Title: An Affliction of the Heart, 3/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir, Glorfindel/Thranduil Rating: NC-17 for slashy goodness Beta: Minuial Nuwing – you’re the best, darling! Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between half-elven twins and a prince, and between a warrior and a king. Allusions to violence. 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: The twins come to Greenwood with Glorfindel to expand their education and everyone learns more than was intended. Yet another exploration of the dangers and delights of love – I’m nothing if not a hopeless romantic. Canon disclaimer is in place, as always. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Glorfindel takes a big step. As the guests retired from the banquet to a large hall that doubled as a formal meeting place and informal spot for impromptu revelry, Thranduil took his leave, saying goodnight to his son by bestowing a kiss upon the crown of the prince’s head. Legolas smiled then led Elladan and Elrohir to a seating area near a large hearth. “As trainees you will not be placed in actual danger until your abilities have been assessed,” Legolas said, motioning for the twins to take a seat. “I know you have been trained in combat already, but warfare in Greenwood is unlike that which the Noldor practice.” “How so, my liege?” Elladan asked. Legolas smiled slightly, pointing at the elder twin. “Elladan, correct?” He smiled as the peredhel nodded. “It might take me some time to learn which of you is which; you really are identical in appearance. Here in Greenwood, warfare is conducted in close, often obstacle-laden environs. The wood is dense, as you saw upon your journey, and that makes ambush a constant danger. Our archers rely on the cover of the trees and often fight from the treetops to stay alive. Orcs are not adept at climbing trees, and the high vantage points make for good battle stations. Thankfully, we do not see many of them this far north, but in addition to orcs we must battle evil men and other fell creatures.” “What sort of creatures?” Elrohir queried. “Wolves and spiders.” “Spiders?” Elladan asked, surprise evident upon his face. Legolas smiled wryly. “Yes, not the small house spiders that you see in your homeland, but large, corrupted versions of Eru’s creation. They are the issue of Ungoliant, made by the Dark Lord and his unholy master before him. There is also rumor of a dragon that has been seen near the Lonely Mountain.” “How large are these spiders?” Elrohir asked, feeling a shudder run down his spine. “As large as an ox, larger in some cases. It takes many an arrow to fell one, I promise you.” “You have seen them?” Elladan queried. “Aye, and I have battled them. We have not seen any within the border proper for quite some time now, but there is a large nesting ground just south of Emyn-nu-Fuin.” He smiled as he noted the expression on the twins’ faces. “Do not worry, I doubt you will see any spiders during your stay here.” “Let us hope not,” Elladan returned, taking a drink of wine. “You are just of age, are you not?” Legolas questioned. “Is it obvious?” Elrohir asked. Legolas laughed softly. “There is always an air of youthfulness that clings to one until sometime past majority.” “How old are you, might we ask?” Elladan queried. “I was born in the fiftieth year of this age, in the southern reaches of the forest.” Elrohir leaned forward in his chair. “How long have you been a warrior?” “Since father gave me permission to be one; I was not much older than you are now when I began my training. You have been fortunate to learn the warrior trade in a safe homeland and be schooled by one of the greatest warriors of all time. My initiation into the warrior ranks was not smoothly executed, mostly owing to my own impatience, and I paid for it more than once, I can tell you.” “How so?” Elladan asked as he set down his wine glass. “Well, at one time or another, I have broken each arm, been pierced by arrows, cut by scimitars, punched, kicked, bit by a warg, and stung by a spider. This is nothing, of course, compared to what Glorfindel endured. I have learned from each encounter, and it has been many years since I have been wounded. Initially, I was trained in Imladris, by Glorfindel and Erestor, but that was long ago.” Legolas took a deep drink of wine, and then placed the empty cup on a table, smiling and nodding to the fair elleth who filled it. “Enough talk of me. Tell me of your lives and your experiences; the more we know one another, the sooner we will form a bond of friendship and trust.” He settled back on the chaise and listened as the twins began to tell their stories. * * * * Glorfindel had remained behind as Thranduil left, talking and half-listening to the king’s advisers while he debated with himself whether or not he would accept the king’s invitation. Thranduil made it no secret that he wished to master the Elda in bed. Normally, Glorfindel would be intrigued by the invitation to be the king’s lover, but the terms made him uneasy. He had not submitted to a lover since he was a youth, and he had not taken a lover at all since his return to Middle-earth. Still, he remembered well what to do and he knew the rough ways that warriors often preferred. He wondered if that was what Thranduil wanted, to use him roughly. Once he had been old enough and strong enough to take lovers on his own terms, he had stopped practicing the rough ways of soldiers. When it became no longer possible to focus on the conversation at hand, Glorfindel excused himself under the guise of weariness. After bidding good night to the twins and the prince, he retired to his chambers, which were near Thranduil’s own. Barefoot, Glorfindel paced his chamber clad in a robe that had been laid out for him on his bed when he arrived from the feasting hall. The garment was a gift from Thranduil, no doubt in anticipation of his acceptance of the extended invitation. He was not sure which was more maddening, the presumptive nature of the gift or the way it fit him - it was clearly designed to accentuate what Thranduil thought were his best attributes. “I am a warrior, a noble, not a concubine,” he grumbled to his own reflection in the mirror. “He treats me as if I were chattel.” The bell struck. It was time, time to decide if he would take a chance as Amroth suggested, or continue to live the safer, more solitary life he had chosen thus far. * * * * Glorfindel stepped through the doorway into the dimly lit bedchamber. A fire cracked and popped in the hearth and candles were placed around the room, offering soft, warm light. The rug felt good beneath his bare feet and the room smelled faintly of jasmine. As he stood upon the rug, he focused his eyes on what seemed to be the only thing in the room. There, in the middle of a bed too-wide sat the King of Greenwood. His flaxen hair was loose, falling around his shoulders to his waist; his ice blue eyes riveted Glorfindel to the spot, delving deep inside, seeking entrance to his deepest secrets. Thranduil’s skin glistened in the amber light, and the dark, silken sheets pooled around his waist. “You came,” the king said softly, his voice seeming to thrum with sensuality. “I am curious,” Glorfindel replied, swallowing the lump in his throat and fighting to quell the tremor in his voice. “I am sure you are,” Thranduil answered with a smile. “Though whether or not you find what you seek remains to be seen.” He held out his hands to the warrior. “Come, join me.” Glorfindel approached slowly, cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild stallion of the Mearas or some untamable beast that could do him harm. “You look good enough to eat in that robe,” Thranduil purred as the warrior reached the bedside, “and it fits perfectly.” “Are you attempting to seduce me?” Glorfindel queried, placing a bent knee on the edge of the bed. “I had hoped we were past that point,” Thranduil answered with a smile. Despite his best effort not to, Glorfindel laughed. “You are so remarkable when you smile,”Thranduil added. “It is as if you are lit from within.” He took Glorfindel’s hand and guided him into the bed. “Let me touch you,” he murmured into the warrior’s ear. Glorfindel’s eyes fluttered closed and he caught himself sighing as Thranduil’s lips caressed his neck. “You smell good,” he whispered. “I have been told I taste good as well,” Thranduil replied with a smile. “Would you care to find out for yourself?” “Oh yes,” Glorfindel answered, sliding one hand around the back of Thranduil’s neck and lowering the king to the bed. They explored one another thoroughly as Thranduil removed the robe that Glorfindel wore. As their passion mounted, each sought mastery over the other. Glorfindel tested the king’s resolve, only to retreat when he felt resistance in the Sinda’s body. Thranduil would not yield, this was becoming clear. In a surprising move, Thranduil rolled him to his stomach then pressed against him, holding his hands over his head. “Yield to me, Glorfindel,” he murmured. “It is the only way we will find release, for I will never yield to you.” “So, I am to play slave to your master?” Glorfindel replied through a clenched jaw. “Slaves have no free choice; I will not take what you will not give freely,” Thranduil replied. “Let me show you what I can do; let me make you my own.” “And what of my wants?” “Do you want me?” “You know I do.” “Then you shall have me, but only if you yield.” With his hands held fast above his head and the king’s knees pushing his thighs apart, Glorfindel made a decision. He would take a chance. He would yield. ~To be continued.