you 
from my love if that is what you need. I would not have you turn your 
heart away from another and live your life alone. I am thankful for the brief 
time we have had together and for the few days we have left." 

Glorfindel gazes into his deep blue eyes and whispers, "I will love no 
other, only you, for the rest of my life." He presses a deep kiss to his lips 
and sighs into his mouth, wondering how he will live without this, without 
the love of his King, his friend. They have each bonded with the other 
without saying it, without formally participating in the ritual. Now Thranduil 
offers to release him from that bond, leaving him free to bond with 
another, but Glorfindel will not, not ever. The two make love throughout 
the evening and lie in each other’s arms without sleeping. Two days later 
the party from Lothlórien arrives and Glorfindel and his group prepare to 
depart. He goes about the mundane task of packing supplies and 
preparing the horses in mind-numbing pain. He has but twelve hours 
more with his beloved, twelve short hours in which to experience the 
purest, deepest love he has known in his long life.

Thranduil has been conspicuously absent from the preparations; Legolas 
has been filling in for him diplomatically. Glorfindel has not been alone 
with the King since he told him he was leaving. He tries hard to hide his 
feelings from his soldiers, from those around him but he fears it is 
impossible. He has not been able to sleep or eat for two days and the 
closer his departure comes the more alone he feels, his heart weighted 
with despair. Haldir of Lórien approaches him from behind, placing a 
gentle hand on his shoulder, "My Lord Glorfindel, are you prepared for the 
journey tomorrow?"

He turns his gaze to the handsome Elf, and tries to manage a smile, "Yes, 
Haldir, we are prepared."

Haldir studies his eyes, his brow furrowed with worry, "It appears there is 
something left undone, unsaid. I can see it in your eyes. Perhaps you 
should attend to it. I will make sure things are finished here."

Glorfindel places a knowing hand on his shoulder, realizing that Haldir 
sees what is in his heart, "Thank you. I will."

On his final night in Mirkwood he goes to the chamber of his love and 
finds him sitting silently in the great oak chair, dressed in the ceremonial 
robes he wore that first night when he took care of him. The King stares 
into the flickering light of the fire, his eyes clouded over with sorrow and 
longing, longing that has already taken hold despite the fact that 
Glorfindel is still there, for one more night anyway. He has tried to avoid 
the warrior, hoping that putting distance between them might help him to 
wean himself from the need he feels for his golden beauty, but it has not. 
Glorfindel approaches him, kneeling at his feet and looking up into his 
once radiant face. He places his hand on his King’s knees, slowly drawing 
them apart and sliding in between his legs. He places one strong hand 
upon Thranduil’s chest, next to his heart and takes his lover’s hand in his 
other, placing it upon his own heart. He whispers, "You will always live 
here, meleth nín, this will always belong to you." He leans into the King, 
seeking his mouth with his own.

Thranduil lifts his weary arms and wraps them around Glorfindel drawing 
him into a passionate kiss. Glorfindel rises from the chair and draws him 
to the bed, removing his garments as they cross the room. Thranduil 
removes his lover’s robe and runs his hands across his strong chest as 
he lowers him to the bed. "This will have to last me a long time, meleth 
nín, for there is no other that can compare to your beauty, no other that I 
can ever relish as much as you." With those words the King ravishes his 
love, he makes love to him for hours in ways that Glorfindel never 
imagined. Time and time again he brings him to impossible heights of 
passion and climax. After hours they lie side by side, their beautiful 
bodies covered in a slick sheen of sweat, their perfect skin flushed pink, 
their chests rising and falling in time with one another. They lay awake 
together holding each other as the morning sun begins to rise. Thranduil 
rises with him, taking a bath with him before dressing in his lover’s 
favorite clothes. He stands at the mirror in his plain green suede leggings, 
his silver tunic glittering in the morning light. He places the last braid in his 
hair, carefully tucking it behind his ear and reaches for his cloak, drawing 
it around his powerful shoulders. He turns and looks at Glorfindel, sitting 
on the side of the bed in the riding clothes he had his servants make him. 
He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small velvet pouch. He takes a 
deep breath and the corners of his mouth curve into that disarming smile 
that Glorfindel loves so much. He extends his gloved hand and speaks, 
"Come, meldir, it is time to join the others. It is time for you to ride again." 

Glorfindel crosses the room to him embracing him as a tear rolls down his 
face wetting Thranduil’s tunic. The King smiles and lifts his chin so that 
their gazes meet, "Come now, Glorfindel, is that any way for the great 
Balrog Slayer to act?"

Glorfindel laughs softly, he knows what Thranduil is doing, he is putting 
up a brave front to spare him the pain and guilt of the sorrow he knows he 
causes. "Yes, meleth nín, you are right as always. I am being foolish, 
always seeming to break down crying in your arms. But no longer, I draw 
my strength from you now. I am stronger than I was, the Valar save the 
poor creature that crosses me now." He laughs softly.

Thranduil laughs as well, "I do pity the poor thing that does." He swallows 
his pride and somehow manages to choke the words out beneath the 
hate that wells up inside him at the thought of the Elf who takes his love 
away, "Elrond is fortunate to have a warrior and friend as brave as you 
protecting him and his family." He opens the pouch removing a beautiful 
mithril ring. He smiles and whispers softly, "Here, meleth nín. Take this as 
a reminder of my love and friendship, they will always be with you," he 
slides the ring upon the warrior’s finger and it fits perfectly. Thranduil 
laughs softly, "A perfect fit. I should have known. It is as perfect as you 
are." With that he places his fingers upon Glorfindel’s lips silencing any 
further words that may come from him, instead placing a passionate kiss, 
his last, upon the golden warrior's mouth. He sighs, running his fingers 
across his mouth, "Such lips, the first time I saw you I thought they 
begged to be kissed. Funny that it is I that has turned into the beggar. I 
shall miss these lips, meleth nín." He draws the Eldar out of his chamber 
and down the hall.

Thranduil stands upon the steps of his great manor, looking at his radiant 
love sitting astride his white stallion. He raises his hand as they ride 
away, choking back the tears that well up inside him as Glorfindel turns 
and looks at him one last time. As he rides away Thranduil watches the 
distance between them grow until nothing is left but the emptiness of his 
forest, which is so much darker now that he is gone. He turns to see 
Legolas standing behind him, his ever watchful, kind gaze upon his 
father. 

He places his arm around him as they walk back into the palace as the 
silence of the empty house echoes their footsteps. 


"I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.." Much 
Ado About Nothing, Act V, Scene ii - William Shakespeare