Title: ‘Bared Identities’ SEQUEL to the PWP, ‘Mistaken Identity’. *Strongly* advise you read beforehand. Author: Bone Fauna LJ: bone_fauna Hompage: Pairings: Thranduil/Legolas Summary: Legolas is devastated and confused after his father mistakenly and unknowingly ravaged him in ‘Mistaken Identity’. He can never let Thranduil know what happened, but the king is far more observant than his son thinks... Rating: NC-17 (varies from chapter to chapter) Warnings: Angst, & incest – duh! ;) Oh, and very, very, very mild swearing (practically non-existent except for once or twice). Disclaimer: Don’t own them, can’t afford them, not mine – all Tolkien. Except the plot and angst and OCs and slashy parts – that’s me! : P Author’s notes: Written especially for all those of you who gave me fb for ‘MI’ – much appreciated, and encouraged me to write this. Thanx for being so patient. Exams were okay. Yay, we have story with plot, - & chapters!!! Reminder - For the purposes of this story, Legolas is 46 – which would roughly be 17 in human years. Majority is reached at 50. ‘Malthenfin’ basically means golden haired. ‘Goldgwen’ = ‘wise maiden’. Taken the liberty of also inventing and naming Legolas’ two elder brothers. ‘Bórsael’ = faithful and wise one. ‘Maergorv’ = good, vigour. And I’ve made up my own rules about fading and binding. Also, I consider ‘Ada’ to mean ‘Father’, not dad or daddy. ‘ / ’ denotes thoughts. Archives: If you want it, take it. Just tell me the address so I can admire my work on a new site! Feedback: Yes please! That’s why there’s an email address & LJ! Pllleeeeeeaaaaasssssse? And if for some reason you’re inspired to do artwork, by all means go ahead. Just let me know where I can drool over it! Conceptional Beta: Aliaself. All hail her, for she made this story possible… or readable, at the least! *g* By the same author: ‘Majority’, starring Glorfindel/Elladan; its sequel, ‘Another Heaviness of Soul’, starring Glorfindel/Elrohir/Elladan. And, of course, ‘Mistaken Identity’ starring Thranduil/Legolas. ‘Bared Identities’ ~Part 1. Prologue.~ Legolas anxiously bit his bottom lip as he approached his father’s study. He had been sitting alone in his room, worrying himself sick over the events of last night when the summons had come. Apparently his father wanted to see him. Legolas was very nervous. Normally his father would not have sent a messenger if he wanted to talk to his sons. Their family was very close knit, and had never worried much about formalities. But now that he had been sent for, and with the event of last night still clear in his mind, Legolas was worried. Had Thranduil found out…? Surely not. It had only happened last night, and he was certain no one could know. Was it possible his father had worked things out for himself? And if so, what would he say? Legolas almost walked into the door of his father’s office, having been agonising so much that he hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going. He realised he was trembling slightly, and took a moment to try and compose himself, before lightly rapping on the door. “You wanted to see me, Ada?” he called gently through the door. There was a moment of silence, and then Thranduil’s stern voice from inside replied, “Yes. Legolas. Come in.” Legolas swallowed back his fear, and opened the door. Thranduil sat behind his desk, looking terribly menacing and unfriendly. Not at all how he normally appeared to his sons. Legolas had to do everything in his power not to break into tears and runaway from the room right then. /Oh God, he has to know!/ Legolas thought in despair. Legolas shut the door gingerly behind him, and then took a small step forward, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground. “Legolas?” “Yes, Ada?” “Will you look at me?” Legolas considered refusing, but then decided that if his father was angry, it was best not to inflame him more so. He looked up and tentatively met Thranduil’s eyes. They didn’t appear to be angry, as he had feared, but there was definitely a look about them that he did not like. Something, cold, withdrawn and calculating. “Will you come closer, Legolas? You’re standing on the other side of the room,” Thranduil admonished. Legolas’ eyes widened slightly and he blushed faintly in embarrassment. He walked up until he was standing directly in front of his father’s desk. “No,” Thranduil said exasperatedly. “Come *here*,” and he held out his hand, indicating for Legolas to walk around and stand by his side. Legolas felt his stomach contract in panic and fear, though he did not know why. He cautiously approached his father, and suddenly yelped as Thranduil pulled him into his lap. “Ada, wha-?!” “Shh,” Thranduil cut him off, placing a finger against his lips. “Now then. Let’s see what we have here…” And with little more said, Thranduil pulled his son’s head forward and kissed him fully on the mouth. Legolas was in shock. Instinctively he tried to pull away, but his father had a firm grip on his head and back, and wouldn’t let him go. After struggling for a moment, Legolas gave in, completely confused as to what was going on. Thranduil’s tongue nudged against his lips, and he opened his mouth obediently without thinking. His father’s hot wet tongue slipped inside his mouth and consumed him. Legolas moaned, and relaxed into the embrace as his father’s tongue began to explore his mouth leisurely and teasingly. One of Thranduil’s hands then moved down and began to stroke Legolas through the fabric of his pants. Legolas cried out into the kiss, his father swallowing his cry as he slowly became aroused. Legolas’ mind was spinning. He did not know how his father had obviously found out about last night, or why he was doing this now. Legolas was just so relieved, however, that his father obviously wasn’t angry with him, that he allowed all this to happen. Thranduil pulled back, and Legolas panted for breath, somewhat disappointed that the kiss had ended, but Thranduil continued to stroke him through his leggings. Legolas’ eyes soon became lidded with lust and need. “Do you like this, little one?” Thranduil asked darkly, and licked up the underside of Legolas throat. Legolas whimpered, not sure how to answer. His body liked what his father did, but his mind was still confused and in shock. In the end, he gave the answer he thought would best please his father. “Yes, Ada. Please, more…” Thranduil smiled almost cruelly, and began to caress Legolas with lighter, more teasing strokes, until Legolas was gasping and pleading for him to finish it. Thranduil only laughed and said, “You are just a little whore, aren’t you?” Legolas’ head snapped up and looked at Thranduil with hurt and confusion clearly expressed on his face, but Thranduil simply possessed his mouth again before he could ask any questions. Again Legolas tried to struggle, but to no avail. After a few moments, Thranduil finished the kiss, and then brutally shoved his son off his lap and onto the floor. Legolas grunted as he landed awkwardly on the ground, and then looked up at his father who held nothing but clear contempt on his face. “You little slut. I knew that’s all you were. I didn’t want to believe it, but after last night, and just now….” Thranduil shook his head, and sneered down at his son. “You make me sick, Legolas. You are no son of mine. If anyone ever finds out about this or last night, I will probably have to disown you to save the reputation of this family. Just a filthy whore!” Legolas couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and was only vaguely aware that tears were pouring down his cheeks. “No!” he whimpered quietly, but Thranduil ignored him. The king stood up from his chair, and walked out of his office, shutting the door curtly behind him without a second glance back at his son. Legolas doubled over and began to sob…. …Legolas woke up with jolt, his own crying waking him up from his dream. He was disorientated at first upon finding himself lying on the cold floor, but quickly remembered that that’s where he had fallen asleep upon coming back from his father’s rooms last night. /Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream/ he chanted to himself, shaking slightly from the brutality of his nightmare. He stiffly moved to push himself up from the floor, and a hiss escaped his lips as he suddenly became aware that he was still half erect from his dream. That fact disturbed him the most. An old shirt lay discarded on the floor nearby, and Legolas pulled it on, his naked chest making him feel very vulnerable. Still crying, and feeling ill, weak, confused, and generally miserable, Legolas crawled his way into his bed, and huddled up under the sheets, trying to find a measure of comfort and warmth from his tormented mind. He ached all over, not from just sleeping on the floor, but from the abuse he had been forced to bear last night in his father’s bed. Legolas began sobbing harder as memories of last night resurfaced stronger than ever. It was all his fault. He was such a fool! He never should have gone to his father’s room for comfort; never should have fallen asleep waiting for his Ada. It wasn’t Thranduil’s fault that he had thought Legolas was Malthenfin. Legolas moaned as he recalled the things his father had whispered hotly into his ear, believing him to be one of his few, random lovers. *Let me possess you, Malthenfin, like you know you want to be possessed*. That’s when Legolas had realised what he had gotten himself into; that because of his childish whims, he was now involved in something way over his head. *I want to see how long it takes me to drive you insane with need*. Well, Legolas must have been a disappointing conquer, as it hadn’t taken long for his father to have him moaning in pleasure. Legolas had never felt more disgusted with himself for having given into his father so willingly. Surely if he had wanted to badly enough, he could have made his father realise what he was doing. /But I was weak/ Legolas thought pitifully. *Does your body ache to feel me inside you? Pushing in and out of that tight passage of yours? Ravaging your body as you are tied to my bed? Finding my pleasure in you, with you absolutely helpless to do anything about it?* Legolas moaned again, but this time there was more heat than despair behind the sound, and he hated himself all the more for it. Even the memories of his father’s words could undo him. Legolas whimpered as he felt his erection grow harder in new-found interest. *Do you feel me moving inside of you, ascar? Feel me push in – and out... in – and out... Do you feel my hand on your throbbing length? Feel me stroking your aching flesh? How do you want me to take you? In one hard thrust? Or inching in, bit, by bit, by bit...?* “No,” Legolas whimpered aloud, “I didn’t want it. I didn’t!” But even he was doubting himself. If he didn’t want his father to take him, why was he now struggling with burning arousal? “I’m sorry, Ada,” he whispered into the mattress, shivering. “You did not know what you were doing. It was all my fault. I’m sorry.” Legolas continued crying, reminding himself that he could not let his father find out about last night. Thranduil did not know what he had done, therefore he shouldn’t have to bear the guilt and blame of it by knowing. Legolas would keep this secret himself. And he could also not risk letting his father find out because of what Thranduil’s reaction might be. Legolas’ nightmare had now frightened him. What if Thranduil thought Legolas *was* a slut? It certainly would seem that way if the king ever learnt the truth. Legolas could not allow that to happen, because his father’s and brother’s love was all that mattered to him. His family was his life. Legolas whimpered and rolled over, trying to ignore his aching flesh. *I will have you seeing stars* Thranduil had said. *I shall treasure this gift you give me, and I will try not to abuse it*. Legolas’ mouth twisted in irony at this last statement. Thranduil had said more than he could have ever realised, but Legolas was grateful nonetheless. Although the king had had no idea it was Legolas’ virginity which he took, at least he had been a gentle and attentive lover. And he had indeed given Legolas pleasure. Legolas had seen stars. It was more than anyone could hope for when being raped. Legolas realised that he should be getting up soon in order to be ready for breakfast. However, the thought of having to face his father, especially after his nightmare, terrified him. He couldn’t do it, not yet anyway. He would wait for the love-bite to fade, and hopefully by then he would have enough courage to meet his Ada without vomiting or breaking down into tears. With that thought, Legolas touched the passion mark on his neck, and then the tip of his ear which his father had unmercifully sucked on. He whimpered slightly as it sent a small thrill of both pleasure and pain through him, and his member ached and throbbed unbearably, weeping its need. With bitter tears Legolas gave in to the fight, and lowered his hand to bring himself to completion, thinking of his father and last night as he did so… t.b.c. Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Elvish: [& remember, I’m no linguist ;) ] Ada = Father ascar = wild one Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ ~Feedback makes me work faster :P ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 2~ Thranduil woke up feeling much better than he had in a long time. He was warm and comfortable, but most importantly, his body sung with the sated feeling of having had a really good fuck. Thranduil moved his hand out to feel the space next to him. Empty. The king wasn’t worried, however. He had normally requested in the past that his lover’s leave before sunrise. He had said it was so he could keep some semblance of dignity, but in reality, it was more to preserve his modesty in front of his sons. Though all three of his children, even Legolas, were old enough to know he sought out the company of others from time to time, he still preferred to keep his nightly activities as private and discreet as possible so as to not embarrass his sons, or himself in front of his children. Nevertheless, Thranduil wouldn’t have minded at all if Malthenfin had decided to stay this time. The Mirkwood ruler was in a particularly cheerful mood this morning, and could have possibly gone another round with the slender, blond elf. Not to mention two of his sons were out patrolling the borders and killing a few spiders, so there was less chance of anyone finding out that last night had been quite eventful for their king. Thranduil chuckled to himself as he sat up and stretched, feeling revitalised and ready to tackle anything. Which was a good mood to be in, because with the absence of his eldest two, Bórsael and Maergorv, Thranduil would have to tackle any paper work and other diplomatic issues on his own. He knew that he only had to ask for Legolas’ assistance in order for his youngest to eagerly help, but he didn’t begrudge Legolas his youth just yet. /He still has a few more years yet before he reaches majority. Let him enjoy his youth while he can./ Thranduil smiled and then went to wash in his adjoining bathroom. He dressed in leggings and a loose top, not in the mood to put up with insipid formal robes on such a lovely day. It wasn’t long before he had braided a couple of strands of hair, leaving the rest free-flowing down his back, and then left his rooms to make his way towards breakfast. As he wound his way through the corridors towards his private dinning room, Thranduil suddenly smirked as he saw a familiar elf walk towards him. Malthenfin. The younger elf was quite a beauty to behold. Slender, blond, handsome, tall… Thranduil frowned slightly, noticing that Malthenfin was about the same height as himself. Last night he could have sworn his lover had been slightly shorter. Thranduil shrugged the thought away as he noticed Malthenfin look at him for the first time. He expected to see a twinkle of the eye, a smirk, a nod, a blush, - *something* to acknowledge last night, but it appeared that for all the world, Malthenfin was just going to walk past with nothing better than a pleasant smile of greeting plastered on his lips. Thranduil couldn’t allow it. Withholding a grin, which would reveal his intentions, Thranduil nodded politely to Malthenfin as they passed each other in the hall. Just as the slender blond walked passed, Thranduil whipped about and grabbed the younger elf about the waist. Malthenfin yelped slightly in surprise as his back was pushed up against the wall, and his front was immediately smothered, by a very mischievous looking king. “Hello, darling!” Thranduil greeted brightly. “Miss me?” And before the rather shocked Malthenfin could reply, Thranduil leaned in and consumed the elf’s mouth in a passionate, dizzying kiss. Malthenfin was a little slow in responding, but Thranduil didn’t wonder at this. After all, it wasn’t everyday the King of Mirkwood made such open displays outside his bedroom with his lovers! But then, to Thranduil’s surprise, Malthenfin managed to raise his hands enough to push against his lord’s chest, trying to push him off. Thranduil relented, curious as to what was upsetting his lover. “What’s wrong, lend-ind?” he asked, pulling back and looking at Malthenfin’s face closely for the first time in several months. Malthenfin’s eyes appeared troubled and confused, but Thranduil was more interested in the high-necked collared shirt his lover wore, which he only now noticed. He smirked, remembering the love-bite he had left on his lover’s neck last night. Malthenfin was obviously embarrassed to show it off. Thranduil rubbed the collar teasingly with a finger, and grinned up at his lover. “Don’t you want an encore? Right here, in the hallway?” he asked innocently, and then rubbed himself against the younger elf, his lips seeking out Malthenfin’s earlobe. Malthenfin’s eyes widened further, and again he raised his hands and pushed his king back a bit to regain some personal space. “P-please, Thranduil. Not here. Someone could walk past.” Thranduil frowned slightly, at last noticing the way Malthenfin’s eyes darted about, avoiding his gaze and almost seeking an exit. “Is something wrong?” Thranduil asked again, this time more seriously. His eyes widened slightly in concern as a thought occurred to him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Now it was Malthenfin’s turn to frown slightly. “No…” he said slowly, appearing a little confused. “It’s just…” “What?” Thranduil asked, now rather worried. “Listen, Thranduil, - Sire. I’ve been seeing someone now for –” “You’re *seeing* someone?! Like… a ‘boyfriend’?” “Well, yes… no. Look. I didn’t want to offend you… and… its only a new relationship so I didn’t want to announce anything and – but that’s why I’ve not seen you in a while. I didn’t want you to think… And I really enjoyed our time together… but, well, things are confusing now because we had a fight, but I think I’m in love … and… there was nothing ever between you and I… and…” Malthenfin sighed, frustrated that he couldn’t adequately phrase his thoughts. “You’re *seeing* someone,” Thranduil said again, still having a hard time getting past this fact. Malthenfin smiled softly. “Yes. I’m sorry. I probably should have told you earlier.” “But why did –” Thranduil’s question was cut short as both elves heard approaching footsteps. Realising that he still had Malthenfin pressed up against the wall in a rather unbecoming position as king, Thranduil reluctantly stepped back. Malthenfin readjusted himself just before a guard walked past. The guard smiled pleasantly and bowed his head as he passed king and elf. The two blonds returned the nod. The guard rounded a corner, as the sound of his footsteps faded. “I need to go. I’m late,” Malthenfin said, his face a mixture of discomfort and regret. Thranduil nodded his head, realising he was also late for breakfast. He smiled good-naturedly to show he held no hard feelings towards the elf. “Good luck to the two of you, then. I hope he treats you well.” Malthenfin smirked as he took a few steps away. “Who ever said it was a ‘he’?” Thranduil’s jaw dropped open, which Malthenfin joyfully laughed at, and then walked off. Thranduil shook his head, an unbelieving grin spreading on his face as he continued on his way. He was still entertaining thoughts of what kind of elf-maiden would be interested in Malthefin (if, of course his ‘former’ lover was not pulling his leg), when he entered a room where he and his family, and sometimes invited guests or friends, would eat their meals in. He had only taken a few steps inside the room when he stopped, all thoughts of Malthenfin and any inconsistencies in his story fled from his mind. Aside from the servants, the room was empty. Where was Legolas? Thranduil stared at the table currently set for two, and yet currently unoccupied. The few servants in the room stopped about their business, and stared at their king. “Is something the matter, my Lord?” an elf-maiden, who he knew as Goldgwen, asked. “Legolas,” Thranduil said, uncertainly. “Has he given an excuse as to why he is not here?” The woman quickly looked at the two other servants in the room to see if they knew anything, and then looked back at Thranduil. “No, my Lord. Perhaps the young prince sleeps-in this morning?” Thranduil frowned and began to fuss at his lip with his fingers, a habit he did whenever thinking hard. It wasn’t like Legolas to sleep in unless there was a good reason for it. And as far as Thranduil knew, Legolas had retired at a decent hour last night. His son had also made it a habit to attend all meals while his brothers had been on patrol, in order to soak up as much time with his father as possible. So it seemed doubly strange that his youngest was now absent. Thranduil wondered if something wasn’t wrong. “My Lord?” Goldgwen asked gently after Thranduil had remained still and silent for a few minutes. Thranduil shook himself out of his reverie, and looked at the elf-maiden. “Perhaps you would like one of us to check on your son, my Lord?” “…Yes… thank you.” Thranduil said, still slightly puzzled. Goldgwen smiled, somewhat amused at her king’s behaviour. “Why don’t you sit down and eat your breakfast, Sire. Tologèl here, shall go inquire after Legolas.” Thranduil nodded and then smiled, walking over to his chair and sitting down. Goldgwen gave him a warm beam as she began to pile sweet- breads and fruit upon his plate. One of the serving men left the room and headed towards the royal sleeping wing. Any unease Thranduil had felt about his son quickly vanished as he was caught up in Goldgwen’s lively, if somewhat one-sided, conversation. The elf-maiden rambled on about her sister and brother-in-law, who had apparently just had their first child, while she busied herself with small, menial tasks about the room. Thranduil listened in amusement, though he was perfectly aware that the young woman was purposefully trying to keep him distracted from his thoughts. He would have to thank her later. Thranduil was half-way through his breakfast, and learning about the diaper argument which had nearly seen poor Goldgwen’s sister leave her husband for the fourth time that decade, when Tologèl returned. The smile, which Goldgwen had brought to her lord’s face, quickly disappeared when he realised that Legolas wasn’t coming. That was odd. Tologèl bowed politely before reporting. “I knocked on his door, my Lord, and at first received no answer. I tried again however, believing he might be asleep, or perhaps in the washroom. When I tried a third and final time, calling out my purpose, the young prince replied that he was not hungry.” Thranduil waited for the elf-man to finish, and only belatedly realised that Tologèl was. “Is that all?” he asked, baffled. “He is not coming simply because he is not ‘hungry’?” “I believe that was his reasoning, Sire.” “And he told you this through a closed door?” “Yes, my Lord.” “After several attempts?” “Yes, my Lord.” “What did he sound like?” “…my Lord?” “The tone of his voice. Did he sound angry, upset, happy, flustered…?” Tologèl obviously had to think about this, or at least about his king’s sanity, before he carefully replied, “I think he sounded… weary, Sire.” Thranduil nodded, and tried to smile after realising that he was worrying the man. “Thank you, Tologèl.” “My Lord,” Tologèl bowed again, and then set himself the task of clearing away Legolas’ placing. Thranduil frowned, digesting this latest information. Something didn’t seem right, and his son’s behaviour certainly seemed out of character. After trying for a few minutes to push his son to the back of his mind and focus on eating, Thranduil sighed and stood up. His curiosity was piqued now, and he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something upsetting his youngest. Goldgwen caught his gaze and gave him a look that Thranduil swore only a woman could conjure, but simply shrugged helplessly in reply. The elf- woman rolled her eyes, and started muttering something about father’s and their possessiveness over their children. A small smile tugged at the king’s lips as he left the dining room and headed back the way he came, this time towards his son’s quarters. When he finally reached the door to Legolas’ room, he walked up to it and knocked, then waited to be admitted. When he received no reply, Thranduil tried the handle, but found that the door had been locked. “Legolas?” he called, feeling somewhat concerned now. He knocked on the door again, this time loud enough to wake his son if the boy was asleep. “Legolas, it’s me, Ada. Will you open up, please? The servant Tologèl has already informed me that you’re in there.” He waited, but his son was obviously refusing to answer him. Which worried him more than anything else he had heard of his son’s strange behaviour this day. There was no denying now that something was obviously wrong. “Legolas. Will you *please* unlock this door *now* and tell me what’s wrong?” he called in a voice that was quickly rising with concern. “Legolas!” He shook the door handle irritably, but Legolas refused to acknowledge him and his efforts. In the end, Thranduil took the hint that Legolas was in no mood to talk to anyone. With one last punch at the door, Thranduil stormed off to his office to work on some files, his good mood from that morning having all but vanished in confusion and frustration. t.b.c. lend-ind = sweet-heart Tologèl = (OC)‘trusty star’ Goldgwen = (OC) ‘wise maiden’ Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ~I’m a feedback monster. Feed me! ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 3~ When he returned to his office, Thranduil spent a good deal of time pacing up and down, trying to puzzle out his son’s behaviour. In the end, he decided his ceaseless worrying would achieve nothing. He sent a servant to find Goldgwen’s sister, and then waited for the elf’s return. Goldgwen’s sister arrived after a considerable length of time, which Thranduil had used productively to do more pacing. The woman looked hassled, which didn’t come as much surprise, as she was carrying her young infant on her hip. Thranduil could feel his mood brightening a little as he saw the new-babe, and asked to hold it. That had been his first mistake. The child began to scream, and despite the king’s attempt to quickly hand it back to it’s mother, the child now took delight in it’s own voice, and would not *shut up*. Thranduil tried all sorts of methods he had used on his own children, and when he eventually had a servant bring a pot of honey, he dipped his finger in it, and then allowed the child to suck upon the digit contentedly. Both mother and king sighed, relieved. While the baby was subdued, Thranduil asked the mother if she knew anything that Goldgwen might desire as a reward for her services. That was mistake number two. The mother spent the next hour profusely arguing that Thranduil was a good ruler and that his humble servants didn’t require anything of him. Clearly, she was rather intimidated by his status as king, and thought he was trying to trick her. Just when the King of Mirkwood had finally persuaded the mother that he was genuinely interested in giving Goldgwen a gift, the honey ran out, and the child began squawking again. Thranduil could feel a headache coming on. The mother also appeared to have had enough, as she relented and informed Thranduil that Goldgwen would love some new gowns. Thranduil bid the mother and now-sticky child a good day, and then sent a servant to organise for a tailor to create some gowns for Goldgwen. Thranduil decided it was the last time he would try and do anything nice for anyone ever again. The king then sat down and tried to work on his files. He sent another servant to check on Legolas, but the elf reported that the young prince either wasn’t in his room, or wasn’t in the mood to reply. Thranduil accepted this with a sigh. After another hour, he himself stood up, unable to concentrate on his work, and visited his son again, or more correctly, his son’s door. Legolas still refused to open it or his mouth. When he returned to his office, Thranduil summoned for some of Legolas’ ‘friends’, although they were more acquaintances than anything else. Legolas was only really close with his brothers and father. Thranduil questioned them, asking if any knew a reason as to why Legolas might be upset. Thranduil was answered with a collective group of rather blank looking elves, and the king had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything rude. His headache had grown worse, and was threatening to undo him. As if on cue, Goldgwen herself paid Thranduil a visit not long after. She carried a silver tray with hot tea and tid-bits of food. “I thought you could use this, my Lord,” she said, beaming at him knowingly. “You didn’t eat much this morning, and I find this particular brew fairly relaxing.” Thranduil stared at the tea as though the very Valar had sent it to him in answer to his prayers. “Thank you, Goldgwen,” he said gratefully. Then a suspicious thought occurred to him and he asked, “It isn’t drugged, is it?” Goldgwen laughed softly, and shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t drug you during the day. In the evening… well. That’s another matter.” Thranduil grinned, and then sipped the tea. As Goldgwen made to leave the room, he called after her, “What size clothes do you wear?” Goldgwen paused and turned around, saying, “I’ve already given my dimensions to the tailor. Thank you, Sire.” Thranduil uttered a rather nasty curse under his breath as she left. Trust Goldgwen’s sister to have just as big a mouth as Goldgwen herself, and ruin the surprise. /Never trust a woman with a secret!/ he thought to himself bitterly. Now he remembered why he had only sought out the company of men after his wife’s death. But he knew he was being unfaithful. After all, he would have trusted his *life* to his bride. Thranduil sighed. Now *that* brought up some bitter-sweet memories. His wife had died giving birth to Legolas. Thranduil and his wife had never been good lovers, but they had been the best of friends and companions. He was very distressed when his best friend, confidant, and ruler-in-arms had died, but she had left a wonderful gift at her parting. Thranduil sighed again, draining the tea, as he lost himself in memories of his wife, and the last child she gave which now was the cause of growing anxiety to the king. When Thranduil finished eating the food on the tray, he asked for another servant to check on his son again. When the servant returned, he said that Legolas had asked for some tea and a sleeping drought. Now Thranduil was very concerned, and decided that he would visit Legolas when he was finished with his paperwork. It was night by the time Thranduil was done. He moaned and rubbed his face in growing exhaustion. Although he had slept well last night, he had not slept long, and his constant antagonising had worn him down. He wanted to go to bed. But first he would try his son’s room one last time. He was determined to get in, even if it was to just reassure himself that Legolas was still alive. He opened a draw in his desk, and from a secret compartment, pulled out a master key to the royal sleeping quarters. It was a dirty trick, but he was tired, annoyed, and worried sick. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil stood back in front of his son’s door for the umpteenth time that day. It was growing late, and Thranduil hesitated to knock on the door, not wanting to wake his son if Legolas was genuinely asleep. In the end, he tapped on the door lightly, and called out his son’s name. He pressed his ear to the door. Where before he had occasionally been able to hear movement, this time there was silence. He was about to leave, deciding to let his son rest, when he thought he heard something. A whimper? Thranduil thinned his lips, and then pulled out the key from his pocket. He gently slid it into the lock, and opened the door to his son’s room. Legolas was asleep on his bed, fully clothed, which brought a slight frown to the king’s brow. Why hadn’t his son undressed? The boy slept on his stomach, his head turned away from the door, one arm resting on the pillow by his face, the other thrown down by his side. It looked as though his sleep was restless, and Thranduil distinctly heard another whimper from his son. He felt his heart constrict, wondering what nightmares plagued his son’s sleep. On the side table rested a tray with tea, and a half- empty bag of herbs, which helped induce sleep. Thranduil closed the door softly, and then moved over to his son’s bed. He sat on the side and stared down affectionately at his youngest. Where would he be without Legolas? His eldest child, Bórsael, had grown into a level-headed, wise elf that would one day be the finest ruler of Mirkwood imaginable. Maergorv, Thranduil’s second, was courageous, full of energy, and would make a good warrior. But Legolas? Legolas made Thranduil feel young again. They were both so alike, that Thranduil often considered them soul-mates; brothers and friends, more than father and son. Which is why it especially hurt now that Legolas refused to confide in him when something was clearly troubling the boy. “I wish you wouldn’t shut me out, meld-hên,” he murmured softly, stroking Legolas’ long, blond hair, which appeared rather knotted and neglected at the moment. As he petted his son, Thranduil noticed that the tip of his child’s ear was slightly red. Thranduil frowned and raised a hand to touch it, but as he stopped stroking his son, Legolas moaned slightly and shifted in his sleep. The hair about his neck slid back, revealing a rather dark and distinctive bruise upon his neck. Thranduil’s hand paused in mid-air, a frown slowly deepening on his face. With very light fingers, Thranduil touched the mark, leaning in slightly to get a better look. Despite the lack of strong light, there was no mistaking the bruise for what it was. A love-bite. A passion mark. Thranduil didn’t much like the looks of that. Who had been man-handling his son? His *under-aged*, 46 year old son, at that! In all his investigating today, no-one had mentioned a possible lover, or admitted to being such. So this ‘lover’ must be fairly new in Legolas’ life. If indeed, the said elf could be called a ‘lover’. Had Legolas been willing? Is that why he was now upset? And how far had they gone? Thranduil was feeling a strange mix of emotions rush through him, but he had no vent, not wanting to disturb Legolas from his sleep, which the boy looked as though he could use. Dark circles ran under his eyes, and he looked as unhealthy as an immortal being could. Thranduil clenched his hand into a fist to prevent it from shaking his son awake in order for him to question the boy. Why had this lover been kept a secret? Who could it possibly be? Were they male or female? Was it love, or something more carnal? Although Legolas was just approaching the age where his sexual awareness would be awakening, he had never yet expressed any desire in finding a mate, whether for short or long-term. Thranduil was worried now that Legolas had perhaps been abused against his will. Surely that’s why he had locked himself up? By why did he refuse his father’s presence? What did he fear? Thranduil sighed, distressed. He rested his head in his hands, and wondered what he could do; what he would say to his son when he woke up. “Ada?” Thranduil jumped and twisted about, looking at his son, but noticed that Legolas was still asleep. Legolas whimpered again and then rolled onto his back, now facing his father. “No… no…” Legolas moaned, and Thranduil tried to make soothing noises to hopefully ease his son’s sleep. “Shhh, Legolas. Go to sleep, meld-pen. Go to sleep. It’s okay, I’m here. Sleep now.” “What…. no… Ada, why..? Why are you doing this, Ada?” Thranduil’s eyebrows rose, and he felt genuinely confused. What was troubling his son? He stroked his son’s face, hoping that maybe he could find out the truth of his son’s problem by talking to him in his sleep. “What’s wrong, Legolas? What am I doing?” Legolas gasped, and his face twitched reflexively. “Ada, please stop. This is… not right.” “What isn’t?” Thranduil asked, confused, but also feeling a sense of dread build within him. “What’s wrong? What am I doing to upset you?” “Ada, please… It burns… it burns!” Legolas started sobbing, and twisted slightly in the bed. It was then, to Thranduil’s growing horror, that he noticed Legolas was erect. “Ada, please! It’s me… Legolas! …So confused... don’t understand… what you are doing… Ada… I don’t know… Ada! Ai! It burns!” Thranduil found himself trembling with a horrible urge to vomit rising in his throat, and Legolas was growing more and more distressed. “Legolas, please! You’re scaring me! What’s going on?” The feeling in his stomach became a horrible, sinking suspicion. But he didn’t dare dwell on it yet. “Legolas!” Legolas sobbed and moaned. “Didn’t mean… it to happen… Only wanted your company… lonely… waited… please, Ada, - I’m sorry…. My fault!” Thranduil suppressed a sob as all the pieces fell into place. He looked at the passion mark on his son’s neck again, and memories of last night flooded his mind. He had found the elf lying on his bed, uninvited and asleep. It had been dark. He had gagged and blindfolded the elf before he awoke, - before he had even seen his face or asked permission, never allowing the elf the chance to refuse and get away, tying him to the bed. /Oh Valar!/ He had sucked on the elf’s ear; given him a love-bite. The elf was gone by morning. Malthenfin had not recognised the escapade of last night. And Legolas had hidden in his room, and now he dreamt with a bruise upon his throat… Thranduil chocked and tears fell from his eyes as the awful realisation of what had happened hit him. “Elbereth, forgive me!” he whispered, utterly devastated. “Ada!” Legolas still writhed on the bed, his hips now arching pleadingly. “Please, no more! It burns, - I ache! Stop teasing... Ai!” Thranduil bit his fist to prevent himself from wailing in despair, only letting go when he realised he was drawing blood. He watched as Legolas whimpered and twisted next to him on the bed. After a few moments, the young elf collapsed and began sobbing bitterly. “I’m sorry! …Never should have come to your bed… Didn’t know… I didn’t know… It’s all my fault…” Thranduil’s heart finally broke, and he spooned his son up into his arms and his lap and held him close. He wept against his child’s shoulder, at what he had done, and to think that Legolas had tried to keep the burden and blame to himself. For how long they stayed like that, Thranduil wasn’t sure. But after a time, Legolas began whimpering again, and saying “Ada, please... burns… Make it stop… make it stop…” His mind still clouded in grief, guilt and despair, Thranduil’s hand moved without much thought down between their two bodies, and tenderly wrapped itself about his son’s clothed member. Legolas gasped and began to tremble violently. It didn’t take long for him to come, having been kept on edge for so long now. He clung desperately to his father in his sleep, the sleeping draught keeping him firmly under, and his father in turn hugged him close as he rode out his climax. Legolas then fell limp in Thranduil’s arms, still sobbing softly. Thranduil found that he was also still crying, clinging desperately to his beloved child which he had corrupted. More time passed, and Legolas eventually cried himself into a deeper sleep. Thranduil reluctantly loosened his hold, and gently lowered his son back into bed, pulling the quilts up over Legolas and tucking him in. The feelings of self-loathing, disgust, and horror were poisoning him, and he did not know how he was going to face tomorrow – or his poor, innocent son – ever again. For a moment Thranduil considered staying. He wanted to stay, to hold Legolas close and whisper reassuring words to both his son and himself. Yet he knew it would only complicate matters more if Legolas woke up and found himself in his father’s arms. He did not want to distress Legolas any more than necessary. Reluctantly, he decided he would leave his son to sleep alone, but would set someone to keep a watch by his door. Thranduil placed a shaky kiss on his son’s forehead, not believing himself actually worthy to do even that. He wiped his eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath, before standing and reluctantly leaving the room. He passed a guard on the way, which he ordered to stand outside Legolas’ quarters. The guard was to tend to whatever needs his son might have in the morning, and to send word if he left his room at any stage. The guard was clearly curious and slightly worried at the dark, haunted look in his lord’s eyes, but made no comment. He saluted and went to carry out his new duty, and Thranduil started to walk back to his bedroom, barely conscious of anything other than the sickening desolation that consumed his soul. t.b.c. Ada = father meld hên = dear child meld pen = dear one Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ for earlier updates Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 4~ [warning: non-con & mild-violence, but its just a dream ;) ] Thranduil walked back to his room and locked the door behind him. He stared distantly at the bed in which he had performed the awful deed of raping his son’s innocence. With sudden fury, Thranduil stormed over and wrenched all the sheets and cloth off the bed and threw them to the ground. He had a strong urge to order them to be burned, but held back only because his wife had favoured this quilt, as she had helped to make it. Unable to bear being in this room any longer, Thranduil turned around, unlocked the door, and left for his study. When he reached his office, he was at a loss as to what to do with himself and began pacing. There was no work to be done in order to distract him from his thoughts. Although he knew he would eventually have to deal with this situation, at the moment he simply wanted to huddle in a corner somewhere and have someone tell him that it was all a bad dream. A joke. Surely he could not have raped his son? Not Legolas. /Oh Valar, I want to die!/ Thranduil choked back a sob, and fearing his legs might not be able to support him much longer, he sank down to the floor in a small space between one of his bookshelves and a couch. Pulling his legs close against his chest, Thranduil found that he could fight the tears no longer, and he began to sob quietly into his knees. How was he ever going to face his son again? How would they sort through this problem; how could he possibly make everything alright again? Should he bring the matter up, or still feign ignorance? Thranduil didn’t know what to do. Maybe it would be better to send Legolas away for a while, so that the boy might have a chance to work out his emotions without the presence of his father looming over him. Yet Thranduil loathed that option, for he did not want to let his son out of his care. He didn’t want to lose Legolas! For hours he sat there, questions spinning in his head, but no answers came. Eventually, both physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, the King of Mirkwood succumbed to sleep. Yet his dreams were troubled… …He stood in the Great Hall of his home, in front of the throne, which was slightly raised from the floor by a few steps. He heard a noise and smiled to himself, realising that the person he had summoned for was at last coming. Through one of the side doors, two guards marched in, carrying a slender elf who was struggling desperately to get away. The guards halted before the stairs, and threw the young elf down on the ground. He was now sobbing bitterly and shaking in fear. Legolas. For some reason, the sight brought a delicious grin to Thranduil’s lips, and he nodded his thanks to the guards, dismissing them. Thranduil slowly descended the few steps until he stood over his son, eyeing him as though the boy were prey. “Legolas,” he said in the dream, and his mouth caressed the word with mocking tenderness. At this, Legolas began to sob harder. He was doubled over and holding himself, rocking back and forth in obvious distress. “My dear son,” Thranduil said slowly, teasingly, bending down in front of the youth. “Whatever ails you? Don’t be upset, my sweet, lovely son. Do not cry now. Ada is here.” “No!” Legolas moaned, flinching as Thranduil reached out a hand to caress his hair. “Shhh,” Thranduil soothed, although in truth he delighted at the effect he was having on the boy. He ran his fingers over his son’s smooth, sculpted cheek, and then lifted Legolas’ head by his chin. Legolas made eye contact fearfully, tears streaking his face. “Please, Ada. Not again. Please, please…” “Oh, such pretty words,” Thranduil crooned, tilting his head to the side and caressing the boy’s face with his predatory gaze. “Such pretty words, from such a pretty mouth…” Legolas whimpered and tried to pull his head back, but Thranduil’s grip on his chin was like iron. The king grinned, cat-like, and then bowed his head slightly to taste’s his sons lips. Legolas trembled but knew better than to resist, and Thranduil could feel the exact moment his son relented and sagged against him. The king smiled, pleased, and took his son’s submissiveness to deepen the kiss and taste the flavour of his child. “Good boy,” Thranduil whispered heatedly against Legolas’ lips, having pulled back. “Such a good, good boy. I think you deserve a reward.” Legolas sobbed and bowed his head, letting it rest against his father’s shoulder as Thranduil reached down and put his hand inside the prince’s pants. Thranduil stroked Legolas for a while, delighting in the small whimpers and unwilling moans he pulled from his son. When he was satisfied with Legolas’ erection, he put his mouth to the boy’s ear. “Turn around, Legolas. All fours this time. There’s a good boy.” Legolas became very pale, and shook his head in disbelief. Thranduil frowned. “Turn around, Legolas. You don’t want to make me angry, do you?” he warned. More tears ran down the youth’s face, and he bit his lip and slowly turned around, moving onto his hands and knees on the cold, marble floor. His shaking only increased as Thranduil began to cut his clothes off his body with a small, ceremonial dagger. The sight of Legolas, naked and trembling, was more than Thranduil could bear. Without even bothering to undress himself, he undid the front of his pants, and moved up behind his son. When he pressed his hard, hot length against his son’s backside, Legolas cried out in fear. His arms gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. “Get up, Legolas,” Thranduil snapped, most displeased. “No! Please don’t do this, Ada. Not again. *Please*!” “Legolas, I’m warning you. If you don’t get up *now*, you wont be able to get up for a week!” Legolas sobbed and curled up. “No, please, don’t… I’ll do anything, Ada.” Thranduil held back a snarl, hearing his son’s last admission. He raised an eyebrow, although Legolas couldn’t see it. “*Anything*, Legolas?” Legolas quietened and stilled. Hesitantly he raised his head and looked at his father. His eyes showed his fear, but he obviously thought that nothing could be worse than what Thranduil initially had in store for him. Carefully, he nodded his head. “Good,” Thranduil said with a broad grin. He reached out and picked the boy up by his hair. Legolas cried out as he was ruthlessly lifted and turned about, tears of pain rather than fear now springing to his eyes. He was dropped down facing Thranduil, who was still grinning at him manically. Legolas looked up, unsure what he would be asked to do. “Take me, Legolas,” Thranduil said, grinning demonically. “Take me in that sweet little mouth of yours which has been taught to beg so prettily.” Legolas’ eyes darted down to the dark, pulsing member standing proudly from Thranduil’s leggings. He looked back up at his father in panic, shaking his head in shock. “No?” Thranduil drawled, the grin disappearing into a frown. “Right then.” And he slapped Legolas hard across the face, sending the youth sprawling onto the hard floor. Before Legolas could roll off his stomach, Thranduil lunged on top of him. With a knee he viciously forced the boy’s legs apart, and stretching Legolas wide, he entered his son in one sharp, violent thrust. Legolas screamed as he was torn and violated. Thranduil didn’t give him any time to recover. He pulled out harshly, and then forced his way back in with another violent thrust. He set up a fast and brutal rhythm, taking delight in the warm blood from Legolas’ torn opening, which he could feel pool about his length and helped to ease his way inside his son. He covered the boy’s mouth with his hand to muffle his screams, not even allowing his son the dignity of voicing his pain. Thranduil relished in the act, in his own viciousness and domination. This is what he was. A rapist. Nothing more. He could feel himself drawing close to completion; could feel Legolas moan and sob and writhe and scream. Could feel his son’s inner passage tremble and clench and tear about him; could feel the heat pooling and building within his member until it became almost unbearable. And then, with one last, ferocious push, Thranduil pumped his seed out into his son, and he screamed out his own release… …Thranduil woke screaming, but it was a scream of fear and horror. He only stopped when he felt his stomach contract and heave. He bent over, promptly throwing up everything inside onto the polished, wooden floor. ~*~*~*~*~ The king sat in the chair in his office, staring lifelessly out the window. He had been sitting there for the last few hours, watching the sky turn from black to grey, and eventually bloom with the colours of sunrise. Too afraid to go back to sleep; too afraid to do anything except clean up the mess he had left on the floor after… Thranduil shuddered, not wanting to think about that nightmare ever again. The time for breakfast came and went, but Thranduil made no move to get up. He was afraid that Legolas might make an appearance, and he did not trust himself to remain calm just at the moment. The Valar, however, seemed to have other ideas, as there came a knock on the study door. “My Lord? Are you in there?” Thranduil recognised the voice as belonging to Goldgwen, and cursed silently. He stood up and opened the door, peering out at the maid. Goldgwen smiled, obviously relieved to have finally found her king. “My Lord! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. When you didn’t turn up for breakfast…” she shrugged and grinned, but then noticed the look on Thranduil’s face, and her smile froze. “Is everything all right, Sire? You… you don’t look, ah… well refreshed.” Thranduil gave a grim smile. “I did not sleep well, no. I don’t think I’ll attend breakfast this morning, Goldgwen.” Goldgwen hesitated. “Um, you do remember you were meant to meet your seneschal today to discuss changes to the border patrol? And after that is your weekly meeting with the advisors.” Thranduil cursed viciously, not caring to lower his voice for the sake of the woman’s presence. Goldgwen gave him a mothering, ‘was that really necessary?’–look, and then asked, “Would you like me to cancel the meetings, Sire?” Thranduil shook his head. “No,” he sighed. “Let’s get this over and done with.” After a moment’s pause, he asked tentatively, “Is Legolas there?” Goldgwen gave a gentle smile and shook her head. “No, my Lord. However, I did leave a tray of food by his door if he became hungry. Did you know that there is a guard outside his room?” Thranduil smiled slightly, but said nothing, following Goldgwen to the dining room. The first appointment was not very productive. Thranduil picked at his food, hoping to make it look as though he had eaten *something* so he wouldn’t have Goldgwen nagging him about his health. He was distracted, and found himself fazing in and out of the commanding officer’s report. In the end, Thranduil commended the seneschal on his proposed changes, trusting in the elf’s judgement that they were indeed a good idea. He would have to send Bórsael or Maergorv off to investigate later, when they returned from their extended patrol. The second meeting wasn’t much better. Thranduil sat on his throne in a half-daze. It was even worse this time, sitting in the very room his nightmare had taken place. At one stage, memories of that dream had come back so vividly, that the king had had to excuse himself and stand outside for a moment, splashing water onto his face and neck. It was lucky he had eaten no breakfast, or else he may have thrown that up too. When he returned, his head advisor, Istidhren, gave him a meaningful look, and then announced that the meeting was over. Clearly there was more to be discussed, but out of politeness to their king, the council was being cut short. The other councillors left, mumbling softly to each other. Thranduil rested his head in his hands, moaning faintly. “Is everything alright, my Lord?” Istidhren asked, startling the king. Thranduil jumped and looked up at his long-time friend. “Aye and nay. I did not sleep well, and Legolas is troubled, which troubles me.” It was the best excuse he could give without actually lying. Istidhren nodded, though his frown deepened. “You do look as though you could use more sleep. Why don’t I take over some of the paperwork for a while? Bórsael and Maergorv will be returning soon, which will also help lighten your load, I think. You have been working hard, Thranduil. Why don’t you spend some quality time with your youngest? He has been seeking your attention all week with his brothers gone.” Thranduil smiled thinly, and managed to utter, “Yes, thank you. That sounds like a good idea, nin-meldir.” Istidhren smiled and then left, which the king was most grateful. He could hold the tears back no longer. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil was starring at the front of his son’s door *again*. He was beginning to get the impression that he knew the door better than he did his own child. Looking down at the untouched tray of food by the door, Thranduil sighed, realising the guard had been right. At lunch time, the guard had reported that Legolas had not left his room, and refused all offers of food and drink. Thranduil thanked the guard and dismissed him. He decided it was time to finally talk to his son, if only to get the boy to eat something more substantial than drugged tea. Lightly knocking on the door, he called out, and was answered with the usual stony silence. “Legolas? It’s me. I know you’re in there, and I know you aren’t asleep, and I know you are probably hungry. Will you please accept some food at least, if you’re not going to accept me?” Thranduil thought he could hear a quiet sob coming from inside, and he felt tears well in his own eyes in sympathy. “Legolas, please,” his voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “Please, *please* open this door and eat something?” Still no reply. “Just open the door. You don’t have to eat anything, just let me see you, please?” Nothing. “Will you just answer me?” he yelled, getting emotional and slapping the door with the palm of his hand. “Damn it, Legolas! *We need to talk*. Please open this door…” Inside he could hear Legolas catch his breath, and he suddenly realised what he had said. Had he given himself away? Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against the door. “Please,” he whispered desolately. “I know what happened, meld-pen… Gods, Legolas! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry… I- I didn’t know. I would never have – ” his voice broke, and he took a moment to compose himself. Through the door, the king could hear Legolas gasp and sob, and then there was hurried movement, as though his son were some caged and frightened animal. “Legolas,” he started to say, wanting to try and placate his son before the boy grew too hysterical, but then he heard a noise which sounded suspiciously like a window being opened. “Legolas? Legolas!” Thranduil panicked and started bashing on the door and rattling the handle, cursing himself for not having brought the master key with him. Fearing the worst, Thranduil swore and ran back to his office, grabbed the key, and then came back to Legolas’ room. He unlocked the door and threw it open. The room was empty, and the main window was thrown wide open. Thranduil ran over to it and looked down. Next to the window grew a large tree - the perfect means by which anyone could escape the room if necessary. Legolas obviously had, as the king could spot the slender figure running off desperately through the woods. Cursing and swearing everything and anything, Thranduil ran back into the hallway and drew in a large breath. “GUARDS!” t.b.c. Ada = Father Istidhren = (OC) ‘knowledge wise’ nin-meldir = my friend meld pen = dear one Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 5~ Thranduil was again in his study, pacing back and forth, worrying his lip with both fingers and teeth. /Damn it!/ He had definitely screwed up this time. Now Legolas had run off into the forest somewhere, possibly putting himself in danger, and it was all Thranduil’s fault. He shouldn’t have talked about their problem through a door, without giving his son any warning. He hadn’t been thinking, and now he risked never seeing his son again. What if Legolas had run off for good? Thranduil shook his head, refusing to think of that as a possibility. He had called the guards out to search for his youngest son – Legolas would be found. Although the young prince had been taught well to blend in with the woods, he was still a child, and bound to make mistakes. The sentries would catch him before he could get too far. /I hope./ He bristled at the thought that he could not also be outside looking for his youngest. But the head of the guard, as well as Istidhren, had both advised that, as king, Thranduil needed to stay in his palace in case anything else came up. This way, when Legolas was found, he would be brought safely back home where Thranduil would be. The king had spent a considerable amount of time arguing against this, but in the end he conceded, knowing they were right. So now, only one problem remained. What would Thranduil do with Legolas when he was returned? How should he act, and what should he say? Would it be best to involve a third party to act as mediator, or should he and his son talk alone? Would Legolas even want to talk to him? Thranduil cursed as he misjudged his step and jabbed his foot against the side of the desk. As he bent down to rub his toes, he heard a soft giggle, and looked up. Goldgwen smiled and shook her head at her king. “I didn’t know you had two left feet, my Lord. I remember you dancing quite well at our last festival.” Thranduil gave her a grim smile, but then noticed the tray in her hands. “That wouldn’t happen to be your famous, relaxing tea, would it?” he asked hopefully. Goldgwen grinned. “It would. I thought I might interest you in a cup if you have finished cavorting about your office.” “Ha ha,” Thranduil muttered sarcastically, but sat down in his chair to receive the tea. “So,” Goldgwen began conversationally as she poured. “What has upset our young prince enough to make him feel he needs a nice, long stroll in the spider-infested forest?” Thranduil paled slightly, and shrugged his shoulder. “I’m afraid it was something I said. I don’t think he took too kindly to my words. I may have frightened him.” “I think he actually already knows about the birds and the bees, Sire,” she said teasingly, trying to lighten the king’s mood. Thranduil gave the cheery woman an infuriating look. “That wasn’t what I was trying to talk to him about,” he said, but then blinked, realising that there was actually some truth in the elf-maiden’s joke. “Although it wasn’t far off,” he mumbled to himself. Goldgwen raised an eyebrow, but realised that she had no place to inquire further if Thranduil wasn’t willing to share. She packed up the tray and nodded. “Enjoy your tea, my Lord.” “Thank you, Goldgwen. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” “Find yourself a wife, no doubt,” she said, grinning, and then left the room. Thranduil waited in his office for news of his son, sipping his tea. When the drink was finished, and no word had yet come, he began pacing again, thinking of nothing better to do. He was now wondering if it had been such a good idea to send the guards in the first place. Maybe all Legolas needed was some time to think by himself. He wasn’t a prisoner, after all. /But I’m afraid to lose him/ Thranduil admitted to himself. He had sent the guards, worried that if he did not, he would never see his beloved son again. He *couldn’t* let this awful incident come between them. They had to sort out their differences, and if it took the rest of Thranduil’s long, immortal life to apologise to his son for what he had done, then so be it. Just as long as he had Legolas nearby. The afternoon dragged on for the king in useless worrying, and still no word of Legolas had reached him. After exhausting himself from pacing and fretting, Thranduil had almost been relieved when he had discovered some reports that could keep his mind occupied for the next few hours. As the sun sank towards the horizon, the blond ruler of Mirkwood lost himself in his paperwork. At sunset, there was a polite rap at the door. Thranduil absent-mindedly admitted them inside, his mind still whirring with facts and figures. “My Lord?” “Mmmm?” “I have been sent to inform you that your two sons have returned from the boarder patrol.” Thranduil looked up, at last coming back to reality. “Bórsael and Maergorv are back?” “Aye, my Lord.” Thranduil suddenly felt rather emotional. After the events of the last couple of days, it felt good to know that he now had his two eldest to rely upon for support. “Excellent. Please tell them to come here so that I might welcome them back.” The servant bowed and left. Thranduil quickly finished off a few last- minute notes on the reports, and then filed them away. He stood in front of his desk, waiting for his sons to come, so that he may greet them warmly with a hug. Soon the sound of footsteps could be heard, but Thranduil frowned. It sounded as though his sons were struggling to carry something between them. Thranduil paled slightly, hoping that the mischievous mind of Maergorv hadn’t managed to persuade his elder brother to bring back a dead spider carcass as a trophy. He wouldn’t put it past his sons to pull such a prank, just to see their father’s reaction. But as the footsteps drew closer, he could distinctly hear sobbing and pleading, and Thranduil grew even whiter, finally realising what it could be. His suspicions were confirmed when a moment later, two blond elves, one tall and slim, the other a bit shorter and broader, proudly marched through the study door. Between them they dragged a rather hysterical young prince of Mirkwood. Thranduil didn’t know whether to cry from joy that his child was safe, or to despair that Legolas was so scared to be brought into his father’s presence. The two elder brothers dropped the boy on the ground before their father’s feet. Maergorv, the shorter of the two and younger by a couple of centuries, grinned and said, “I believe you were looking for this? I must say, Ada, whatever did you do to upset him so much? He was not in the least bit easy to catch, and he was even less pleased when we told him that we were going to bring him here. What is it that he’s done which makes him fear your punishment so?” Thranduil, however, wasn’t really listening. He was too focused on Legolas who sat huddled before him, crying and shaking. For one brief, horrible moment, Thranduil was reminded of his nightmare last night where the guards had brought in his son and dropped him onto the ground in a similar state. “Legolas,” he whispered, distraught at his son’s crying. Legolas heard the small plea, and looked up. For a brief moment they made eye contact, the first since that horrible night. Thranduil read the fear, hurt, confusion and self-loathing in those young eyes, and he wondered that he didn’t die from such a haunted look. It lasted but a second, and then Legolas could bear to look at his father any longer. With a small whimper breaking into a sob, the prince turned about, scrambling to his feet, and ran off. Maergorv flinched and made to go after him, but Thranduil raised his hand. “Don’t. Let him go. I don’t think he’ll leave again. He’s headed towards his room.” Maergorv nodded, clearly confused. Thranduil sighed in pain, only belatedly realising that his two eldest sons were standing in the room, starring at him. He looked up and gave them a weak smile. “Not the sort of welcome I would have chosen,” he muttered, and his sons’ gave him the curtesy of smiling slightly at his forced humour. “Where did you find him?” Thranduil asked, leaning back against the desk for support, hoping Bórsael and Maergorv couldn’t tell just how heartbroken he really was at Legolas’ reaction. “In a tree a few miles from here,” Bórsael said solemnly, trying to read his father’s expression correctly. “He was perfectly safe. We passed some guards on the way home who told us about the search. I spotted him not long after –” “See. I’ll make a warrior out of you yet, brother,” Maergorv tried to quip. Bórsael gave him a thin smile, and then continued. “Maergorv and I managed to catch him and we brought him back with us. He was desperate for us to not bring him to you, but I thought it would be best…” Bórsael trailed off, frowning slightly, obviously doubting if his actions had been wise. Thranduil nodded. “Thank you. You did well. I was concerned that he may have tried to leave for good.” The king could see his sons had a myriad of questions they wanted to ask, but were polite enough to wait and be told what their father thought they needed to know. After a few awkward moments of silence, Thranduil sighed. “I do not think it is best to go into details yet. Please understand that I don’t like keeping secrets from you, but for the moment… Legolas is, as you no doubt can tell, upset. Something has happened in the past few days, and he’s very confused. I have discovered his secret, and for that he fears my reaction. Just try and be supportive and understanding towards your brother for now.” Bórsael and Maergorv nodded slowly. “Would you like me to go talk with him, Ada?” Bórsael asked. Thranduil shook his head. “No, I’ll go do that in a minute.” He hesitated and then smiled warmly. “I’m sorry this had to happen now.” He walked up to each of his sons and enclosed them in warm hugs. “It is good to have you two home. Life was too quiet and full of paperwork without you.” The brothers laughed softly and returned the hugs. Bórsael quickly told his father about a few of the incidents that happened while they were out, and then they left, allowing Thranduil an opportunity to visit Legolas. Thranduil stayed behind in the office for a few more minutes, building up his courage, and trying to sort out what he would say to his son. After a few deep, calming breaths, Thranduil made his way towards his son’s room. When he arrived, he found that the door wasn’t properly shut – as though it had been slammed and bounced back open again. Lightly knocking upon it, and pushing the door open, Thranduil had to scan the room a moment before he spotted his child. Legolas was huddled up in a far corner of the room, his knees drawn up, and his eyes staring listlessly down before him. He did not even react to Thranduil entering his room, although he no doubt knew that his father was now there. “Legolas?” Legolas remained still except for a small, silvery tear, which managed to escape his eye and trail down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away, or look towards his father. Thranduil’s heart went out towards his son, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from marching over and picking his child up in his arms and rocking him back and forth, whispering soothing words and promising that everything would be okay. He wasn’t sure how Legolas would react if he got too close, and decided not to risk invading his son’s personal space. Closing the door softly behind him, Thranduil then sat down on the floor, resting his back against the door, and pulling his knees up to his chest for support. He bowed his head, and sighed. “Gods… Legolas… I’m so sorry…” His throat closed over, and he had to pause momentarily to keep control. Legolas didn’t move. “Legolas, my son. I cannot begin to imagine how you must be feeling, but I know we need to talk about this…” He looked up at his youngest, but Legolas still hadn’t reacted, so he took that as a sign to continue. “If I had known, that it was you… Please, Legolas, you must believe I would *never*… I’m so sorry…” “You’ve said that already.” Thranduil jumped, not having expected his son to talk. “What?” “You’ve. Said. That. Already. That you’re ‘sorry’.” Thranduil cringed at his son’s tone, believing that Legolas must hate him right now, and had no patience to listen to his father’s insipid apologies, which took nothing back. And could he blame him? But Legolas sighed and shook his head slightly. “You don’t have to be ‘sorry’, Ada.” Thranduil’s heart momentarily bloomed with hope when he heard that his son still called him ‘Ada’. But his happiness quickly failed as Legolas added softly, “It wasn’t your fault. *You* weren’t to blame.” The king’s heart constricted in pain. What right did he have being called ‘Ada’ by a youth whose innocence he had taken? What sort of father was he, where his own son blamed himself for these events? He wanted to shout at his son, shake him and scream ‘It wasn’t your fault, it was mine! Don’t you dare think that you’re the one to blame for this!’ But he kept his emotions under control, not wanting to frighten his child again into running off. “Legolas, please. Don’t say that. It’s not true, you should know that. This was all my fault.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Ada. If it hadn’t been for me… if I hadn’t come to your bed…” Thranduil hit his knee for emphasis. “*I* should have known that you were not Malthenfin! I gave you no chance to tell me it was you; that you didn’t want what I did! …I know you were not willing, Legolas. It was my fault that I did not see that.” Legolas shook his head, not accepting anything his father said. They sat there again in silence, new tears now running down the boy’s cheeks. After a time, Legolas asked huskily, “How did you find out? I tried, - I tried so *hard* to make sure you didn’t – didn’t find out…” He choked back a sob, pulling his legs closer against his chest. Thranduil felt tears well in his own eyes. “I know, lend-ind, but why? It was my burden to bear as well. You shouldn’t have to carry this on your own. It was not your fault at all.” “How?” Legolas repeated firmly, ignoring everything else his father had said. Thranduil sighed. “You were scaring me, locking yourself up and not eating anything… I used the master key to get into your room last night. I heard you, crying in your sleep, and talking… when I saw the passion mark as well…” Thranduil shook his head, tears filling his eyes with the memory of those first few moments when he had realised the truth about whom he had made love too the other night. Legolas chocked back a sob. “You came into my room without my permission?” he asked, clearly outraged and feeling betrayed. Legolas shook his head in shock. After a moment, he said coldly, “You may leave now, *Ada*.” Suddenly that affectionate term seemed like a death sentence on his son’s lips, and Thranduil despaired. “Legolas, please…” Thranduil racked his brain, trying to think of something to say. “Legolas, if you want some time to yourself – to sort things out, I’d be willing to organise for you to stay in another realm somewhere… Please don’t take this as a suggestion that I want you gone. Far from it. I’d much prefer you stay here, especially so we can work things out together. I just want what’s best for you, but I hope you will eventually choose to stay here… I love you too much to lose you, nin- laes.” “…. Leave, Ada.” “Legolas, we need to discuss-” “We’ve discussed this enough!” Legolas shouted, slapping his thigh. “Please leave!” His voiced wavered, and Thranduil could tell that his son was struggling to keep the tears back. “Legolas.” “LEAVE!” For the first time, Legolas turned his head and glared at his father straight-on. All those conflicting emotions of self-hate and pain were evident on the young blond’s face. Again, Legolas could not look at Thranduil for long, and he turned away, staring listlessly before him once more. Thranduil stood up, realising that his son still wasn’t ready to talk yet and confront this issue. It hurt him deeply that he was unable to help ease his son’s pain in anyway, especially as Legolas took all the blame upon himself. The king started to open the door, when he heard a soft, “Ada?” Thranduil turned around hopefully, but Legolas was refusing eye contact again. “Please make sure you close the door properly behind you. I seem to have left it open when I came in.” Thranduil’s heart crumpled in on itself, and it took all his effort to keep his voice steady when he answered. “Of course, nin-iond.” Thranduil left the room and softly shut the door behind him. As he walked back to his office, the sounds of his youngest child’s sobs echoed with him, his own tears now running down his cheeks in sympathy. t.b.c. Ada = Father Lend-ind = sweet heart nin-laes = my child nin-iond = my son Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 6~ Thranduil opened the office door, and started when he saw that Bórsael was standing there. He felt a moment of embarrassment for the tears running down his face, but that all vanished when his eldest son of several centuries marched over to him and buried him in a great, warm embrace. Thranduil finally broke down and sobbed disheartened against Bórsael’s shoulder. Bórsael just held him and stroked his hair, sometimes crooning and whispering soothing words, sometimes just remaining silent. When Thranduil had no more tears left, he gingerly pulled back and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bórsael. I –” “Shhhh, Ada. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I could see you were upset, and so I decided to wait for you to come back from Legolas’ room. I thought you could use some support.” Bórsael gave his father a small, affectionate smile, and Thranduil wondered why he deserved such good sons when he was such a lousy father. “How’s Legolas doing?” Bórsael asked, guiding his father into his chair. Thranduil sighed and shook his head. “Not much better than me I imagine, if not even worse. His soul is gravely weighed down.” Bórsael sat in front of his father and put a hand on Thranduil’s knee in concern. “Ada, why won’t you tell me what is troubling the two of you? I can see how much this is tearing you apart. Surely it would help if you talked about it? Let me share your pain and support you.” Thranduil smiled sadly, touched by the wisdom and love of his son’s words, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, nin-iond. I wish I could, but I fear it would only make things worse if I did what you asked of me.” “Can you not even *vaguely* tell me what troubles you and my brother?” Thranduil closed his eyes and took in a breath, knowing that Bórsael’s request was reasonable. “Your brother… Legolas has had something forced upon him which he was not yet ready to deal with.” Thranduil winced at his choice of words, belatedly realising that they were probably not the best. “Someone has ruthlessly taken his innocence, but…” the king shook his head, at a loss as to how to express the situation without giving too much away. Bórsael looked quite appalled, having realised what his father insinuated. “Someone… someone has – abused – Legolas?” “Aye, but it is more complicated than that, nin-iond.” “How? This is a monstrosity! Why aren’t we doing anything about this?” Thranduil could understand his son’s anger, but regretted that he had now said as much as he had. “Please don’t get so upset, Bórsael. Just trust me when I say that I’m doing the best I can. I would ask that you are also delicate when you tell this to Maergorv. We both know how passionate he can be. I don’t want him doing anything rash which will only upset Legolas more than he is. Do you understand?” Bórsael nodded his head, although it was clear he did not like what his father said. Thranduil sighed and looked out the window. It was black and already late. “You should sleep, Bórsael. You have just returned from patrol. No doubt you are exhausted.” “Aye. Goodnight, Ada. If you need anything, do not hesitate to come to me.” Bórsael stood up and leaned over to kiss his father on the cheek. Thranduil smiled affectionately at his eldest as Bórsael left. Deciding that he had avoided his bedroom long enough, Thranduil reluctantly left his office and made his way towards his quarters. He did not sleep well that night. Meanwhile, Bórsael was preparing for bed when he heard a knock on his door. “Come in, Maergorv. It isn’t locked.” Bórsael’s younger brother opened the door with a frustrated, perplexed expression on his face. “How did you know it was me?” Bórsael grinned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Because you’re too predictable. You’re here to ask about Ada and me?” Maergorv grumbled something unflattering, and sat down in a chair. “Yes. Did you go see him like you said?” “I did.” “And…?” Bórsael became solemn. “He was crying, Maergorv. I’ve never seen Ada this upset since Nanneth died.” Maergorv thinned his lips, and started playing with a sleeve cuff. “What do you suppose is upsetting Ada and Legolas so much?” Bórsael grimaced. “Ada told me a part of it. He said that someone had taken Legolas’ innocence, but the situation was more complicated than it sounded.” Maergorv went very white, livid with rage. “He said WHAT? You can’t be serious? Who did this? I’ll gut the cowardly bastard right now!” Maergorv jumped up and began pacing his brother’s room, and Bórsael didn’t doubt Maergorv’s threat. “I don’t know who did this, Maergorv, but something tells me your behaviour may not necessarily be appreciated.” “What? Why not?! This ‘elf’ deserves to be punished!” “Think about it,” Bórsael said reasonably. “If it was a simple matter of someone abusing Legolas, surely our brother and Ada would feel free to speak to us of this, and their relationship would not be as strained as what it is. There must be something else happening here which we are not aware of.” Maergorv continued pacing, and gave his brother a suspicious look. “Are you suggesting that Legolas does not consider that he has been taken advantaged of?” Bórsael shrugged. “It is one of many possibilities. Perhaps our brother has taken a lover which Ada does not approve of. It wouldn’t be the first time Ada has overreacted. Especially in the case of Legolas, we both know how protective he is.” Maergorv nodded. It was no secret that Legolas was their father’s favourite, but neither brother begrudged this, as they had never felt any less loved by their father because of his favouritism. Besides, they all felt especially fond of Legolas, not only because he was the ‘baby’ of the household, but because he was the last living reminder of their mother. Bórsael yawned. “I am tired brother, and this worrying and speculation will get us nowhere. Let us pay our brother a visit in the morning, after we have rested somewhat and sorted out our thoughts.” Maergorv nodded, abandoning his pacing. “Alright. I will meet you in the morning. Sleep well, gwanur.” “Good night, gwanur.” ~*~*~*~*~ Legolas groaned as a noise woke him. He tried focusing his eyes, but failed. He decided that it might not be a bad idea just to go back to sleep. But then he could hear voices. Strange voices that sounded as though they were coming from a great distance away. He tried again to focus his eyes and succeeded somewhat this time. It was light, and he realised that it must be morning. He found that he was sitting in the same place his father had left him yesterday evening. He must have cried himself to sleep after telling his father to shut the door behind him. Yet, there was still something wrong with his sight. Everything looked as though it was underwater, and he realised after a few moments that he was shaking. Cold. He felt cold. But that was odd, he was an elf, he shouldn’t feel the cold… “Legolas…?” The voice echoed, and sounded vaguely familiar. Bórsael? Legolas groaned as he felt a wave of nausea wash over him, and his head throbbed. His eyes half drifted shut, and Legolas thought there was something about that which he should worry about, but couldn’t remember what. He wished the talking voices would go away. He was so tired… “Legolas? Elbereth…!” He struggled to keep his eyes open as he felt someone sit next to him. He could see two blurry figures, and someone was waving a hand in front of his face. “Legolas, can you hear me? Legolas? …Valar!” He could hear the words, but they didn’t seem to register or make any sense in his fogged mind. Legolas whimpered as he felt strong arms move under him and lift him up. His whole body was limp and shivering, and it was all he could do to weakly clutch at the one who held him, and try and soak up their warmth. “Bórsael, what’s wrong with him?” “Shhh, I don’t know. Go fetch a healer, quickly.” Legolas could feel himself being carried over and then placed in his bed. It felt good to be off the cold, hard ground and tucked into his soft bed. The elf who sounded like Bórsael was still with him, and was now stroking his hair. This felt so nice, but he was still cold and felt ill. After some time where he drifted in and out of consciousness, Legolas heard two people come into his room. One of the new arrivals pulled back the quilts and started to touch and prod him and pulled his eyelids back. He didn’t like this person touching his body, and he was now freezing without the quilts. He whimpered and began to cry, confused and feeling very ill. “What are you doing to him?!” He heard the other elf say angrily, this one sounded like Maergorv. Were his brothers here? “Calm down, Master Maergorv. I am not hurting him, I’m just checking him over to make sure everything is in order.” “Is he alright?” “I can’t find anything specifically wrong. You said he’s been upset and not eating? It’s probably just that. His body is telling him that he needs rest and food. I’ll give him a sleeping drought for now. I shouldn’t think there is anything to worry about, but…” “But what?” “Well, if he gets any worse, make sure to call me. You may also like to inform his father. Thranduil has been very worried over Legolas these past few days, I hear.” Legolas stopped crying when he felt the quilts being pulled up and tucked about him again. There was something else as well. Hot water bottles? Oh, that was good… felt so nice… “Should we try and feed him now?” “Hmmm… best not too. He might choke on something solid in his present state. The sleeping tea with skullcap will do for now. When he wakens, try and make him eat something simple. He won’t suffer in the meantime if he has to wait a little longer.” Legolas sighed, happily allowing the elves to converse about him as he soaked up the warmth from the hot water bottles. He was disturbed from his peace when the strange elf lifted his head slightly and pressed a cup to his lips. He had little choice but to drink, and recognised the liquid as tea with sleeping herbs mixed in it. He could feel the warm fluid run right through him and settle in his empty stomach. He smiled contentedly when he felt the warmth and the drugs pull him back towards oblivion… ~*~*~*~*~ Bórsael sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Legolas’ hair. Maergorv sat on the other side of the bed, watching his sleeping brother being petted. “I did not realise it was this serious,” Bórsael said quietly. He looked quite worried which was unusual for him, as he normally had a strong reign over his emotions and facial expressions. “Legolas must be pretty distraught to have worked himself up into this state.” Maergorv nodded solemnly, his mind too numb to think of a response. They sat there in relative silence, watching their brother. At some stage, Legolas mumbled something and turned on his side in order to snuggle closer to Bórsael. Bórsael and Maergorv smiled down affectionately, but then Maergorv frowned. “What’s that?” he whispered harshly. “What?” Bórsael asked, trying to see what his brother was talking about. Maergorv reached out and brushed a few strands of Legolas’ hair from his neck, revealing a fading, but still distinguishable bruise. “That,” he said, although the tone of his voice indicated he had already realised exactly what ‘that’ was. Bórsael thinned his lips, not liking the passion mark on his brother’s neck anymore than Maergorv did. “Do you suppose Legolas’ ‘lover’ made that?” Maergorv asked, barely concealing a snarl in his voice. Bórsael shook his head, feeling quite lost and helpless. “I’m not sure, although it is likely. Do you think this is how Ada found out about it, that he saw this love-bite?” Maergorv shrugged, clearly still fuming that someone had dared laid a hand on his little brother. “I don’t like this, Bórsael. And I’m not pleased that Ada is keeping secrets.” “I don’t like it either, Maergorv. But we both know that Ada would not keep this from us unless he thought it absolutely necessary.” “I just wish he would tell us who it was,” Maergorv fumed. “I would like to question this ‘lover’. I do not think his intentions could have been very honourable if he has now deserted Legolas when he suffers so much.” Bórsael shrugged. “We cannot judge yet, gwanur. Perhaps this ‘lover’ had no choice about leaving Legolas alone. If Ada knows who it is, he may have banished them. After all, Legolas is still underage, and therefore Ada still possess parental rights to safeguard him.” Maergorv sighed. “Would Ada do that? Surely he can see how much this is tearing Legolas up?” “Like I said, gwanur, we do not know the whole story. Until we do, it is best we try and support Legolas and Ada without judging either of them on mere speculation. We do not want to cause more pain and stress to these two than there already is.” “You’re right,” Maergorv conceded gloomily. “I always am,” Bórsael teased softly, and won a small smile from Maergorv’s lips. “Why don’t you stay with Legolas. I’ll go tell Ada about what happened. The healer was right, he will want to know.” Maergorv nodded and watched as Bórsael left the room quietly. Legolas whimpered slightly at the loss of contact. To make up for it, Maergorv lay down next to his brother, and spooned up behind him. He heard Legolas sigh, contented, and he wrapped his arms protectively about the boy, wishing there was more he could do to help. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil woke at the noise of his bedroom door opening. He blinked his eyes a few times, surprised to see that it was finally morning. Last night had been restless. He had slept only lightly, the fear of falling into too deep a sleep and having nightmares again had kept him awake most of the time. He raised his head from his bed, and saw Bórsael closing the door behind him. “Bórsael? Is something wrong, nin-iond?” “Not exactly, Ada. Maergorv and I went to visit Legolas this morning, and found him shaking and disorientated on the floor in a corner of his room.” “Valar! Has he been there all this time?” Thranduil asked concerned, sitting upright in bed. Bórsael held up a hand to placate his father. “It’s alright, Ada. We sent for a healer, and he is fairly certain there is nothing to worry about. Legolas just needs some food and rest. He has been given a sleeping draught for the time being. You can visit him in a moment, if you wish, but not before I ask you a few questions.” Thranduil frowned, fairly certain he was not going to like the sort of questions his son would ask. “First of all,” Bórsael began, “are you fairly certain that Legolas was raped?” “Very certain…” Thranduil bit his lip, seeing that his son was staring at him, waiting for him to explain. “I… saw it happen.” Bórsael nodded slowly. “Yes. But are you certain that Legolas was *unwilling*? Perhaps you thought he was being taken against his will. He, however, may think differently.” Thranduil gave a thin, humourless smile. “No. Legolas was not willing, although his body *was* used against him. Your brother may be under the impression that he wanted what happened to him, but that was only an instinctive, carnal reaction. His mind, I assure you, was far from willing.” Bórsael bowed his head, obviously thinking this over. It was clear that he still thought Thranduil may be overreacting and reading the situation wrong. Why else had a rift grown between Legolas and his father, in which Legolas was too scared to even be in the same room as his Ada? On the other hand, Thranduil was a reasonable elf, and he sounded fairly calm and certain in his convictions now. The eldest prince sighed. He was still confused. Bórsael had hoped his questions might enlighten the situation for him, but they had only made him more puzzled. “I still don’t understand, Ada. Why is Legolas afraid of being near you? And where is this ‘lover’, this elf who abused him?” Thranduil sighed, growing distressed. “Legolas is afraid of me, I think, because he fears my judgement over this incident. As for the ‘lover’, he is nearby, but I must ask you again to not inquire about his identity. Not when Legolas is still in such a fragile state and needs your support. May I see him, now?” Bórsael smiled thinly. “Of course, Ada. I know better than to keep you caged up for long… I still wish you could confide in me.” “I know. So do I.” Bórsael nodded and then made to leave, but Thranduil reached out a hand and grabbed his son’s arm. Bórsael looked at his father inquiringly. “You will make a fine king one day, Bórsael,” Thranduil said seriously. “And an even finer father.” Bórsael smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Ada. I learn from the best.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment of Thranduil with a quick wink, and then left the room. Thranduil felt his heart sink, wishing his son’s words were true. t.b.c. Ada = Father nin-iond = my son Nanneth = mother gwanur = brother Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 7~ Thranduil had quickly changed and now entered his youngest son’s room. He smiled affectionately, seeing Maergorv snuggled up behind Legolas. Legolas, although looking content in his brother’s arms, was visibly unwell. He had dark circles under his glazed eyes, and looked thinner and paler than usual. Maergorv looked up as Thranduil entered the room, and smiled softly. He sat up, careful not to disturb his brother, and affectionately kissed Legolas’ brow. With another secretive smile towards Thranduil, Maergorv left, knowing his father wanted to spend some time alone with the boy. Thranduil was slightly surprised at this unexpected display of perceptiveness from his second son, but was deeply grateful for it nonetheless. Thranduil hesitated. His first reaction had been to sit on the edge of the bed, but he noticed that Legolas now frowned because of Maergorv’s absence. In the end, and knowing that Legolas should remain safely asleep because of the draught, Thranduil settled himself down next to his son on the bed, lying face to face with his child. He wrapped an arm about the boy’s waist, and then nestled the blond head beneath his chin. He heard Legolas sigh softly, almost purring his pleasure at being held safely again. Thranduil smiled, saddened at the knowledge that Legolas would react differently if he was aware of who was really holding him. /What am I going to do?/ Thranduil thought, absentmindedly stroking Legolas’ hair. /How am I ever going to make things right?/ He looked down at his son’s face, and took a moment to marvel at the beauty he saw there. The delicate, sculpted features. The creamy skin, blue eyes, soft lips… His son would have been a prize for any elf, male or female, to have won. Yet instead of enjoying his youth and beauty, Legolas was trying to recover from, and deal with, the stress, sadness, pain, confusion and burdens his own father had put upon him. Had he, Thranduil, completely ruined any chance of happiness for his son by taking him? Would Legolas ever recover? Legolas did not deserve this. The boy had done nothing wrong to deserve such a horrible fate of being forced to grow up so fast. And it was all the king’s fault. Thranduil choked back a sob, afraid his crying might disturb his son. In his sleep, Legolas seemed to be able to sense his father’s distress, and snuggled closer to his Ada. Thranduil lay there in silence, sometimes thinking, at other times slipping off into a state of not-quite-sleep. After a few hours, the king decided it might be dangerous to stay any longer, before the sleeping tea wore off and Legolas woke, becoming distressed at finding himself in his father’s arms. Thranduil quietly left the room, and was surprised to find Maergorv sitting in the hall, polishing a dagger to pass the time. He looked up and smiled. “All is well?” “As well as could be, given the circumstances,” Thranduil admitted. He paused, and then asked, “Would you and your brother mind if you perhaps take it in turns to keep an eye on Legolas? I do not think it wise that he stays alone for now. He might relapse, or do something rash.” Maergorv nodded, growing pale at the thought that Legolas may become worse. “I will tell Bórsael. He and I would only be too happy to do this.” “Thank you. Where is your brother?” Maergorv grinned. “In your office with Istidhren, finishing today’s reports. They both agreed you could use a break.” Thranduil threw his arms up into the air dramatically. “*Now* what am I to do with my time?” Maergorv laughed, and stood up. “Why don’t you enjoy your break? Perhaps you’d like a nice, long bath and something to eat, seeing as you skipped breakfast. And then, a nap, maybe? I must admit, Ada, you don’t look much better than Legolas at the moment.” Thranduil rolled his eyes sarcastically, but the scary thing was, he knew his son was right. All this worry over Legolas had not left him in the best of health. “I’ll go stay with Legolas now,” Maergorv said, moving towards the door. “I’m sure Bórsael will come along soon to check on things, and he can take over from there.” Thranduil nodded, and patted his son’s shoulder affectionately. “Thank you, Maergorv. I sometimes forget just how mature you can be.” Maergorv screwed up his face at that, and poked out his tongue in distaste. “Ugh! Don’t go spreading rumours like that around, Ada. Next thing you know, people will be looking to give me jobs of responsibility!” Thranduil laughed and shook his head, walking towards his rooms to take his son’s advice and soak in his bath for a while. Maergorv went into his younger brother’s room again, and for a while, everything in the house was pleasant and calm. ~*~*~*~*~ Legolas slowly became conscious of the soft sound of someone humming. As sleep left him, and his eyes regained their focus, Legolas found that he was lying in his bed. The sun filtering in through the window was warm and dusky, indicating that it was late afternoon. His eyes flickered to the side of the bed where he saw Bórsael leaning back in a chair reading a book, his feet resting on the edge of the bed, humming quietly to himself. It took but a moment for his elder brother to sense eyes upon him, and he looked up and smiled at Legolas, glad to see the young prince finally aware. “Ahhh, so sleeping beauty awakens,” he said teasingly, getting up and sitting by the edge of the bed. Legolas felt too content and relaxed to rise to the bait, and allowed the affectionate taunt to slip by without fuss. “How are you feeling, gwanur? Can I get you anything?” “Water?” Legolas croaked, his throat dry. Bórsael nodded, and walked into the adjoining bathroom to fill up a glass from the faucet. Legolas managed to push himself into an upright position, though he found that his arms had lost most of their strength. What had happened? He tried to remember, and brief flashes of memory – blurry images and disconcerted conversations involving his brothers – came back to him. Had he been ill? How was that possible, he was an elf! Bórsael came back and handed Legolas the glass of water. “Are you alright, dilthen-pen? Do you remember much of what happened?” Legolas shook his head and frowned, confused. Bórsael sighed. “Maergorv and I came to visit you this morning, and we found you on the floor in the corner, barely conscious. The healer said it was your body’s way of telling you that you needed to eat more and rest, and worry less.” Bórsael bit his lip, wondering if it was a good idea to ask his next question. “You have had many distressing thoughts on your mind, Legolas?” Legolas paled and clutched the glass in his hands tightly. How much did his brother’s know? Had their father told them anything? Legolas took a sip of his water, buying himself time and trying to steady his nerves. He wanted to tell Bórsael what had happened. He wanted to tell him *so much*, but feared what his brother’s reaction would be. “What did Ada tell you?” he asked finally, realising that his brothers had, no doubt, interrogated the king as to why he had run away from home. Bórsael was silent for a while, which made Legolas very nervous. When Legolas thought he could bare it no longer, Bórsael finally spoke. “He said that it was a complicated situation. That someone had forced themselves upon you.” Bórsael took a moment to watch Legolas’ reaction, but the young prince just stared at his lap into his glass. “Legolas, is this true, dilthen-pen?” Bórsael reached out a hand to gently caress Legolas face, but Legolas flinched from the touch. Bórsael dropped his hand, hurt. Legolas choked back a sob and shook his head. “It – it wasn’t like that,” he said, quietly, trying not to cry. “Maybe not, but did someone force themselves onto you, Legolas?” Legolas sobbed and shook his head again, not believing that he was having this conversation. “I… you don’t know! You weren’t there!” He realised he was trembling and he was growing frantic, wishing he was anywhere but under his brother’s discerning gaze. Bórsael was very shrewd, and Legolas began to fear that he might let something slip which would make his older brother realise the truth. He couldn’t let that happen. He had already failed to keep this a secret from his father; he was not about to burden his brother’s with the truth. Especially when they would likely only be revolted by it, and by him. “No. I wasn’t there, meld-pen. So why don’t you tell me what happened, so that I can help you deal with this? I promise I will not judge you.” “No. No!” Legolas sobbed, his fingers clenched dangerously tight about the fragile glass. “Legolas. Won’t you even tell me who made that love-bite on your neck?” Bórsael reached out his hand again to lightly touch the bruise on the prince’s neck, but Legolas gasped and scooted out of his reach, pressing himself up tight against the bed’s headboard. “No, don’t! Don’t touch me!” he cried, panicked. The half empty glass of water shook threateningly in his hands. “Legolas, please. It’s me, Bórsael. I’m not going hurt you. Why will you not just tell me why you’re so afraid of Ada –” Legolas cried out in horror and threw the glass across the room where it shattered in a splay of glass shards and water. Bórsael jumped back, shocked into silence. Legolas began sobbing again, and pulled his knees against himself. “Leave, Bórsael! Just g-go! Can’t… can’t you see I- I don’t want to talk?!” “Legolas –” “No! It won’t m-make it better! It will only- only make it worse! Go away! Please, j-just go away…” Yet Bórsael planned to do anything but. He walked back over to the bed and pulled his younger brother into his arms. Legolas stiffened slightly, but then his grief became too much, and he leant against his brother as he cried. Bórsael held him and rocked him gently, until, after an hour or so, Legolas quietened and allowed himself to be soothed by his eldest brother. “Legolas?” Bórsael asked tentatively when he was sure the boy was calm. Legolas tensed, afraid his brother was going to try and interrogate him again. But his brother simply asked, “Would you try and eat some food, dilthen-pen? I hear you have barely eaten anything since – it – happened, and that was a few days ago.” Legolas relaxed, glad that his brother wasn’t trying to question him anymore. Yet he was feeling ill again, and the thought of food only made his stomach roll. He shook his head against his brother’s chest. “Are you sure? Please try and eat *something*, meld-pen,” Bórsael pleaded. Legolas shook his head again. “I will only throw it up,” he said softly, and then added, “I’ll promise to eat something later.” Bórsael sighed, and decided that this would have to do for now. “How about some tea, could you stomach that?” Legolas considered this, and although he would have preferred not to, he relented. “Okay.” Bórsael kissed his brother on the forehead as a reward, and settled him back under the quilts. He did not tell Legolas that he mixed more of the sleeping herbs in the drink, for he wasn’t sure if his younger brother would protest or not. Yet it was a good idea for Legolas to get more sound sleep if he was to recover anytime soon, especially after he had upset the boy with his foolish questions. Legolas drank the tea, and then laid down when Bórsael said he would stay until he had fallen asleep, and that Maergorv would come and watch over him. Although this last comment was to make him feel at ease, Legolas fell asleep fretting, worried that he might say something in his sleep, which would reveal his secrets to his brothers. After all, that was how his father had found out. The drug took him under. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil groaned and moved restlessly about in bed, his sleep disturbed by more nightmares… He dreamt, oddly enough, of being in his bed. Only he wasn’t alone. Malthenfin was under him on his stomach, tied up, blindfolded and gagged. It all seemed very familiar… The young elf was moaning deliriously as the king ravished his body with hand, lips and tongue. Thranduil took particular pleasure in tasting his lover this night. He licked up the elf’s soft neck and behind his ear, delighting in the small shiver that ran through his lover’s body. He then sucked on the elf’s ear for a time, a favourite bedroom habit of his, knowing that it drove his victim mad. Malthenfin whimpered and started bucking into the mattress, obviously trying to ease his burning need. “Tut, tut,” Thranduil whispered into the blond’s ear, and put his strong arms down on the elf’s buttocks, preventing his lover from moving. “Can’t have you finishing without me, now can we?” Malthenfin mumbled something through the gag which didn’t sound very flattering, but Thranduil ignored it, and began kissing his way down the delicate back. The tied elf arched up into the tender caresses, though his bonds gave him very little room to move. Thranduil then moved his tongue down the elf’s cleft, and took a moment to quickly flick his tongue inside the dark opening. Malthenfin grunted and bucked, but Thranduil pulled away and moved down further, lightly kissing and teasing his lover’s thighs, the undersides of his knees, and even the gentle curve of his feet. By this stage, his lover was trembling terribly with pent up need. Thranduil moved back up and laid his body on top of the elf, allowing his weight and warmth to soothe the blond. “Are you ready, nin-lend? I plan to fuck you right through the bed tonight.” Malthenfin moaned pleadingly, telling his lord to hurry up. Thranduil grinned, and reached for the oil. He dipped his fingers into it, and slowly, teasingly, inserted one digit. Malthenfin moaned again and pushed back, not at all pleased with the slow pace. “What’s the matter, ascar? Am I going too fast?” Thranduil asked cruelly, and then pulled his finger in and out even slower. In… …and out… …in… …and out… …in… Malthenfin moaned and muttered a whole string of words which yes, Thranduil was definitely sure were uncomplimentary. He chuckled softly, and suddenly inserted two more fingers, picking up the pace. Malthenfin hissed, but then relaxed, moaning as the incredible sensations washed through him. He pushed back against the fingers, so close to finding release. Thranduil suddenly pulled his fingers out, to the vocal displeasure of his lover, and then oiled his throbbing erection, which had been ignored for far too long now. It took all his self-control not to just bring himself to completion, but the thought of what awaited him if he could just spare a few moments to take his hand off himself, allowed him to stop. He put the vial of oil away, and then bent over his lover’s body. Guiding himself with one hand, he entered Malthenfin’s body carefully, in one long, incredible push. Malthenfin moaned as he was stretched and filled, and Thranduil groaned with him. The king took a moment to just enjoy the feel of his lover’s velvety passage wrapped about him, and then he pulled almost all the way out, and pushed back in, stroking more than thrusting. Malthenfin moaned sweetly and Thranduil made slow love to him, allowing them both to relax and enjoy the beauty and pleasure of the act. Then Thranduil felt a strong feeling of possessiveness sweep over him, and he wanted nothing more than to claim this elf and make him his. He started thrusting faster and with more force, and both their voices became harsher. “Mine,” Thranduil growled, practically shoving himself into his lover’s body. He wrapped his hands about the elf’s hips, all the better to thrust into Malthenfin’s body, but also to hold the elf close in a further claim of possession. Malthenfin whimpered and pushed back as best he could, wanting more of his lord inside him. “Do you hear me, my love?” Thranduil whispered huskily, his body dripping in sweat. “You are mine. All mine… Let me posses you, *Legolas*, like you know you want to be possessed.” Suddenly something in the dream changed, and the elf tied before him was no longer gagged or blindfolded. The material had disappeared, and Thranduil was clearly able to see that the elf he made love to was, indeed, his son. Yet for some reason, that didn’t deter him in the slightest. He continued fucking the boy, and what was more, Legolas appeared to enjoy it. “Do you hear me, Legolas, nin-iond? You belong to no one else. You are *mine*!” “Yes,” Legolas groaned, his eyes shut in bliss as his father rode him. “I am yours! All yours… Now please, Ada, finish this before I go mad!” Thranduil didn’t have to be told twice, and he picked up the pace, thrusting into Legolas in a frenzied passion. They both soon lost all breath for conversation. Thranduil reached a hand down underneath his son and began stroking Legolas’ arousal with deft, strong fingers, and the youth began to whimper as he reached his climax. He came all over his father’s hand, his body trembling with the aftershock. Thranduil continued to push into him, almost going mad at the delicious sensation of his son’s passage quivering and clenching about his straining length. He finally came, the tension building and finally erupting with mind-blowing force. He cried out his son’s name as he came, and the sound on his lips woke him up from his dream… …The first two things Thranduil realised when he woke up was that one, his sheets were now suspiciously wet and sticky, and two, that he could not recall ever having had more satisfying sex, even though it was just a dream, in all his life. With these two thoughts foremost in his mind, the King of Mirkwood barely made it to the toilet in time before he threw up. ~*~*~*~*~ “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…!” Legolas woke to the screams, only belatedly realising that it was his own voice crying out the repeated apologies. Bórsael was next to him in an instant, and enfolded Legolas in a tight, comforting embrace. Legolas sobbed, a small part of his mind, which wasn’t completely distressed, registering that he must have slept through Maergorv’s watch, as his eldest brother was again watching over him, and the light outside was becoming grey with the approaching dawn. “Hush, Legolas. Shhh, it is alright, dilthen-pen. I am here, you are safe and loved. Do not cry. Did you have a bad dream?” Legolas didn’t bother to answer, still in too much shock over his nightmare to reply The realisation that he had come dangerously close to saying things in his sleep which would have made his brother *very* suspicious only made him more frightened to open his mouth. In fact, his brothers had made up a large part of his nightmare. He had dreamt that his brothers had somehow discovered what had happened between him and their father. They had been horrified and disgusted, and claimed they no longer had a younger brother. Legolas had begged with them to forgive him, but the had only pushed him into the mud and spat on him, and then they left. The dream then shifted, and Legolas had gone to his father’s room for comfort from his brother’s spite. His father was asleep in his bed, so Legolas had decided not to disturb him. He snuggled up to his father, but after a while, his father rolled over and started calling him ‘Malthenfin’ and began touching him intimately. Legolas had not known what to do, seeing that his Ada was still asleep. In the end, Legolas had allowed his father to take him. Only the king woke up half way through the act, and was disgusted to find that he was making love to his son. He screamed and yelled at Legolas, told him that he was disowned, and thus called for the guards to take him away from Mirkwood. Legolas had been dragged out kicking, screaming, and pleading for his father to reconsider, sobbing over and over that he was sorry… That’s when he had woken up, and found Bórsael in his room. It was very distressing, to think that his brother hated him one moment, and then to find himself being comforted by his brother the next. Legolas was simply thankful he had not said more than ‘I’m sorry’ out loud. Yet if his brothers continued to watch over him, sooner or later, one of them was bound to find out. Legolas was terrified. “It’s okay, Legolas. Hush now,” Bórsael continued to soothe, rocking Legolas back and forth. The young prince allowed it for a time, but pulled back when he was afraid he might drift off to sleep again, and start talking. “I am fine now, Bórsael,” he said weakly, rubbing the tears away from his face. “You don’t have to watch over me like this. I know you have more important things to do.” “Nothing is more important than you, Legolas,” Bórsael said softly, and it hurt how much sincerity Legolas heard in his voice. But he knew his brother would think differently if only he knew the truth. “Will you tell me about your nightmare?” Bórsael asked gently, stroking Legolas’ hair. Legolas pulled his head out from under his brother’s hand, pretending not to see the flickered hurt expression that crossed Bórsael’s features as he did so. “No. It was but a silly dream.” “Dreams are never silly,” Bórsael said, “especially when they still haunt you during the day. What do you fear in simply telling me what happened, gwanur?” “Your love,” Legolas whispered desolately. “My love?” “Aye. I fear I shall lose it, as well as your respect. But I fear I shall even lose *you* as well. You, and Maergorv, and even Ada.” Bórsael sighed, confused. “I don’t *understand*, Legolas. How do you expect things to go back to the way they were before if you don’t *talk* about what happened?” Legolas crossed his arms and sulked, staring off to the spot where he had smashed the glass several hours ago, only now noticing that the mess had been cleared up. Bórsael still tried to counsel his brother. “Legolas, I realise that what happened to you must have awful. You must have felt so confused and alone, and you must now think that no one understands. In some ways that’s true, I could never pretend to understand what it must have been like for you when you were raped.” Legolas winced at the choice of words, but remained unresponsive. “But no one can help you until you start talking about how you are feeling. I promise you that we will not judge you or love you less because of it. It wasn’t your fault.” Legolas remained silent. Bórsael stared at him for a while, but when he realised that Legolas was being stubborn, he sighed, and turned about and picked up a tray from the bedside table. There were pieces of fruit and sweetbread upon it. The sight alone almost made Legolas sick. “You promised you would eat something, gwanur.” Legolas could feel himself turning green. “I do not want any of that.” Bórsael scowled. “Legolas, you’ve eaten nothing for more than three days! Do you *want* to starve yourself to death?” /Yes!/ Legolas thought, and then was horrified with himself for thinking such a thing. It was that morbid thought which finally made him swallow some pear. That, and his brother’s warning that if he didn’t eat willingly, then Bórsael would shove the food down his throat. Legolas didn’t doubt the threat. Satisfied that Legolas had some sustenance in him, Bórsael admitted that he had to go prepare for a short patrol duty, but Maergorv would be along soon. Legolas nodded listlessly, feeling his stomach protest at the food he’d eaten. When Bórsael left, Legolas clambered out of bed and made it to the toilet just in time to throw up. He began sobbing, feeling miserable, sick and cold. Maergorv found him like that several minutes later, bent over the toilet bowl, shivering and crying. His brother helped him back in bed, a worried expression on his face as Legolas easily slipped back into sleep. Maergorv felt the boy’s brow, and wasn’t pleased to find it clammy. Legolas tossed and turned, his sleep restless, almost delirious. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil, having recovered enough from his own nightmare to make a public appearance, visited Legolas not long after. Bórsael had come and visited him just before leaving for the morning patrol, and Thranduil did not like the sounds of his son’s condition. When he entered the room, he found Maergorv sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down worriedly at Legolas. Legolas, if anything, appeared worse than he had yesterday, and he moaned quietly in his sleep. Thranduil wondered what nightmares haunted his child’s rest. Maergorv looked up, and attempted a smile for his father’s sake, but failed rather miserably. “He is not improving?” Thranduil asked quietly. Maergorv shook his head. “Bórsael tells me he managed to make the boy eat something.” Maergorv laughed harshly. “If he did, it is no longer doing Legolas any good,” and he pointed his chin in the direction of the bathroom. Thranduil understood that his son had thrown it up. “Maybe –” Maergorv began, but was cut short when Legolas cried out. “Ada, please!” Thranduil paled, and Maergorv flashed his father a hard look. “I’m sorry!…sorry… didn’t know… You hate me!…so sorry…Ada…!” It was too much for Maergorv to bear, and he stood up, furious. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?” he said sharply to his father, but he kept his voice quiet for Legolas’ sake. “Can’t you just forgive him? Surely this ‘lover’ is not enough reason to make you hate him so? He’s going to starve himself to death, or go insane! Why are you just sitting by and letting it happen? Why wont you forgive him for whatever it is you think he’s done wrong?” Thranduil bowed his head, feeling as though he deserved the reprimand, even though his son only spoke out of anger and misunderstanding. “I do not hate him, Maergorv. I love him, and I have forgiven him. I always will… But he’s taking unnecessary blame upon himself, and I can’t help him until he helps himself!” Thranduil clenched his hands into fists as strong feelings of uselessness and helplessness washed over him. He began to cry, despite his best attempts not to. Maergorv was somewhat startled. He could barely remember having seen his father cry before. He stood up and embraced the king, feeling ashamed he had berated Thranduil when it was clear his father only wanted the best for Legolas. “Come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you back to your rooms. Your presence here is doing no one any good.” Thranduil nodded miserably, and allowed his second child to escort him to his quarters. Meanwhile, Legolas continued to dream… t.b.c. Ada = Father gwanur = brother dilthen pen = little one nin-iond = my son meld pen = dear one nin lend = my sweet ascar = wild one Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 8~ Legolas sighed, content. He dreamt, and in his dream, he had managed to keep the event of his father making love to him a secret, even from Thranduil himself. Life had progressed happily, even though he had been forced to withdraw somewhat from his family in order to protect the truth. Then everything went wrong. Thranduil had brought up that night in a conversation with Malthenfin, who had been very confused. The young elf had declared that he had not visited the king that night, as he had seen that Legolas had gone into the lord’s room. It wasn’t hard for Legolas’ father and brothers to put the pieces together. Bórsael and Maergorv looked at Legolas with such contempt and loathing, that the young prince thought he would die of shame. Yet it was his father’s look of betrayal, shock and even disgust which hurt the most. His brothers started calling him names and asking him ‘why’, but Legolas was too distraught to answer them satisfactorily. They hauled him away to a small dungeon, where he was kept and sparsely fed for several days. He was informed that the king had disowned him, and was contemplating sending him away from Mirkwood. Legolas pleaded for long hours not to be banished, and in the end, he was allowed to remain as a servant, although he was treated more like a slave. His brothers hated him, and they spat on him and kicked him whenever they could. Thranduil, however, would simply pretend that Legolas was never there whenever they were in the same room together, and Legolas wept bitter tears in his cell at night for that, more than for what his brother’s did to him. At least his brother’s acted as though he existed. Sometimes, however, Legolas had seen his father look at him, and there was such hurt and incomprehension in his eyes, that the young prince often wondered why he didn’t end his life every time he saw that haunted look. Then one day, when Legolas was scrubbing the floor in the throne room, Thranduil walked over to him and whispered, “Why, Legolas? Why did you do it?” Legolas burst into tears and sobbed, “I didn’t mean too! It was an accident, Ada! I never meant for it to happen!” Thranduil shook his head, clearly upset yet still confused. “If that is so, why are you still here, Legolas? Why are you tolerating this punishment if you do not deserve it?” “Because I *do* deserve it, Ada!,” Legolas cried bitterly. “Because I cannot bear the alternative of being tossed out and torn from your side, never to see you again or hear your voice! Because I love you!” Thranduil looked very sad. “Yes, but in what way, Legolas? In what way do you love me?” … … Legolas sat bolt right up in bed with a gasp. He was sweating and panting heavily, his entire body trembling in fear, and his eyes wide and hysterical. Maergorv, who sat near the bed, jumped when Legolas woke up so suddenly. He rushed over to his younger brother’s side. “Is something wrong, Legolas?” Legolas felt tears run down his burning cheeks, but he didn’t care. He slowly focused on his brother’s face, his expression horrified, and he whispered, “I’m going to be sick.” Maergorv nodded, somewhat scared at his brother’s behaviour. He quickly helped Legolas out of the bed and to the bathroom. Legolas doubled up over the bowl and threw up everything in his stomach (which wasn’t much) and continued to heave even when his body had little else to give. Maergorv sat by, holding back the boy’s hair, and wetting his brother’s hot neck with some water. After a time, Legolas just hung limply over the toilet bowl, at first sobbing, and then starring deadly into space, his mind screaming and deeply disturbed by his dream. *In what way do you love me…?* Legolas shuddered and began heaving again, but it passed quickly with his stomach being so empty. After a time, Legolas became aware that Maergorv was trying to soothe him, and Legolas flinched back from his touch. “Go away!” he cried, alarmed. Maergorv was clearly stunned and confused. “What? Legolas!” Legolas pulled away, shivering. “I’m fine now, Maergorv. Can’t I have five minutes to myself where I can grieve in peace?” Maergorv thinned his lips, not liking his brother’s choice of words. *Grieve in peace*? “Legolas, you’re clearly not well. I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you by –” “Gods, Maergorv! I don’t want you mothering over me. Go! Please, just go…” “Legolas,” Maergorv tried to soothe, moving closer and wrapping an arm about his brother. Legolas yelped and pulled back, to his older brother’s great surprise. “Please, Maergorv, don’t…” Legolas feared his brother’s touch, although he didn’t know why. Was it because he was afraid that somehow Maergorv would learn the truth just by touching him? Did he fear that his brother would spit on him suddenly, and call him a slut? Or was he afraid his brother’s kindness would undo him, and he would not be able to resist the flow of words that may fall from his lips if he opened up? Legolas couldn’t allow his brothers close. He had to do everything in his power to get rid of them. Maergorv shook his head, exasperated at his brother’s behaviour. “I just want to help, Legolas. I don’t understand what –” “What don’t you understand, you stupid oaf?” snarled Legolas, hoping to push his brother with insults. “Just leave me in peace, is that so hard to do?!” Maergorv blinked in shock at his brother’s vicious words, and realised that Legolas would only become more nasty and hysterical if he didn’t give his brother some space. Sighing, distressed, Maergorv nodded. “Alright, gwanur. I’ll give you some time to yourself, but please remember that Bórsael and I, and even Ada are here if you want us. We only want what’s best for you.” Legolas turned his head away, ignoring his brother. He heard Maergorv get up and leave, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Legolas relaxed somewhat, and curled up in the corner of the bathroom floor. *But in what way do you love me?* Legolas began to sob, his mind still reeling from his dream. What way did he love his Ada? He thought he had loved Thranduil like a father, but was it still the same now? He didn’t know, and he was frightened and confused. /I wish this had never happened/ he thought to himself. /I wish I were dead…/ Legolas sobbed and shivered, his body growing cold on the tiled floor of the bathroom, and his stomach protested from both his heaving and lack of food. Legolas had never felt more miserable in all his life. “I just wish it would end,” he whispered, not even aware that he spoke aloud now. He closed his eyes, wanting to shut the rest of the world out. After a time, darkness claimed him, and his worries evaporated into deep, deep sleep… ~*~*~*~*~ Bórsael walked back through the corridors of his home after having returned from the morning patrol. The watch had been uneventful, though he had enjoyed being among the men. Despite that he was more a scholar than a soldier, Bórsael nevertheless appreciated the camaraderie with the other male elves, especially as it had provided some relief from the stress and troubles of home at the moment. Bórsael turned a corner and walked past a door leading into the library. He peered inside nonchalantly as he went passed, and then stopped in his tracks. Backing up, he looked inside again, and saw that his brother Maergorv was sitting at one of the tables, flipping through a large tome. Bórsael walked inside, and saw that the rest of the library was deserted, which wasn’t surprising, considering that it was now lunchtime. “Maergorv, what brings you to this part of the house. I didn’t think I would ever find you in the library again after our tutoring as children finished.” Maergorv smiled thinly, and pointed to the book he was looking through. “I was wondering if this might explain what is wrong with Legolas. He seems worse, Bórsael, and I do not believe his case to be simply from stress and hunger.” Bórsael frowned. “Worse?” “Aye. His dreams are disturbed by nightmares which now make him throw up when he awakens. He is growing hysterical and irritable, and still doesn’t eat. His body rejected that fruit which you managed to get him to swallow this morning.” “Have you told the healer yet?” “No. I thought I might consult this book of healing first, in case I was getting overly worried about nothing.” Bórsael didn’t like the sounds of this. “Who is watching over Legolas now?” Maergorv gave him a guilty look. “Ah, no-one. Legolas wanted some time to himself. ‘To grieve’, he said. I could see he wasn’t getting any better with me standing over him, so I thought it best to give him what he wanted.” Bórsael shook his head, a cold feeling running through him. “Something doesn’t seem right about this. We’d best check on him.” Maergorv nodded, and followed his elder brother as they left the library. “How long has he been unattended,” Bórsael inquired as they briskly walked back. “About … two hours, I think.” Bórsael felt another feeling of dread consume him, and he silently picked up his pace. When they reached the bedroom, Bórsael was almost running. He threw open the door, and found the bedroom deserted. He looked at Maergorv, who turned pale upon realising that Legolas wasn’t here. Bórsael walked inside, and then went to the bathroom. “Elbereth!” Maergorv heard his brother swear, and quickly went into the bathroom to see what Bórsael had found. Legolas lay sprawled on the floor in a corner of the cold, hard room. His eyes were shut – not a god sign for an elf unless they were in a healing sleep, which Legolas was clearly not in – and his lips were blue. His breathing came shallow and rasped, and his body shivered, but only slightly, as though the young boy didn’t have the energy to tremble properly. Maergorv felt guilt and shame consume him. He should never have left his brother alone. “Maergorv, fetch the healer,” Bórsael commanded quietly. Yet Maergorv didn’t hear, his horror at what he had allowed to happen numbing him. “Legolas…” he whispered pitifully, cursing himself inwardly for being so stupid as to allow Legolas to chase him off. “Maergorv!” Bórsael said sharply, and lightly shook his brother by the shoulder. “You didn’t know this would happen. You only did what you thought was best. There is nothing you can do about it now, except to *fetch the healer*. Now!” Maergorv nodded, and then fled the room. Bórsael picked his brother up, realising this was much more serious than when he had found Legolas half delirious on the floor yesterday morn. Bórsael put his unconscious, younger brother in bed, and waited for Maergorv to return with the healer. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil walked into his bedroom, only distantly aware that he was dreaming again. There was a slender form lying in his bed, and he realised it was Legolas. Walking closer and sitting on the edge of the bed, Thranduil stroked his son’s hair, and watched as his child slowly woke. “Hello, dilthen-pen. Lonely?” Thranduil smiled. Legolas tried to smile, but then broke into sobs. Thranduil became distressed, not knowing what upset his son. “Legolas, nin-iond. What’s wrong? Shhh, don’t cry. What’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s wrong.” Legolas allowed himself to be picked up in his father’s arms, and he sobbed against his father’s shoulder for a while. When he had calmed down somewhat, Legolas mumbled, “I *was* lonely, Ada,” and then he started crying again. “Shhh,” Thranduil soothed, petting his son’s hair. “It’s alright. We all get lonely. But surely this is not the only reason why you are so upset?” Legolas shook his head miserably. “I missed you. You have been so busy with paperwork, and Bórsael and Maergorv are out on patrol. I had no one to talk to or be with.” Legolas clung onto his father, relishing the attention he was now getting. “I missed you,” he said again, almost whispering. “I know, I’m sorry, lend-ind. I’ll try harder to spend more time with you, okay?” Legolas nodded softly, enjoying being held by his father and rocked softly. Tears still fell from his eyes, and Thranduil pulled his son’s head back from his chest so that he could look at Legolas’ face and wipe the tears away. “Don’t cry, dilthen-pen. It will all be alright, now.” Legolas nodded and closed his eyes as Thranduil bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. Then the cheek. …and the tip of his nose… …and then Thranduil’s lips brushed gently against Legolas’, and the king delighted in their soft texture, and the way a shiver ran down his son’s back. Thranduil pulled back enough to gauge his son’s reaction, and saw that Legolas’ eyes were still closed, his lips parted gently, with his breath coming faster. “Ada,” Legolas barely whispered, and his breath caressed his father’s mouth, bare inches from his own. Thranduil watched as Legolas’ tongue poked out and licked his lips, and that sight alone nearly drove the king mad. Gently, he lent forward again and pulled his son’s mouth to his, kissing him softly. Legolas moaned at the sweetness and tenderness of the act, and pressed himself closer against his father’s body. Before Thranduil really knew what he as doing, he had pressed his son back against the bed, and was kissing him with all the love and passion that he could muster. At first he just brushed his lips against his son’s, and they both laughed softly and moaned at the deliciousness of it all. Then the bliss became too much, and the king began to kiss his son more fully, covering his child’s mouth with his own, and persuading the innocent lips to open beneath him with his own hot, slippery, seeking tongue. Legolas finally allowed his father inside his mouth, and he mewled and gasped in pleasure, as his father possessed him with such love that they both thought they would die because of it. For many long moments, hours perhaps, they lay there together, rubbing themselves against one another as Thranduil kissed his son. They were both lost in the sensations, neither having felt more at peace or loved having the other so close. Thranduil revelled at stealing his son’s first, sweet kiss; delighted in how he tasted, and wanted to taste more, teasing the boy’s tongue with his own, pushing and dipping his own hot demanding tongue into Legolas’ willing mouth. Legolas lapped up and returned every touch, every kiss, every nip and caress of lips on open lips. Then Thranduil moved a hand down between their bodies, and began to rub both of their pounding erections together through the fabric of their clothing. Legolas gasped and arched himself up against his father, subsequently deepening their kiss. Thranduil pulled back to watch his son’s reaction, but only got a moment to see Legolas’ eyes dilate in pleasure and his cheeks flush in a most becoming way, before the boy cried out, “No!” and pulled his Ada’s mouth back to his own. Thranduil obligingly kissed his son again, deeply, devouringly, and consumed everyone of Legolas’ whimpers and yelps as he was brought closer and closer to the edge by his father’s hand and mouth. The feelings were indescribable, incomprehensible. Thranduil felt himself drowning in a haze of lust and love which filled his heart so strong he thought it would burst. His body trembled as much as Legolas’, trapped beneath him, but his son didn’t appear scared at all. One of Legolas’ hands which had been previously holding his father’s head close to his, moved down and crept between the buttons of Thranduil’s shirt. Thranduil moaned and pressed his hips against Legolas’ and he felt the boy’s hands run up and down his chest; light, teasing, experimental touches. It became too much, and Thranduil pulled back momentarily and ripped his top off. Legolas watched with hungry, curious eyes, as his father then proceeded to strip his leggings off. Then the king was back on top of him, unbuttoning his own shirt and pants. Legolas moaned as his swollen length sprang free from his leggings, and his father spent some time lavishing it with his tongue before pulling the cloth all the way off his legs. They were now both naked, and Thranduil took his time running his hands, lips and tongue over every inch of his son’s body. It was a long, slow, torturous love-making, and after further hours where Thranduil had licked and nipped Legolas ears, neck, nipples, naval, inner thighs, and throbbing arousal to his satisfaction, both king and prince were trembling with unimaginable, suppressed desire, and the heads of their erections wept unbearably. They had not spoken any words; they didn’t need to. Thranduil was experienced and knew how to manipulate his son’s body well, and Legolas was eager, sensitive and passionate, and it was enough to drive Thranduil insane with need. When they had both tormented each other to the edge and back beyond count, Thranduil moved back up over his son, rubbing against the young, supple body beneath him, dragging skin on skin as he went. Both hissed and moaned in ecstasy, and Thranduil consumed the boy’s mouth again with his own. They did not end their kiss this time until both had come. There were no hands used, as both their palms and fingers were locked together and held above Legolas’ golden head in a loving clasp. There was no penetration, but the bliss was too much to bear as it already was. Thranduil rubbed his burning shaft against his son’s, and they groaned into each other’s mouths, their eyes both open and locked with the other’s stare as they felt their orgasms approach. In a sweaty, moaning, thrusting mass, they both came, Thranduil and Legolas spilling their seed over the other. Legolas whimpered as he came hard, having never experienced anything like this before. Thranduil untangled his hands from his son’s, and held his child close against him as they both rode out the waves of their ecstasy. Thranduil himself had never felt it be like *this* before, or for it to last so long. It was a divine, impossible love. “Nin-ind?” Thranduil asked softly after he had regained some composure, seeing that Legolas’ eyes were shut tight and he was breathing oddly. “I- I’m okay, Ada,” he whispered, and opened his eyes, giving a small smile. “I’m okay,” he whispered again, and lifted his head up to gently kiss his father’s lips. Suddenly Thranduil’s peace disintegrated into concern when he realised Legolas was unable to retain the kiss for long. The boy’s head fell back on the pillow, his eyes drifting shut. Thranduil could feel the heat escape the child’s body, and he suddenly felt afraid. “Legolas..?” he asked fearfully, and his panic increased as Legolas seemed to fade inwardly before his very eyes. “Legolas? Wake up! LEGOLAS!” He shook his son, but Legolas didn’t respond. “Legolas!” Thranduil sobbed, growing hysterical. ‘Legolas, please! Wake up, nin-iond. Please, please, wake up!” *He shall not wake* a powerful voice said from above. Thranduil started, looking about, but saw no one. “Why not, why wont he wake?” the king asked uncertainly, unsure if the voice would answer him or not. “What is wrong with him?” *He is dying, because of you,* the hollow voice replied. *Because of what you have just done. It is the Valar’s will. What you have done is not right.* “No, please!” Thranduil called out to the voice, frantic. “Not him, don’t take him. Take me. Why him?! Oh please, don’t let him die!” There was silence, and then the voice asked, *How do you love him, Lord Thranduil of Mirkwood, Son of Oropher?* Thranduil blinked, confused. “He is my son! I am sorry, I did not know what I was doing! I love him as my son. Please! You cannot kill my son. Not for my mistake!” Thranduil felt something stir in the air about him, and he could have sworn that the voice was not pleased with his answer. *The Valar do not sanction this union. It is wrong. He will die.* “No!” Thranduil screamed, and began shaking his son more violently, but Legolas remained limp and unresponsive beneath him. “Legolas! Legolas! Please, live for me! Wake up, nin-iond!” But the body beneath him only grew colder. Thranduil sobbed, realising that there was nothing he could do. It was all his fault. He had killed his son. What had he been thinking, kissing his son and then proceeding to make love to him? “Legolas,” he sobbed, and held his child as he felt the last embers of life leave the boy’s body. Thranduil wept for a long time, unable to comprehend fully what he had done. After a time, he put his son back on the bed, and then stood up, completely numb. Walking to a desk, he pulled open a draw and took out a long, sharp dagger. He moved back to the bed, and kissed his child’s dead lips softly. “I’m so sorry, nin-iond, nin-ind.” Thranduil soaked in his son’s beauty one last time with his eyes, and then raised the dagger, and brought it down to his breast… … “Ada?” Thranduil jerked awake, and saw Bórsael standing above him, looking very concerned. Thranduil hoped his eldest couldn’t tell he was shaking. /Just a dream!/ he thought, utterly relieved beyond belief. Legolas was not dead! /Just a dream!/ “What is it, Bórsael?” he asked somewhat shakily, his voice hoarse. Bórsael hesitated, looking at his father in worry. “Uh, Ada… you’re crying.” “I’m okay, nin-iond. It was just a dream.” Thranduil wiped the tears from his cheeks with trembling hands, but he sensed that that was not what his son had come to him for. “What did you want, Bórsael?” Bórsael thinned his lips. “It’s Legolas,” he said. “The healer has seen him… He’s *fading*, Ada. He doesn’t have long.” Thranduil would swear for the rest of his life that his heart had stopped for a few moments in that hour. “… I’ll be right there,” he said. t.b.c. Ada = Father gwanur = brother nin-iond = my son nin-ind = my heart dilthen-pen = little one lend-ind = sweet heart Beta’d by Aliaself – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au [[*author throws back head and laughs evilly to self* Don’t you just love a good cliff-hanger? >D ]] ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 9~ Thranduil marched into his youngest son’s room, and his heart froze in horror upon what he saw. Before him on the bed lay Legolas, looking exactly as he had in Thranduil’s most recent nightmare. Blue-lipped, thin, still, lifeless… He thought he was too late, that his son had already died. Then Legolas suddenly drew in a ragged breath, and Thranduil felt his knees threaten to give out beneath him in relief. Legolas was still alive. Just. Maergorv sat on the other side of the bed, watching Legolas struggle to breathe. Bórsael stood behind him, a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder in mutual support. The healer was packing up his herbs and utensils, shaking his head. “He is fading?” Thranduil asked softly, not wanting to believe. The healer looked at him sadly and nodded. “I am sorry, my Lord. I do not know why. Normally only elves in *great* emotional stress become subject to the elven sickness. I should have realised earlier – his symptoms… but I did not know, did not think…” “It is alright,” Bórsael said, trying to erase the obvious guilt the healer felt at having not read the signs in Legolas earlier. “None of us knew how much he suffered. You could not be expected to see that he was fading. None of us knew it was this serious.” Yet Bórsael gave his father a piercing stare, as though silently asking, *Did you know, Ada? You are the only one who knows the whole truth. Could you have prevented this from happing?* Thranduil, however, was horrified. He had known that Legolas was confused and distressed, but he had never dreamed his son was *this* distraught. /Fading?/ “How long?” Thranduil chocked out, starring at his thin, unconscious child. “It is bad, my Lord. Very bad. Most elves who I have seen last for many months, but that is because they do not necessarily wish to die, and they are normally conscious for the most part. Your son, however, does not seem to want to fight this. I would say he has a few of days. A week at the most.” “A few days?!” Thranduil’s legs buckled, and the healer was quickly at his side and helped him to sit down before the king collapsed. “A few *days*?” Thranduil repeated, appalled. “Yes, Sire. There is not enough time to get him to the Grey Havens. Either we find some way to wake him up – give him the strength and determination to live – or he will die. I am sorry. I shall give you and your sons some time alone now.” Maergorv looked shell-shocked, for once at a loss for words. Bórsael’s face appeared as expressionless as ever, although Thranduil could tell from long experience that his eldest was as devastated as he. Thranduil didn’t know what to think. Inside, he had completely fallen apart, but for the first time in several days, he did not cry. He felt void, empty, as lifeless as his son on the bed. “Ada?” Bórsael, always practical. “What do we do?” /What do we do? What to do, what to do, what to do…?/ Thranduil’s mind spun and tripped over itself, trying to think of a solution to this mess. He had begun this by taking his son four nights ago. Now he had to fix it before it was too late. But how? “What do we do, Ada?” Maergorv asked, his voice rising into hysterics. “We have to do something! We can’t just let him die! Ada!” Then his second son broke into tears. Bórsael sat down and held his brother in his arms, trying to comfort him in this black hour. Thranduil shook his head. What, what, what? What to do, there had to be something! Surely there was something… something… “Wait,” Thranduil said slowly, as if waking from a dream. He looked at Bórsael with haunted eyes, his body beginning to tremble. “I think…something… I’ll have to check… maybe… stay here. With him… wait, I’ll be back…” and then Thranduil quickly left the room and headed towards his study, leaving behind a sobbing Maergorv in the arms of a confused Bórsael, trying his best to keep everything together. Thranduil hurried back to his study, and looked for a certain book on one of the many shelves behind his desk. Finding it at last, he pulled it out and began to flip through it. An hour later, he had discovered the chapter he wanted, and had read through it several times, making sure there was no mistake with what he read and understood. It was a means, a way to possibly keep Legolas alive. But the price was terrible. Thranduil began to sob in despair. He had little choice. He had to do this, or his youngest would surely die. There was no other option. Closing his eyes briefly, Thranduil sent a prayer to the Valar, asking for their forgiveness, and tolerance and blessing. Asking that they let Legolas live. He then went to his room, where he found the sharp dagger he had been about to use in his dream to end his life and be with his dead son. Hopefully the dagger would now be used to bring life, rather than death. When Thranduil returned to Legolas’ bedroom, he found that Maergorv had regained his composure, and was sharpening his dagger to help calm his nerves. Bórsael paced up and down the room, an unpleasant frown on his face. When he noticed the king’s return, he shot his father a suspicious look, before quickly remembering to guard his expression. “I would ask that I could have a few hours alone with him, please,” Thranduil said quietly. Maergorv looked up. “Have you thought of something, Ada?” “Perhaps”, Thranduil said, avoiding looking at his sons. He could feel Bórsael’s piercing gaze still trained on him. Maergorv nodded and left, giving his younger brother a quick kiss on the forehead before he shut the bedroom door behind him. Bórsael hesitated, not ready to leave yet. “You’re going to *bind* with him, aren’t you?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He could see the dagger his father tried to hold discreetly in his hand. Thranduil didn’t reply, but sat down on the bed next to his son, praying that maybe Legolas would yet open his eyes. The king’s silence was confirmation enough for Bórsael. “You would condemn yourself and his to such a life?” he asked harshly, moving around the other side of the bed so that he could see his father’s face. “What choice do I have, Bórsael?” Thranduil asked, despairingly. “For me, there is no greater love than for you three boys. For Legolas, the only other option is death.” He looked up at his son. “If he does not want it afterwards, then that will be that. But I have to try now. Binding my soul to his so that he can draw on my strength is the only way to save him.” Bórsael shook his head. “Surely you could get someone else to do it, Ada. Someone… not *family*.” Thranduil cringed. “And who else loves him more than I? I have just been reading up on binding for the last hour, and there needs to be a strong level of love already in existence between the two about to be bound, in order for this to work. In order for me to bring Legolas back from the door of Mandos.” “What about me, Ada? Do you not think I love him as much as you? Or Maergorv? And what of this ‘lover’ who has caused this mess in the first place?” “I would not condemn you or your brother to this fate. You are young and have your lives and future ahead of you. I know you, Bórsael. Your tastes run for maidens more than for men at any rate, and it may be best to have a queen at your side who you can lean on when you take the throne. I am old, and have already lost one dear to me. I’ll not see it happen again. As for this ‘lover’…” Thranduil gave a bitter laugh, and shook his head. Bórsael frowned, still not accepting this. “This is wrong, Ada. Do you know what is *involved* in a binding ceremony? If I remember correctly from my studies, it involves the sharing of bodies. You are his *father*, for Elbereth’s sake! It is not right.” Thranduil paused, realising he had come to a crucial point in the argument. “If it is wrong, then the Valar shall curse us and we shall not succeed. But if I don’t try, Legolas will die regardless, and I don’t think I could endure another death in this household, so soon after your mother passed away.” Bórsael sobered, his tone of anger turning into concern. “This is dangerous, Ada. We could lose you both.” “The loss would be worth the gain, Bórsael. Besides, you have been trained well. You will make a better king than I ever was.” Bórsael was silent for a moment. “You are not dead *yet*, Ada. And you are suppose to be thinking that this will work, not that it wont!” He then smiled faintly, and Thranduil returned the small grin. “I know. I’m just considering the worst-case scenario. And worst case is that Mirkwood will have a fine new king.” Thranduil smiled lovingly up at his eldest. Bórsael smiled and shook his head. “A fine new king who will be miserable without his pesky little brother and his soft hearted, stubborn, arrogant Ada, who wont be able to tell me anymore what I’m doing wrong.” Thranduil chuckled softly. “Well, it doesn’t sound like you’ll miss me much then. And you’ll have another pesky brother to keep you thoroughly agitated while you’re trying to run this kingdom… Besides, if I don’t try this, Legolas wont be around at all.” Bórsael nodded, the momentary humour lost. Thranduil looked down at his youngest, and ran his hand over his son’s face and hair. His fingers inexorably drifted to the now almost faded passion mark on Legolas’ neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the unconscious child, already forgetting that Bórsael was watching him. Bórsael stiffened as he saw this display, and watched as guilt and sadness filled his father’s eyes as he stared at the love-bite. All the pieces suddenly fell into place, all the half-truths, the nightmares, the actions of both his father and Legolas… “Valar! It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked quietly, shocked. For a moment, Thranduil considered pretending he did not know what his son spoke of. But then he decided that the time for covering up the truth was long past. After all, he might not survive this coming night. “I did not know it was Legolas when I took him. And he did not have a choice,” he said quietly, still stroking the young prince’s hair. Bórsael stood there, trying to digest this news. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but in the end, he couldn’t. Eventually, he turned about, and left the room, not accepting what his father had done or was about to do, but neither condemning it either. Thranduil heard the bedroom door shut quietly behind him, but he wasn’t relieved. Now came the hard part. Now he was going to try and bind with his son, in order to pull him back from death. How was he going to make love to his son – knowingly, this time? Ignoring that part of the ceremony for now, Thranduil pulled out his dagger, and taking a breath, he cut a small line down his left palm. He repeated the action on Legolas’ right palm, and then he clasped their hands together, allowing the blood to mix and be interchanged through their wounds. “I, Thranduil,” he began, using the wording he had read from the book in his office earlier, “King of Mirkwood, and son of Oropher, declare here and now by this blood that I bind myself to Legolas, prince of Mirkwood and … son of Thranduil. I call upon the Valar to witness my vow, and to aid that my soul be bound to Legolas, and that I may love him and strengthen him as no other for all my immortality. And with my act of love-making, I shall prove that I am sincere and worthy of this vow. May the Valar… may the Valar bless this union and see us… happy for all eternity.” Thranduil held back a sob which had been threatening to undo him during the speech. This was a vow often spoken between lovers who were being wedded, yet the words seemed a cruel mockery now to his and his son’s plight. Thranduil pulled his hand back carefully from Legolas, and was relieved to find that both their wounds had already closed over. Thranduil swallowed a rising fear and sickness, and began to strip off his clothing, in order to make the proceeding events easier. When he was naked, he lay down under the sheets next to his son, and began to strip his child also. When Legolas was bare, Thranduil took a few moments to try and acquaint himself with his son’s body. He reminded himself that not only was he Legolas’ father, but that he had also touched Legolas intimately before only a few days back, and so he should not feel so hesitant to see his son naked now. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling that even this, just looking at his son, was forbidden. Wrong. Thranduil despaired. How ever was he going to make love to the boy when he could barely even look at him? Suddenly, unbidden images from his dream he’d had a few hours ago resurfaced. Sights, sounds, and feelings were reborn to the king as he remembered making beautiful, blissful and passionate love to his child. Then Legolas had died. Thranduil shuddered, staring at his son’s face. Legolas would die if he didn’t do this, but there was a chance he would also die if he did. The boy might reject the bond. The bond may not be strong enough to pull him back from death. Or the Valar might even step in as they had in Thranduil’s dream. Thranduil sat miserably half propped up on his side, his right, uncut hand lightly running up and down Legolas’ side. Legolas lay still as ever on his back, his eyes shut, although his breathing seemed a little easier and more regular now than it had before Thranduil had initiated the binding rite. He replayed the dream over and over in his mind. What had that voice meant when it asked, *how do you love him?* Why had it seemed so angry and disappointed when he had replied *I love him as my son*? What answer would have pleased the voice, made the Valar reconsider damning their relationship and killing the prince? The Valar had cursed him because he had loved Legolas in a forbidden way, as his father. But what if he loved Legolas differently. Would that make a difference? Be more acceptable? If he loved Legolas as a lover… A bird outside chirped, startling the king from his musings. He had to act now, or else risk the bonding ceremony, and thus his child’s life. Thranduil took more interest in Legolas body, admiring its litheness and creamy skin, trying to ignore that he could almost count the number of ribs his son had. It wasn’t hard for Thranduil to like what he saw, as the body before *was* very similar to Malthenfin’s, and that elf had never failed to arouse him. And then there was his dream last night. Thranduil forced himself to relive it, to treasure the memory of kissing and touching his son without a care, to watch his son come, and feel himself do the same… Feeling himself slowly, almost reluctantly growing hard, Thranduil didn’t allow himself anymore time to think and back out. He had to do this *now*, for his son’s sake. He reclaimed Legolas’ right hand with his left, realigning their scabbed wounds, and he instantly felt more secure having his fingers tangled with the boy’s. He moved his body gently on top of Legolas. At first he was worried about putting his weight on the boy in his condition, but when he felt how cold his son was, his worry fled, and he quickly covered Legolas’ still form with his, trying to warm it up with his own body heat. “Come on, Legolas,” he found himself whispering, “you can’t give up now. You’re stronger than that. Stronger than to let something like this get between us and kill you. Now fight, damn it, and accept what I am about to do…” With those fiercely whispered words, Thranduil put his head forward and tenderly claimed his son’s lips in a sweet but still fervent kiss. It was nowhere near as bad as the king had feared. In fact, he found himself quickly losing all reservations that he was about to make love to his son. He didn’t – wouldn’t – think of it like that. He was making love to someone he cared about. Someone he loved. Someone he would die for, and would be willing to spend the rest of his life with. Legolas stirred slightly under the kiss, and Thranduil pulled up his free hand and gently stroked the boy’s cheek. “Wake up, Legolas,” he crooned softly. “Feel my love for you through our bond. Use my strength and wake up, nin-ind. Feel my love…and wake up.” Thranduil pressed his lips back against Legolas’, and tasted his son on his mouth. He wanted more, so he slid his tongue out and tentatively licked at the boy’s mouth. Legolas sighed and his lips parted slightly. “Ada…” Legolas called softly, his voice barely heard. “I am here, nin-ind. Wake up for me, Legolas. Come back from Mandos. Feel my love…” Legolas whimpered slightly, and Thranduil noticed that the boy’s eyes flickered behind their closed lids. Legolas’ hand also clenched slightly about Thranduil’s, and when the king began kissing him again, he could feel that his son’s lips were more pliable beneath his. “Feel my love,” he whispered, and began to kiss his way down Legolas’ jaw. He followed the curve down the boy’s throat to his collarbone, then down his chest. He hesitated briefly above Legolas’ nipple, but only for a moment, and then he took it into his mouth, and sucked on it gently. Legolas whimpered again, and his hand closed about Thranduil’s more firmly this time. Thranduil couldn’t help smiling slightly, amazed at his son’s sensitivity. He lapped at the nipple until it was firm beneath him, and then continued down, licking and kissing Legolas’ abdomen until he reach his naval. The king dipped his tongue in, and distinctly heard Legolas gasp and felt him buck. Thranduil was pleased with the sounds of approval his son gave, not only because it meant that Legolas was enjoying this necessary act, but because it meant he was slowly being pulled back from death, towards consciousness and life. When he reached his son’s member, he noticed that it was starting to fill out, though was still predominantly lax. An overwhelming curiosity to taste his son suddenly overwhelmed Thranduil. Although he knew from memory that he had already taken his son in his mouth when he thought he was Malthenfin, the king had not been able to treasure and appreciate the act at the time. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder… With virtually no apprehension, Thranduil bent forward and ran his tongue along his son’s length. Legolas groaned and tossed his head to the side. The flesh beneath him twitched, and Thranduil grinned. He continued to lavish the organ with his talented mouth and tongue, occasionally bringing his free hand down to lightly brush against it with feather-like tips. Legolas grew more responsive as time progressed, though his eyes remained disappointingly closed. When the prince was hard enough, Thranduil reached his tongue out and lapped at some of the fluids which seeped from out the head. He closed his eyes, savouring the flavour. So this was his son. He tasted sweeter than he would have expected… Thranduil bent forward and took the head of the shaft into his hot mouth, sucking gently. When Legolas had finished moaning at this, he took the length deeper into his throat, using his right hand to stroke the base tenderly, teasingly, until Legolas was panting and ready to come. Thranduil quickly pulled back, and laid himself out on top of his child. He couldn’t move further down his son’s body without breaking his hold on Legolas right hand, something he was loathe to do. Now, he simply delighted in the myriad of facial expressions he watched flicker across his son’s face as the boy coped with all that was happening to him. “Legolas,” he whispered hotly, shaping the name out on his tongue to mean so much more than just his youngest son. “Legolas…” and he took the prince’s lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. Legolas moaned and opened up to him, allowing his father’s tongue inside. Thranduil kissed his child deeply, and was surprised when he actually heard Legolas growl as he tasted himself on his father’s tongue! Thranduil laughed against the boy’s mouth and whispered, “You will never cease to amaze me, my son,” and he went back to kiss him, feeling his own sex swell and become erect at the combined flavours of his son’s sweat, seed and saliva. The kiss was very much one sided, but Thranduil had to keep the tears back when he felt, at last, his son’s first hesitant attempts at kissing him back. Yet the boy’s eyes were still closed. Thranduil was not going to get away with saving his son without fully completing the rite. At the moment, however, that didn’t really worry Thranduil. He wasn’t sure he could have stop, even if he wanted to. At last he decided he had played enough, and was satisfied with both their states of arousal, certain he would not hurt Legolas now as the boy was fairly relaxed. He refused to cause his son any pain, under any conditions. Realising belatedly that he hadn’t brought any oil, Thranduil didn’t worry. On the nightstand stood proof of Legolas’ affection for archery. There was a small collection of bowstrings, spare arrow feathers, and some oil used for bows and their string. He picked up one of the little vials, and coated his fingers in it. He then gently nudged his son’s thighs apart to give him space to move. Looking carefully at Legolas’ face, he slid one finger inside the boy’s guardian ring. Legolas gasped and stiffened, and Thranduil stilled his hand. “Hush, Legolas. It is alright. I will not hurt you, hush now. Relax… Feel my love…” He nipped at his son’s lips, and lightly brushed his body against the boy’s arousal. Legolas twitched and then relaxed into the mattress. Thranduil began moving his finger in and out of his son’s passage. Soon Legolas was moaning in pleasure again, and his body weakly tried to push against the digit for more stimulation. Thranduil added an extra finger, which Legolas accepted more easily than the first. Yet he was still incredibly tight, even though no longer a virgin. Thranduil took his time. There was no way he would rush this and hurt his child, and eventually Legolas had been stretched enough for the king’s satisfaction. By this time, Legolas was panting and gasping in pleasure, his cock fully erect and pulsing. The king then grabbed the oil and liberally coated his shaft. When he bent back over, he whispered softly, “If this works, and you awaken, and you hate me for the rest of your life for having done this, I will not be sorry. Because anything is better than having to sit at your side and watch you die, nin-hên.” Thranduil then claimed Legolas’ mouth in a tender, bittersweet kiss, positioned Legolas’ legs to either side of his hips, and then slowly pushed his length inside his son for the second time that week. Legolas gasped and arched up in a mixture of pleasure and shock. Thranduil didn’t stop until he was all the way in, and then paused, allowing his son to adjust about him. Thranduil’s hand tightly held Legolas’, and Legolas returned the firm grip. His mouth gaped for air, while the king himself panted from the effort it took not to come then and there inside his son’s body. “By this act,” he whispered, his eyes closed in bliss, “I bind myself to thee…” and with those last words, Thranduil began to thrust. He took it slowly and gently, but felt that they would both come soon anyway. He pushed in and out… in and out… his son’s velvety passage slick and stretched tight about his heavy pulsing cock. He angled to hit the spot within his son that would bring him the most pleasure, and with the first thrust that hit true, Legolas wailed in pleasure and opened his eyes… Thranduil’s heart beat faster in his chest at seeing this, but he didn’t stop his steady rhythm. He let his head rest side by side Legolas’ cheek, and whispered soothing, loving words into his son’s ear as he continued to make love to him. Legolas wrapped his legs about his father’s waist, and gripped the king’s back with his free hand, trying to anchor himself to something real as he felt himself drowning in confusion and passion. He closed his eyes, the sensation of his father pumping in and out of his body too much. He was vaguely aware that small whimpers and grunts escaped his lips as he was brought closer and closer to the edge. He hung on the words his father crooned to him, afraid to lose himself to these sensations. It was all so sudden, and strange, and unexpected. Yet utterly delicious. He craved more, wanted more, needed more… “Ada,” he whispered, his voice breathless, and he tentatively opened his eyes and looked at his father. Thranduil stared back with all his love. He gently kissed his son, and then continued to lavish Legolas’ face with small, tender kisses. “I love you,” Legolas whispered softly, gasping as his father continued to hit that secret spot within him. “Im mela lle, nin-iond,” Thranduil responded, and he claimed his son’s lips again in a bruising, desperate kiss. Legolas returned it as best he could. When they were both in need of air, Thranduil broke the kiss, and contented himself with nibbling the tender flesh on his son’s throat, under the jaw. Legolas gasped again and threw back his head. “More! Please, Ada… More!” Thranduil began sucking harder on the child’s throat, and began to pump into his son faster and more ardently. Both of their knuckles were white on the pair of hands which were clasped together. Their lovemaking grew more frantic and passionate, their hips thrusting against one another, their bodies arching and sweating, their mouths groaning and panting when not locked in duels of lips and tongues and even teeth. Legolas’ breath suddenly hitched, and his free hand, which clenched his father’s back, dug into the flesh there. “Ada!” he whimpered, his voice breathless, and Thranduil nodded, realising his son was about to come. He reached down a hand and began stroking his son’s erection. Legolas panted, and staring into his father’s eyes, he brought down his own hand and helped his father bring himself to climax. Thranduil growled when Legolas’ hand joined his, and he thrust into Legolas with little care for being gentle anymore. He could feel Legolas balancing on the edge, and used his tongue to flick out and lick the tip of the prince’s ear. It was the final stimulation needed, and Legolas cried out, his whole body trembling as wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure washed through him, and his orgasm was torn from his body. Thranduil thrust in one last time and came as well, pumping his seed into Legolas’ slender body. As he came, the king felt something happen *inside* him, and he felt a part of his mind reach out and touch his son. Much of his strength suddenly ebbed away into his son’s body, and he collapsed, exhausted from both the sex and from the binding ritual now being completed. They lay there, unmoving for many moments, though Thranduil had released Legolas’ hand, and was now gently running his fingers through Legolas’ silken hair to help soothe the young elf as he came down from his sexual high. After a time, Thranduil realised he should pull out of his son. But when he started to do just that, Legolas cried out in distress, and wrapped his legs firmly about his waist, preventing his leaving. “Stay,” he whispered tiredly. “Just for a little longer. Feels good…” Thranduil smiled softly and silently agreed. It did feel good lying like this, so intimate and coupled. “I have bound myself to you,” he said quietly, feeling that it was important Legolas knew what had just happened. “In order to save you. You scared us all, Legolas.” Legolas sighed, only half registering the words his father spoke. At the moment, he was simply happy that his father hadn’t pulled out yet. He had never felt more… complete in all his life, and he wanted to savour the sensation a little while longer. Strong emotions ran through him, but the most overpowering of all was relief. Relief that Thranduil was not now calling him a slut or a whore, that his father was actually looking at him with love, rather than disgust, and that he obviously didn’t blame him for that night when he had gone to his father’s bed. As their breathing finally settled, and sleep threatened to claim them both, Legolas asked, “Why, Ada?” There was no betrayal or hurt in his voice, only curiosity to find out why his father had bonded to him – and made love to him. Which is what it surely had been. A few nights ago, it had just been sex. But this, this was different. “Because I love you, Legolas.” Thranduil answered, starring into his son’s eyes. The phrase reminded the prince of something – a dream he had had – and he spoke without really thinking about what he said. “Yes. But in what way, Ada?” Thranduil blinked. “I’m not sure...” he said, confused. “Do you still love me?” Legolas nodded “Of course, I love you too, Ada.” “…But in what way?” Legolas gave a sad smile. “I don’t know either,” he paused, thinking. “But I must admit, after this, I think my love has changed somewhat from simply being father and son. And it will probably continue to change for a while yet.” Thranduil nodded slowly. “Indeed. Then we best take this slowly.” “Aye…” Legolas agreed. There was a pause, then, “Ada?” “Mmmm?” “Will you kiss me?” Thranduil grinned. “Of course.” And he bent his head down and kissed Legolas, deeply but lazily. When Thranduil pulled back, Legolas stuttered, “I’m s-sorry I came to your bed that night, Ada.” Thranduil shook his head, smiling affectionately at his son. “There is nothing to forgive, Legolas. But,” he added, seeing Legolas become slightly distressed, “if it makes you feel any better hearing me say it, then I hold you to no blame over that night. I forgive you for coming to my bed.” Legolas smiled, relieved, and there were tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Ada. Yours and my brother’s love are all that I care about,” he hesitated, then added, “And if it makes *you* feel any better, I do not blame you for that night either. I forgive you for thinking I was Malthenfin.” Thranduil felt tears well in his own eyes, and he thanked his son by kissing him again. This time it was more passionate, but still leisurely, as they both took their time to explore the other’s mouth and flavour. When they parted, Legolas spoke again, playing with a strand of Thranduil’s blond hair. “Does anyone else know?” “Just Bórsael. He put together the pieces. That elf is too smart and noble for his own good. However, the healer knows you were fading, and Maergorv knows I was going to do something about it. I don’t think Bórsael will tell him, though. Not yet, without my say-so. I think I would like to tell him myself, personally.” Legolas frowned, but then a thought occurred to him and he smiled. “I’ll be glad when he finds himself a lover. It will be amusing to watch.” Thranduil’s eyebrows rose. “Who, Maergorv?! Heaven help us when that happens!” Legolas laughed, and the king thought it was good to hear that sound again. “No! *Bórsael*. It will be interesting to watch how his cool, controlled façade changes when he falls head over heals for someone!” Thranduil chuckled, and kissed Legolas playfully. “I’m glad I could bring you back,” he said, smiling down with love and mirth. “I’m glad you did,” Legolas replied, also grinning. They kissed again, both enjoying the other’s company, and grateful that there was no more awkwardness between their relationship. They spent a few more minutes lying in companionable silence, yet Legolas broke it again with another question, this one more sombre. “Ada? Are we cursed now?” Thranduil thinned his lips and sighed. “I don’t know. If we are, we are. But if there is one thing I have learnt in my long life, it is that love is like death. It is indiscriminate. It has no prejudice towards age, race, class, sex, or even family it would seem. It will claim whomever it will.” Legolas nodded, and accepted the brief, gentle kiss his father placed on his lips, now bruised slightly from all the kissing they had done. “What do we do now, Ada?” “Shh. Don’t think about that just yet. You’re still weak, and I don’t want you to fall under again with gloomy thoughts. Just enjoy this moment now, and we’ll think about the future later.” “Mmm, okay…” Legolas closed his eyes slightly as he enjoyed the feel of Thranduil petting his hair again. After a while, he looked up sheepishly from his hooded lids. “Ada?” “Mmmm?” “So… if you’re not going to disown me, does this mean I’m now Queen of Mirkwood, or consort, or something?” A pause. “Legolas?” “Mmmm?” “Shut up.” “Okay.” “And let me kiss you.” A grin. “Okay.” And they kissed again, very sweetly and for a very long time. Legolas had never felt more happy or whole in his entire life, and prayed that this moment would last forever…. t.b.c. Ada = Father nin-ind = my heart nin hên = my child Im mela lle = I love you Nin-iond = my son Conceptual Beta is Aliaself – Thank you for doing this sweety! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 10~ A few hours after Thranduil had bound himself to Legolas, Bórsael knocked quietly on the prince’s bedroom door. Thranduil blinked his eyes to wake himself up from the half doze he had fallen into. He had finally pulled out from Legolas’ body, worried that his weight would be too much for the thin, weak body of his son to handle. The boy was snuggled up against him, having fallen into a healing sleep from the appearance of his closed eyes, deep steady breathing and a healthy flush to his cheeks. His skin even seemed to glow slightly with a soft light. Thranduil had spent the last few minutes simply watching his precious son sleep in his arms, gently stroking the child’s back, face and hair. “Come in,” he called softly when he heard the knock at the door, already knowing that it was his eldest son. Bórsael entered hesitantly, and shut the door behind him. He moved over and sat down on the edge of the bed, slightly stiff, though he was relieved to find that Legolas was alive. Not only alive, but apparently healing. Thranduil, however, looked exhausted, despite the dreamy expression on his face. “I think he’ll be alright,” Thranduil said softly, his eyes momentarily leaving Legolas’ face to stare at his eldest. Bórsael nodded slowly, and looked down at his hands in his lap. “I am glad,” he whispered, leaving much unsaid. Thranduil looked back down at Legolas and smiled softly with obvious affection and relief. He would deal with his other sons’ turmoil later, when he was less tired and was sure that Legolas had fully recovered. He was still afraid that Legolas might slip back towards death. For now, the young prince was his main concern, and he was grateful that Bórsael seemed to appreciate that and wasn’t trying to push for more explanations at the moment. “I assume it worked?” Bórsael asked softly, looking at Legolas tentatively. “As far as I can tell,” Thranduil answered, resuming his petting of the boy’s cheek. “I think we’ll take him back to my rooms. I want to keep him close for now while he still recovers, and I believe he associates this room with being alone and closed off from his family. Hopefully my quarters will be less oppressive, especially if I am there to give him my strength.” Bórsael only nodded, his emotions at what was happening between his father and youngest brother still making it hard for him to think clearly and form sentences. Thranduil continued to stroke Legolas for a while longer, and then he sighed and bent down and kissed the boy on the forehead. Reluctantly, he untangled his son from his arms, and carefully climbed out of bed to get dressed. Bórsael quickly averted his eyes from his father’s nakedness, his fists clenching shut at the thought of what his father had had to do in order to complete the bond. He was still finding it hard to accept, but the other alternative would have been his brother’s death. Surely this was the better option? Thranduil put his clothes back on, and then pulled the sheets off Legolas to dress the boy in a clean, sleeping robe. Bórsael helped to dress his brother without being asked, both father and eldest son working in silence that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Thranduil smiled to himself, sure that given time, Bórsael would come to accept this new relationship between himself and Legolas. When they were finished, the king carefully scooped the sleeping prince into his arms. Legolas stirred slightly and pressed himself closer against his father’s chest, his right scarred hand clutching at his Ada’s shirt. Bórsael opened the bedroom door for them, and they left the room. Outside, Maergorv sat on the floor looking very anxious. He stood up quickly when the door opened, and for a moment he feared the worst when he saw his father carry the limp and closed-eyed body of his younger brother out. Then he noticed that Thranduil smiled softly, and that Legolas was almost… glowing. A healing sleep. Maergorv sighed aloud in relief. “He’ll be alright?” Maergorv asked hopefully. “Aye,” Thranduil whispered. “If we are careful.” Maergorv shook his head in disbelief. Only a few hours ago, he had been preparing himself mentally for the death of his younger brother. Yet now the blond prince lay sleeping peacefully. It was a dramatic recovery. Whatever had his father done in order to generate this? “How Ada?” he asked curiously, as he followed Bórsael and Thranduil back towards the king’s quarters. “Legolas must have been close to entering Mandos’ halls! How did you bring him back?” Thranduil pursed his lips and avoided his second son’s eye contact. “Let me put him to bed first,” was all he said, and so Maergorv followed having no other option. He flashed his elder brother a glance to see if he knew anything, but Bórsael was even more quiet and distant than usual. He also avoided looking at his brother. Maergorv frowned, beginning to get the suspicion that he was about to be told something he wouldn’t like. Bórsael opened the door again when they reached Thranduil’s rooms. The king gently placed Legolas under his bed quilts, and ensured that the young boy was comfortable. He was about to leave so that he could talk to his sons privately, when Legolas whimpered, his right hand opening and closing as though searching for his father’s. Thranduil relented and sat on the edge of the bed, giving his hand to Legolas to hold. Legolas sighed in his sleep and stilled, at peace again now that he knew his father was close. Bórsael stood on the far side of the room near the door, trying to seem as unobtrusive as possible, knowing the confrontation that was about to take place. Maergorv stood uncertainly partway between the bed and the door, waiting for his father to explain how he had saved Legolas. “Ada?” Thranduil hesitated and looked at Legolas. “We’ll want to be quiet. I don’t want to disturb him yet, as this healing sleep is very important for his recovery.” Maergorv nodded slowly, wondering why his father was stalling for time. “Ada? How did you save him?” “Maergorv, nin-iond. What do you know of binding?” Thranduil’s tone was so perfect, that Maergorv at first did not suspect, and wondered again why his father was changing the topic. He answered the question, nevertheless. “Binding? It is when two elves who love each other bind their souls together, I believe.” Thranduil nodded. “Yes, but do you know what is involved in the actual ritual of binding?” Maergorv frowned, trying to remember. “I… think some vows are exchanged, as is blood. And then I believe the two elves consummate the rite by … making love. Ada, what does this have to do–” “Do you know what benefits an elf receives from binding?” “Ada. I don’t know where you’re going with this. Could you please just–” Thranduil pushed on regardless, speaking over the top of his son “If an elf binds to another, then that elf can give their life-force – their strength – to the other. It is a very handy situation if one elf needs support because they are weak, or sick or in some kind of emotional turmoil.” Maergorv was silent, thinking this through. Then his eyes widened and he shook his head. “No…” he whispered, refusing to believe it. Thranduil looked at him sternly. “Yes. I bound myself to Legolas, Maergorv. It was the only way.” “What? No…” Maergorv’s eyes darted frantically from his father’s, to Legolas’ sleeping form, then over his shoulder towards Bórsael, then back to his Ada again. The truth stared him in the face. And he did not like it at all. “Are you utterly insane?” Maergorv shouted, aghast. Legolas stirred and frowned slightly in his sleep at the loud noise. “Maergorv, keep your voice down!” Thranduil hissed. “Legolas is trying to sleep and is still in a very delicate condition.” Maergorv snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised after what you’ve obviously done to him!’ Maergorv shook his head again, his arms waving wildly in his anger. “How could you do that? You’re – you’re his *father*!” Legolas moaned as the shouting started to wake him from his sleep. The soft light glowing about him was beginning to fade as he crawled towards consciousness. Thranduil turned away from Maergorv and gently squeezed Legolas’ hand and stroked his cheek. “Shhh, Legolas. Go back to sleep, it is alright…” “Don’t ignore me, Ada!” Maergorv warned. Thranduil flashed him an annoyed look, angry and upset that Legolas was being disturbed from his sleep, and also because Maergorv was being stubborn and unaccommodating. Not that he could blame his son’s reaction, but it would still be nice if Maergorv could be a little more considerate at this present moment. “What other option did we have, Maergorv?” He asked, looking his son right in the eye. “He was almost *dead*.” “Surely you could have found someone better? Someone who wasn’t family. Someone who was not *his father*!” “Ada?” Legolas asked weakly, having at last been woken from his sleep by all the loud words. Three pairs of eyes turned to his, and Legolas paled. His father sat on the bed next to him, but he also noticed his brother’s in the room. Bórsael stood away at a distance, and Maergorv looked positively furious, confused and disgusted. /Oh no…/ Legolas thought in despair, realising what must be going on. Thranduil, however, wasn’t distracted for long, wanting to try and make Maergorv understand why he had done what he had done. “Someone who was not family?” Thranduil repeated caustically. “And who, pray tell, might that be? Perhaps you don’t realise, but the person bonding with the other must already love them deeply, and they them, or else it is a failed venture from the start. Legolas may have friends, but no one other than the three of us standing in this room love him enough to have saved him this night.” Maergorv paced, still shaking his head. “What about his ‘lover’, the one who left that love-bite on his neck?” Legolas began trembling, knowing too well where this conversation would lead. “Please, Ada…” he begged, not wanting Thranduil to answer that question. Yet it seemed that Thranduil had resolved to be rid of all secrets. “*I* was his ‘lover’! Though I was not aware of what I did, and Legolas had little choice in the matter,” he paused, giving Maergorv time to absorb this. “As I said before, *I* was the only reasonable option. I had to bind with him to save him from what I had done.” Maergorv’s mouth hung open, utterly shocked and horrified. “*You* made that passion mark?” “Aye.” Maergorv snapped his jaw shut, and looked at Legolas closely for the first time. Legolas could feel tears burning his eyes as he endured his brother’s stare, seeing the suspicion, pity and uncertainty in the gaze. Legolas slowly shook his head and averted his eyes, unable to endure the look. This was just like one of his nightmares where his brother’s turned on him in disgust… Maergorv’s eyes moved back to his father’s, and there was a very hard edge to his gaze. “This is *very* wrong. It should not have happened.” “And what would you have preferred, Maergorv?” Thranduil asked loudly. “For me to have done nothing and let Legolas die?!” Maergorv rounded and snarled. “He would have been better off dead!” An awful, sudden silence fell upon the room. “Maergorv!” Bórsael whispered harshly. He, like everyone else, knew that his brother had just crossed a line with that statement. Even Maergorv seemed slightly shocked at what he had said. Yet it was too late to take anything back. He was angry and confused, and not about to make any apologies. Maergorv closed his eyes a moment to compose himself. When he spoke next, his voice sounded dead. “I do not accept this. The Valar surely do not condone it either. They *will* punish you.” With that, the second heir of Mirkwood turned sharply on his heels and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Legolas broke out into sobs, but for the moment both Bórsael and Thranduil were too stunned to comfort him. Bórsael eventually moved and headed for the door. “I will go after him. He does not mean all that he says. He is confused. As I must admit, so am I. Bórsael opened the door to leave, then looked over his shoulder and frowned. “You’d best see to him, Ada. He does not look well.” Bórsael left, and Thranduil wondered what his son had meant by his last statement. Then he felt something strange, like a dark shadow had crossed his soul, and without thinking, he looked to Legolas for the source of it. He now realised that Bórsael had been referring to the young prince. Legolas was sobbing uncontrollably, but what was worse was that all signs of his improvement had vanished. In fact, Legolas looked almost as sick as ever. The king could even sense it now through their bond. As Thranduil bundled his youngest son up in his arms, he silently cursed Maergorv’s harsh words which had now undone all his hard work to help make Legolas well again. He rocked the young prince back and forth, but Legolas did not quieten. Thranduil could clearly sense the boy’s distress and misery through the link he now shared, and was worried that the boy might relapse. “Legolas?” “Leave m-me, alone!” Legolas sobbed, trying to shut his father out. Thranduil didn’t like that, as he had managed to coax Legolas into confiding in him only a little while ago. “Legolas, please. Maergorv did not know what he said. He is confused and hurt by what has happened. He needs time to deal with this.” “He hates me!” Legolas wailed. “No, dilthen-pen. He does not hate you.” Legolas shook his head. “He wished that I were dead! He *hates* me!” Thranduil ran his hand through the boy’s hair, crooning to him. “No. Maergorv loves you, but he feels betrayed. He hates what has happened, what *I* have done, but he does not hate you. Never you…” Legolas shook his head, disbelieving. “Bórsael doesn’t hate you,” Thranduil added, hoping that he might console Legolas by bringing up this fact. Yet Legolas wouldn’t listen to reason. “Bórsael hates me too! He’s disgusted just at the site of me, which is why he stood on the other side of the room. He just hides it better.” Legolas sobbed, heartbroken that his dreams of his brother’s despising him had come true. “They’re right, Ada. I’d be better off dead!” Thranduil paled upon hearing this, and roughly grabbed Legolas by the shoulders. “Legolas, listen to me. *I* love you, and your brothers *do not* hate you. My heart would break if you were to die, do you hear me?” He gave the boy a slight shake, fear gripping him that his son might begin to fade again. Legolas just shook his head and continued to cry, inconsolable, but at least he didn’t voice any more suicidal wishes. Thranduil wrapped the boy up in a tight hug, and held him while he cried. Soon Legolas succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, though the king noticed with some dismay that it was not a healing one. Thranduil paced the main room, not knowing what to do with himself. He was worn out, but his conscious wouldn’t let him sleep. In the end, the skinniness of his son registered, and he decided it would do him good to go for a walk and fetch some food for when the boy woke up. ~*~*~*~*~ When Thranduil came back from the kitchens, he was not prepared for the site which greeted him as he entered his rooms. The tray of food he had been carrying crashed to the floor with the sound of smashing glass and porcelain, but the king did not care. He ran over to his bed and uttered a cry of dismay, horrified at how quickly Legolas’ condition had deteriorated while he had simply been fetching food. The prince lay curled on his side, fighting for breath with his eyes closed. His body was wracked with tremors, and when Thranduil touched him, he sobbed upon feeling how cold the boy was. “Legolas, no! Wake up, nin-iond! Legolas, do you hear me? Legolas!” Legolas choked and gasped when trying to draw in his next breath of air, and for a horrifying moment, Thranduil thought that his son had finally died. Then the moment passed, and Legolas managed to keep breathing. The king rolled the boy onto his back so that he might be able to get more air. “Legolas, please,” he whimpered softly, feeling burning tears running down his cheeks. “Wake up, Legolas. I’ve already bound myself once to you. What more can you want?” Legolas moaned and whispered as though from a dream, “Better… off… dead…” Thranduil sobbed and beat the headboard of the bed a few times to vent his anger and frustration. “No!” He screamed, not willing to give up after having done so much to save his son already. “Wake up! Don’t you die on me! You cannot die! I want you *alive*! I *need* you alive! You would *not* be better of dead! Legolas, please, wake up! WAKE, UP!” Thranduil was so terrified that his dream was coming true, he half- expected to hear a booming voice at any moment telling him the Valar had forbidden this union. Of course, it never did come. Legolas stirred, half coming out of his daze at his father’s desperate screaming. “Ada…?” Thranduil sobbed, relieved. “Yes, yes! It’s me, nin-iond. Please, wake up. You can do that, Legolas. Just open your eyes…” Legolas flinched. “No… my fault… cause you, shame… they, hate you…” Thranduil shook his son again, wishing there was some way he could make Legolas understand and believe him. “No, Legolas, listen to me! I am not ashamed of you. I love you and am so proud of you! Your brothers will get over this and come to accept it in time. Please, please just wake up. Don’t die...!” “Sorry… my fault…” Legolas whispered, his voice growing fainter. “Damn you, Legolas!” Thranduil yelled. “It is not your fault! None of it is! I thought we’d worked this out already – we have already forgiven each other for that night!” “So sorry… Love you…” Thranduil snarled and shook the fragile form beneath him violently. “Don’t you *dare* talk like that, Legolas! WAKE UP! You have to be strong! We will get through this together! I cannot handle another death in this family! If you die, *I* will surely follow you!” This seemed to catch Legolas’ attention. “Follow…? No…Ada, don’t die…” Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat as he was suddenly struck by an idea to save his son. It was a dirty trick, but emotional blackmail may just be the way to keep Legolas alive. “Yes, Legolas. If you die, so will I. Whether the bond drags me with you, or I take a blade to my heart in grief, I will surely follow you into Mandos’ halls to be with you. Do you *want* me dead, Legolas?” Legolas’ lips trembled. “No, Ada I –” “Then you must *fight* this, Legolas! You must live for me! Live for *us*! If you die, then it means you do not love me, because you are not willing to fight to live with me. If you love me, you will live. Please, I love you so much, nin-iond! Do not die. Do not let me die…” “Ada, please!” Legolas cried out, distressed that his father would place this burden upon him. He just wanted it all to end, he just wanted to die! “I love you, Legolas!” Thranduil declared fiercely, and bent down and kissed the boy deeply and passionately. As their tongues met, he sent as much of his life-force as he dared via the bond and into his son’s body. Legolas arched beneath him as he was flooded with strength. Thranduil pulled back and rested his forehead against his son’s. “Don’t die, nin-ind. You are now my soul. I cannot live without my soul.” Legolas began to sob miserably at his cruel fate, knowing he couldn’t now die and have his father think he didn’t love him. Thranduil felt sick at having blackmailed his son in such a way, but he was relieved to see it had worked. He cradled his son gently in his arms as Legolas cried, and thanked the Valar when Legolas drifted into a healing sleep after a while. Thranduil collapsed onto the bed next to his son, utterly drained and exhausted in every possible way. He spooned up behind his son and held the boy close, sleep claiming him quickly. His last thought before he fell into oblivion was that he hoped he would wake up with a living body in his arms in the morning. t.b.c. Ada = Father Dilthen pen = little one Nin iond = my son Nin ind = my heart Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 11~ [N.B. Please remember that my stories are AU, and I’ve made up the detailed specifics about binding and fading. Though I’m sure most of you have gathered that by now! *g*] Legolas woke up slowly to the sound of water splashing. At first the prince was a little surprised to see himself in his father’s rooms, but he wasn’t alarmed. In fact, he felt remarkably warm and safe and… loved. Memories of the night before slowly came back to him. He remembered waking up to find his father making love to him in order to complete a bond to stop him from fading. Then he remembered the argument with Maergorv, and how he had wished to die. How then his Ada had fought for his life, and eventually persuaded him to stay alive in order to prove his love. How the king had called him his ‘heart’, and his ‘soul’… It had been an exhausting, eventful night, though the prince remembered little of the exact details. Legolas rolled onto his back, carefully moving his arms and legs. Everything worked fine, but he felt incredibly weak. He noticed that the sheets had been tucked up about him to make him feel warm and comfortable. Where had his father gone? He started to panic, suddenly feeling a strong need to be with his father. Then he heard the soft splashing again, and he noticed that the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Legolas clumsily climbed out of the bed, and had to stand still for a moment in order to wait for the room to stop spinning. When he regained his sense of balance, the boy slowly walked towards the bathroom, and pushed the door open. Thranduil sat in a large tub of steaming water, leaning back against the rim with his eyes closed. Legolas noticed the dark rings under his father’s eyes, and realised how taxing last night must have been on the king as well. Thranduil sensed that there was someone else in the room, and he opened his eyes. He spotted Legolas leaning against the doorframe, and smiled warmly at his son. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Legolas crossed his arms in front of his chest and shrugged. “That depends on which day you compare it to. Compared to last month, I feel pretty lousy. Compared to yesterday, I feel pretty good.” They both smiled, Thranduil even chuckling slightly. Then the king raised a hand out towards his son. “Join me?” Legolas blushed faintly, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. Although his father and he had now made love twice, and had also seen each other naked many times when they had been swimming or getting dressed, this sudden invitation still made him feel a little shy. It was different now, more intimate and personal, and Legolas felt somewhat inadequate. Thranduil noticed the soft colour that tinted his son’s cheeks, and couldn’t help admiring how pretty the boy looked when he blushed. He also saw Legolas’ hands shake slightly as they undid the buttons on his sleeping robe, and realised what his son must be going through. He made sure not to stare at Legolas’ body when the robe slid down to the floor, and only smiled at the boy with all his love and affection to try and make his son feel as comfortable as possible. Legolas gingerly stepped into the water, taking the hand that his father offered to him. As he balanced on the one leg in the water, and began to lift the other, his knee buckled, and Legolas yelped as he almost came crashing into the water. Thranduil, however, quickly caught and supported his child about the hips, having noticed how weak his son was and had prepared himself for just such an event. Thranduil pulled Legolas into the water and onto his lap. Although he could no longer see his son’s face, as they were front to back, he could sense that Legolas was blushing again. The king wrapped his arms about the boy’s waist and pulled him back against his chest. Legolas stiffened at first, but then relaxed as the warm water soothed him, and he felt protected and loved in his father’s possessive embrace. He sighed blissfully, and rested his head back against his Ada’s shoulder. After a while, he asked, “Ada? Would you really have died if I had last night?” Thranduil rested his chin against the crook of Legolas’ neck and shoulder. “There would have been a good chance that the bond could have dragged me with you. However, it is only fairly new, and you have not completed the circle by binding yourself to me, so I may have survived. Nevertheless, I would have likely started to fade with the grief of losing you … You are very special to me, Legolas.” Legolas nodded slightly, delighting that his cheek rubbed against his Ada’s as he did so. “So… the bond is not yet completed?” he asked, making sure. Thranduil shook his head as best he could against Legolas’ shoulder. “Not quite, no. However, it isn’t necessary for you to return the favour and bond to me. What is important is that I can give you my strength, and I was able to do that in order to save you. *Twice*, I might add.” Legolas laughed softly. “It is much appreciated, Ada.” “Good,” Thranduil said, a grin spreading across his face, and he squeezed his arms possessively about Legolas’ middle. “Ada?” Legolas asked, the humour leaving his voice and his body tensing again. “Mmmm?” “They don’t really hate me, do they?” Thranduil knew Legolas was referring to his brothers. “Of course not. Don’t be silly. In fact, I image that your brothers have also had a rough night. Undoubtedly Bórsael has given Maergorv a good tongue-lashing for his harsh words. Then the two of them have likely spent the rest of the night talking through their feelings and counselling one another, trying to come to terms with this situation of ours. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bórsael comes to check on us soon – you especially – bringing with him a very cowed and apologetic brother.” Legolas smiled slightly and relaxed, trusting that his father knew best. He was still worried about what his brothers thought of him, but decided to push that to the back of his mind for now. After a few minutes, Legolas’ thoughts had wandered back to the bond his father now shared with him. “Ada?” he asked in a tone which was apparently meant to sound innocent, though failed miserably. “Mmmm?” Thranduil was prepared for the worst. “What are the words I need to say in order to complete the bond?” Thranduil smirked, realising what his son was trying to do. “I’m not telling you,” he said. Legolas sounded affronted. “Why not?” “Because I said so, and I’m the king, and you’re just the queen.” Legolas didn’t think it was amusing, and turned about to face his father, looking rather agitated. “Ada, don’t joke! I’m serious.” “So am I.” “Why won’t you tell me?!” “Because I don’t want you bound to me!” Thranduil replied, exasperated. Legolas recoiled, clearly hurt. “So- so you *don’t* love me! Or is it that you think I’m just some immature child who can’t take these things seriously?” Tears were starting to build in the boy’s eyes, and he pushed himself off Thranduil’s lap. “Legolas, please,” the king begged, “Don’t be ridiculous.” He lent forward and captured Legolas’ incredibly soft lips with his own in a tender kiss. Legolas’ eyes widened, slightly surprised, but he didn’t pull back. When the boy was thus distracted, Thranduil wrapped his hands about his hips and pulled him back onto his lap, this time face to face. “Of course I love you,” he whispered after gently pulling back. “It is just that this is all very confusing. Our relationship is very tangled at the moment. Maergorv was probably right when he said the Valar wouldn’t approve. The both of us have also admitted that we’re not even sure where our feelings lie for each other!” Thranduil cupped his son’s chin in his hand, and wiped away some of the tears which the prince hadn’t been able to hold back. “For the time being, lets just take this slowly. You may find yourself a nice elf maiden – or man, Valar-forbid! – who you’ll want to marry. So yes, part of this is because you’re still too young to make any life altering decisions yet. Wait to see where this goes. Once we’re bound, nothing can be undone, so let’s be sure we know what we’re doing and getting into before we do that.” Legolas frowned and shook his head, still slightly upset. “But… I can’t leave you to live a half-life like that, – bound to me without me returning the affection. It would be unfair. You’re life would be only half complete. That would be awful!” Thranduil smiled softly, his eyes soaking up his son’s beauty, and marvelling that the boy could have such a good heart in him. “Don’t fret, Legolas. It would not be *that* bad. I would be happy just knowing that *you* are happy. Whether that means you bind to me eventually, or I get to watch you be wed and perhaps start a family of your own, it would matter little to me. What matters is that we love each other and have each other if need be.” “You will always have my love, Ada,” Legolas whispered ardently, and then threw his arms around his father’s neck. Thranduil was a little taken aback by his son’s passionate display, but was grateful for it and eagerly returned the hug, burying his head against his son’s shoulder. The moment was interrupted when they heard a knock on the bedroom door, followed by an inquiry from Bórsael. Thranduil called back that he would be there in a minute, and then he grinned wolfishly at his son. “See? I told you they would come.” Legolas smiled and poked out his tongue, which turned out to be a mistake when Thranduil darted forward and gently caught it between his teeth. Legolas yelped and then moaned as he was drawn into a deep, passionate kiss. They sat there for a moment, Legolas beginning to tremble as his back was lightly stroked, and the tip of his tongue was suckled in his father’s mouth. Then Thranduil pulled back with a sigh. “We should get out before they start to worry.” Legolas nodded, unable to form sentences at the moment. Thranduil helped him out of the tub, and dried them both off, in order for them to meet Bórsael and Maergorv for an apology, and to talk through their feelings together. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil watched his son warily as he walked down the hallway, afraid the boy was going to collapse at any moment. It was late in the morning, almost midday, though they were both only now headed to breakfast, after having talked with Bórsael and Maergorv. Maergorv had appeared highly shamed for what he had said last night, and had apologised to Legolas profusely. The young boy had accepted readily and hugged both his brothers when they told him that they thought none the less of him for what had happened. Thranduil hadn’t failed to notice that both brothers sported dark rings under their eyes, like Legolas and himself. He had been right then in assuming they had talked late throughout the night. The two had promised they would try and be supportive of whatever Legolas and Thranduil decided to do, though both also still admitted that they would need some time to adjust to the thought that their father was bound to their youngest brother. It was as much as Legolas and Thranduil could have hoped for, and the king had been especially pleased when the brothers had fussed over Legolas after learning he had almost faded again last night. Maergorv looked especially guilty upon learning this news. The brothers then left to find Goldgwen and ask her to prepare a late breakfast for the family while Legolas and Thranduil properly dressed and braided their hair. Now Legolas was stubbornly trying to walk by himself without his father’s aid, his body still weak after his two near-death experiences and lack of food. Thranduil walked close beside him, ready to reach out in case the boy’s legs gave out as they had done in the bath. He did have to admit, however, that his son was doing remarkably well so far. They had turned down the last corridor when Legolas suddenly gasped as his left leg failed to support him. Thranduil was quick to grab the prince about the waist, saving him from falling to the floor. Yet it was what happened then that surprised them both. Upon Thranduil grabbing his son, they both felt a large wave of the king’s life-force flow through his arms and into the prince. Father and son looked at each other with wide eyes. “Did – did you mean to do that?” Legolas asked, a little shaken at the unexpected energy now flooding his body. Thranduil shook his head, his eyebrows high. “Not intentionally. I was simply worrying about your strength when you started to fall – and then it happened. I guess the bond is becoming stronger if I can start giving you my strength subconsciously.” Legolas nodded, still in his father’s arms and seemingly in no hurry to move out of them at the moment. “Ada…? How do you feel at the moment?” Thranduil considered the question, and realised why his son had asked. Despite having just lost a good deal of his own strength, he felt remarkably at peace, content and… whole. “I feel good… complete…” Thranduil said, mildly surprised. “You?” “Aye… the same…” Both elves wondered at this for a moment, and then they started walking again. Thranduil kept one arm wrapped about Legolas’ waist, though it was more to maintain the pleasant feeling within them both, than solely to help support his son. Legolas didn’t complain, in fact, he even leant into the embrace. When they entered the private dinning room, they found that Bórsael and Maergorv had already sat down to enjoy a late breakfast – or was it lunch? They barely had time to acknowledge one another, however, as Goldgwen attacked the king and prince with her clucking tongue. “Oh my goodness, look at the two of you! Worse even than them,” she said, pointing a finger towards the elder brothers. “What on earth did you boys get up to last night to make you all look like the walking dead?!” Thranduil decided it was best not to answer that question, and allowed Goldgwen to prise Legolas from his grip, and fuss over him as she seated him down, still clucking her tongue. He couldn’t help feeling slightly despondent when their contact was broken, and the feeling of ‘wholeness’ faded. “Just look at you,” Goldgwen protested, piling Legolas’ plate with food. The young prince allowed Goldgwen to scold him, somewhat intimidated, and looked to his brothers for help from the motherings of the elf-maiden. Bórsael and Maergorv, however, only grinned at him and shrugged their shoulders, enjoying watching their brother being fussed over and squirming in discomfort. “Nothing but skin and bone!” Goldgwen declared exasperatedly, pinching Legolas’ cheek. “I’d heard you were ill and not been eating, but honestly, Master Legolas! I mean, *just look at you*!” There was a moment of silence, and then Bórsael, Maergorv and Thranduil all burst out laughing. Legolas blushed and tried to hide behind his rapidly growing pile of food. “Don’t you lot laugh,” Goldgwen warned, waving a spoon at them threateningly. “You three only look marginally better! Now eat up, before I decide to send this food off to fatten the spiders. I’m sure they’d appreciate it better then you would!” The small royal family of Mirkwood took the threat at face value, and began to dig in, all starved for their own various reasons. As all four elves were finishing off the last of their meal, a messenger was announced and entered the room, bowing respectively towards the family. “My Lord,” he said, addressing Thranduil. “I have a letter from Lord Elrond of Imladris.” Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise, and as he looked at his sons, noticed that all three had also stopped eating and were in similar states of shock. The king half expected someone to jump out and shout ‘Surprise!’ at any moment, but when it didn’t come, he nodded towards the messenger. “Thank you. Please allow one of my servants to fetch you some refreshments and show you to a room if you wish to stay.” The messenger nodded his head in thanks, handed over a rolled parchment to the king, bowed again, and then left. “He didn’t really say ‘Lord Elrond’, did he?” Bórsael asked, disbelieving. “It would appear as though he did,” Thranduil said, holding up the letter to show the insignia of Rivendell on the wax seal. All three brothers looked at each other, and then scrambled to win the best position behind their father’s chair in order to read the letter over the king’s shoulder. The missive was short, but courteous, and was even signed by Lord Elrond himself. It was an invitation for Lord Thranduil, and any of his family or retinue, to come to Imladris in the hopes to settle some kind of peace between their two realms. Not that Mirkwood and Rivendell were at war, but it was no secret that Elrond and Thranduil were not on the best of terms either. “What do you suppose has gotten the old Noldorin so scared that he seeks out our hand for peace?” Maergorv asked, having read the letter through twice. “Watch who you’re calling ‘old’,” Thranduil warned, and Maergorv grinned sheepishly. “Do you think it could be a trap?” Legolas asked, suddenly fearful that he might lose his father to some sort of political catfight. Thranduil shook his head. “It’s hard to say. However, I doubt that would be Elrond’s intentions. As much as I hate to admit it, the half-elf is normally an honourable sod. I think the invitation is harmless enough. Nevertheless, if I decide to go, you’re staying here,” he said, looking at Bórsael. Bórsael scowled, clearly not liking this suggestion. “And under what inspiration of insanity gives you that idea?” “The inspiration that Mirkwood needs a half decent ruler while I’m away, and you easily fit that bill. If this is a trap – though I highly doubt it – then Elrond will probably do us a favour, having put you in charge instead of me.” Bórsael ignored the compliment, still sore that he would be made to stay at home. Political confrontations and debates were his speciality, and it chaffed him that he would not be able to join in at the peace talks. “Don’t look so sour yet,” Thranduil said, unable to help a smirk. “I haven’t even decided if I’m going to accept the invitation or not. Bórsael pursed his lips, and then reluctantly said, “I don’t know whether I should give you my opinion, now that I’m being confined to my own home… but I would advise that you accept, Ada. I imagine that a peace with Imladris will only prove to be beneficial. However, I am still curious over Elrond’s intentions. His realm is strong. I wonder why he is now initiating this? I would make sure you discover his motivations before signing anything.” “I’m not a fool, Bórsael,” Thranduil said with a smile, finding it amusing that his own son was trying to counsel him in the ways of politics. Bórsael shrugged and grinned, not saying anything, and the king rolled his eyes. “I shall discuss this with my advisers first, but I would have to agree. This offer seems good – almost too good – but I may as well not pass up the opportunity of lengthening our list of allies. It is about time Elrond and I became civil towards one another.” Thranduil stood, folding the letter away, and for the first time noticed that Legolas was still looking at him with uncertain, apprehensive eyes. The king smiled warmly and took the boy’s right hand in his left, connecting their scarred palms, and both felt the rewards instantly as a sense of peace and unity washed through them. “Are you finished eating?” Thranduil asked softly, darting a look at Legolas’ abandoned plate to assure himself that his son had eaten adequately. Legolas nodded and Thranduil was satisfied. “Good, then come with me, as it’s obvious we need to talk.” The king wished his other two sons a good day, and thanked Goldgwen for her services, then led Legolas outside into the corridor where they could have some privacy. He only took Legolas a little way down before stopping and turning to face his son. “Well? What is it?” Legolas fidgeted and it took a moment before he felt brave enough to look into his father’s eyes. “What if it *is* a trap, Ada?” he asked, obviously still distressed. “I don’t want to find out that you have become some political prisoner. I already thought I’d never have your love again after you found out that I wasn’t Malthenfin … I don’t want to lose you for good, this time.” Thranduil shook his head and smiled, bemused. “And what makes you think that you wouldn’t become a political prisoner along with me?” Legolas gave his father a confused look, and Thranduil laughed. “*I* am also not about to lose you again, either. If I go to Rivendell, you are most certainly coming with me. I’ve fought too hard to keep you alive, only to ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 12~ Legolas, for the most part, had been riding in front of the saddle on his father’s horse, leaning back against the king’s chest and drifting in and out of sleep. His body was still recovering from his ordeal which had happened a couple of weeks ago now, and although he appeared healthy both mentally and physically, the prince was still subject to bouts of fatigue, at which the best cure was to remain in as close contact to his father as possible. “Legolas?” Thranduil quietly spoke against his son’s ear, trying to wake the young boy up from his half doze. Legolas stirred, but did not respond. Thranduil laughed softly and tried again. “Legolas… wake up, nin-iond. We’re almost there. You do not want Lord Elrond to see you for the first time asleep in my arms, do you?” Legolas’ eyes regained their focus and he looked over his shoulder at his father. “No, I suppose not,” he said sleepily. “The guards’ stares have been enough to endure as it is.” Their party had been travelling for a little over a week to reach Rivendell. Thranduil had insisted that both Bórsael and Maergorv stay behind to look after things at home. The king’s only companions were his youngest son, his chief advisor Istidhren, and a handful of soldiers to ensure their safe passage to Imladris. Legolas had been riding with his father for most of the trip after he had almost fallen out of his saddle on their first day’s journey. The soldiers had flashed the king and prince strange looks, but had made little comment. By now, most of the Mirkwood realm had heard that the youngest prince had been ill – strange enough for an elf – and most weren’t surprised that Thranduil was now acting extra protective of him. Many of the soldiers had families of their own, and understood how it felt to be worried over their children. At least, they *thought* they understood. Thranduil and Legolas had made sure not to kiss or touch each other in any way that might cause unnecessary suspicion among the guards. When they camped, Thranduil would curl up behind his son and hold him close throughout the night, but the guards again only suspected that their king worried over his son’s health and wanted to keep him close. After all, the boy hadn’t even reached his majority yet, and it was unusual for elflings to be allowed to leave their realm when so young. It only seemed natural that Thranduil might fret over Legolas’ safety. “I’d best get onto my own horse,” Legolas said with a sigh, and Thranduil nodded in agreement. It was one thing to ride together like this in front of the soldiers, it was another to ride up to Lord Elrond in such a position. Legolas skilfully slid off the king’s horse as it still moved, and then swung himself up with little effort onto his own grey mount. Thranduil watched him warily, expecting his son to swing himself right over his horse and land on the ground on the other side. It appeared, however, that his son’s nap had done him good, as the boy looked as competent as any of the guards riding their horses. After another hour in the saddle, three dark-haired elves armed with bows dropped down from the trees in front of them. They all smiled and bowed towards the King of Mirkwood. “Lord Thranduil,” one of the Imladris guards addressed. “Welcome to Rivendell. Allow my friends and I to escort you to the front of the Last Homely House, where Lord Elrond awaits.” Thranduil nodded his head and smiled his appreciation, then followed the guards as they set off at a steady pace, the small routine from Mirkwood following close behind. It didn’t take long before the trees thinned, and Thranduil and his honour guard were led down into a large clearing in the middle of the mountain valley. As the group crossed over a narrow bridge, they were able to see the great and magnificent expanse of Elrond’s home, and the King of Mirkwood couldn’t help but be impressed. Rivendell was glorious. The king dismounted, and his son, adviser and guards followed his lead. Thranduil then walked up to a small party of elves who waited at the bottom of the entrance stairs leading into the house. Thranduil clearly identified Elrond at their head. “My Lord Thranduil,” Elrond greeted warmly, bowing to the blond Sindar. “Welcome to my home. I trust your journey was safe?” “Indeed it was, Lord Elrond. Thank you for your kind words.” Thranduil bowed also, somewhat amused at how civil the Noldorin lord was being. Elrond wanted something. “Allow me to introduce my sons,” Elrond said, and held out a hand to two identical dark haired elves standing to either side of him. “This is my eldest, Elladan, and this Elrohir. Arwen, my daughter, is currently staying in Lothlorien with her grandmother. Oh, and don’t worry if you can’t tell the boys apart, they wont be offended. Even I have trouble sometimes.” Thranduil allowed himself a smile, and politely shook the hands of the twins. “This is Erestor, my chief advisor,” Elrond continued, placing a hand on the shoulder of a pretty, yet shrewd looking elf. “And this is Glorfindel, whom I’m sure needs no further introduction.” Thranduil shook the hands of both these elves as well, and the king tried hard not to seem impressed that he was meeting the blond Balrog slayer of legend. “It is a pleasure to meet you all at last,” Thranduil said, allowing his eyes to drift about the land around him. “Your home is beautiful. Hopefully we shall be able to work out an accord of some kind over the next few days, which shall allow elves of both our realms to visit the other, and see the wonders each land holds.” Elrond raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed, then nodded. Thranduil grinned, and held out a hand to his side. “This is Istidhren, my chief advisor… and this is my youngest, Legolas.” Legolas stepped forward shyly, hoping he didn’t look as intimidated as he felt. Elrond extended his hand to shake the young prince’s, and his eyebrows rose when he noticed the scar on Legolas’ palm. He did not falter in shaking the child’s hand, however he looked up and stared Legolas hard in the eyes. The boy suddenly felt afraid, realising that the lord had seen his scar from the bonding ceremony. He jerked his hand back and bowed quickly to hide the panic in his eyes. “It is an honour to meet you, Lord Elrond,” he mumbled. “My father has told me much about you.” Elrond was silent for a moment, but then he seemed to relax and laughed at the boy’s words. “Ha! I’m sure he has, but don’t believe a word of it, young prince. I’m surely not as bad as all he says.” The comment broke the tension of the moment, although no one else had noticed the quick exchange between the lord and young prince. The elves laughed politely, and while thus distracted, Legolas quickly stepped away from the lord back to his father’s side. “Come,” Elrond said, his eyes sweeping the Mirkwood party. “Your guards and horses shall be tended to. Let me show you to your rooms where you may freshen up. I would be honoured if all three of you could join me for dinner tonight, but we’ll leave politics ‘till tomorrow when you have had a chance to rest from your journey.” Thranduil nodded, unable to help a smile. “You are most gracious, Lord Elrond. We readily accept your invitation to dinner.” “Good, then follow me.” Elrond turned around and walked inside, Thranduil by his side. Istidhren had already sought out the company of Erestor, and the two advisors were chatting away, no doubt already trying to learn as much about the other as possible in order to gain some upper hand in the peace talks which would occur during the following days. Glorfindel walked possessively close to Erestor. Legolas felt a little lost, bringing up the rear, fretting about what had just happened. Elrond had seen his scar. Had the half-elf realised it for what it was? For most elves, a normal scar would only take a few days to heal. However, on their trip to Rivendell, Legolas had mentioned to his father that his scar was still present. Thranduil had then informed him that binding scars never faded. They acted as a permanent reminder and symbol for a bound elf. This worried the prince. Elrond was a skilled healer, and probably knew all about binding rituals. Legolas took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Even *if* Elrond had recognised his scar as having been made from a bonding ceremony, the lord had no idea who the other elf involved in the ceremony had been. Legolas made a mental note to warn his father to keep his left palm hidden as much as possible, just in case. As they walked along the corridors, Legolas felt increasingly uncomfortable as the twin brothers continued to flash him conspiring looks. After a while, the brothers dropped back until one walked on either side of him. Legolas felt intimidated. “Did you have a pleasant journey, little prince?” One of the twins asked. Legolas frowned, not liking being called ‘little prince’. “Aye, we did, thank you.” “Is this your first trip away from home? Forgive us for asking, but you look quite young, and appear somewhat nervous.” Legolas avoided their eye contact and nodded. “Aye, this is the first time I have left Mirkwood.” “Well then!” the first brother declared exuberantly, and flung his arm around Legolas’ shoulders in what the prince considered an invasion of his personal space. “Elrohir and I shall ensure that we show you all the delights that our lovely home has to offer.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, and Legolas wasn’t sure if he liked the way the twins were still looking at him, and then looking at each other and smirking. He suddenly had a very strong urge to be with his father, preferably wrapped in one of the king’s possessive embraces. As if sensing his son’s wish – and maybe he did through the bond – Thranduil turned around, and saw his son being almost accosted by the dark haired twins. “Legolas,” he called, trying to sound casual. “Will you come here, please? Elrond was just telling me something that I think you may find most interesting.” Legolas gratefully untangled himself from the twins’ embrace, flashing them a forced apologetic smile, and then quickened his pace to stand at the front of the procession with Elrond and his father. Elrond resumed his conversation again, talking about the facilities Rivendell offered. Legolas feigned interest, and was even more grateful when he felt the king put a hand on his shoulder in what seemed a normal, fatherly gesture to anyone looking, but he felt the benefits instantly as a sense of calm washed through him at their touch. “These are the guest quarters,” Elrond announced. “My Lord,” the Peredhel said, opening a door to reveal lavish quarters. “These shall be your rooms for the extent of your visit.” Thranduil nodded his thanks and walked in. Legolas was about to follow him, when Elrond started walking further down the hall. It was then that the prince realised he was being given rooms of his own, and he started to feel nervous. Over the last couple of weeks, he and his father had been sleeping together, but now he was expected to sleep alone, and in a strange place as well. The next rooms weren’t even for him; these would be Istidhren’s quarters. Further down the hall again, and turning a corner, Legolas was finally introduced to his own rooms. He stepped inside hesitantly, and pretended to be gracious. “I will see you at dinner time, little one,” Elrond said warmly. Legolas nodded. Suddenly Elrond’s eyes seemed to dart towards the boy’s hand, as if seeking another glimpse of the scar for confirmation that it was there. Legolas quickly folded his hands behind his back and bowed again. “Thank you, my Lord,” he said, glad when his voice did not quaver upon speaking. Elrond nodded, not saying anything, and left. The twins hesitated at the door, but in the end they left too with only a grin. Legolas hurriedly shut the door and locked it. Looking about, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread flood him. His rooms were large and lavish, but impossibly empty. Empty of his father’s presence, his father’s possessions, even his father’s scent. The young prince didn’t like it one bit. He had grown reliant on his father more so than ever after they had been bound, and he wasn’t sure he could survive this trip without his father near. Especially if he would have to be on his guard, with Elrond knowing about his scar, and with the twins who seemed unusually interested in him. Desperate to see his father, Legolas left his rooms and walked back down the hall to see him. After several minutes, Legolas realised that he was lost. He had never felt more stupid in all his life. “Can I help you, Sir?” The prince started and turned around, seeing an elf behind, looking at him quizzically. He appeared to be a servant of some kind. Legolas sighed in relief. “Yes. I was wondering if you could direct me to Lord Thranduil’s rooms.” The elf frowned and shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I have not been informed as to which guest rooms the king has been appointed. Would you like me to inquire?” “No!” Legolas said quickly and blushed, realising he had answered too harshly. “No,” he repeated more calmly, “I do not want to be a nuisance. Thank you.” He didn’t want Elrond to find out that he had already become lost. That would be too humiliating! The servant nodded, bowed and then continued on his way. Legolas decided that it would be best to go back to his own rooms. After wandering for several more minutes, he realised that he had lost his way even to his own quarters. Looking about, there were no servants who could help him. The young prince of Mirkwood was starting to feel very desperate and miserable. He felt isolated and frightened. What if he remained lost until dinner time, and the others had to come looking for him because he hadn’t shown up? Then everyone would know how foolish he was, and Thranduil would be so embarrassed of him. Legolas could feel burning tears start to drip down his cheeks in frustration, which only added to his misery, afraid now that someone would see him crying. Walking up and down the halls, trying to find something which looked familiar, Legolas was very relieved when he heard a familiar voice call his name. “Legolas?” “Ada?” He turned around, and upon seeing his father, threw himself into the king’s arms. Thranduil was surprised at suddenly having his arms full of sobbing elf, and quickly rocked his son in his arms. “Shhh,” he soothed, holding his child until Legolas calmed down partially. “Whatever is wrong? I thought I could sense your distress, and I came looking for you. Why are you out here?” “I was lost!” Legolas wailed pitifully. “I c-came looking for you, b-but I got l-lost. T-then I couldn’t f-find my way back!” Thranduil continued to soothe his son, relieved that it wasn’t anything serious which was upsetting his boy. However, he was a little alarmed at how distraught Legolas had become over such a minor event. “Are you sure this is the only reason why you are upset?” Thranduil asked gently when Legolas had stopped crying, stroking the boy’s golden hair. The young prince murmured something against his chest, but was clearly more interested in enjoying his father’s embrace than answering the king’s question. “Come,” Thranduil said softly, pulling Legolas back a bit and guiding him down the corridors. “We’ll go to my rooms.” Legolas allowed himself to be led, leaning into his father’s hold. When they reached a particular door, Thranduil pointed at a small picture of a beaver on the frame. “See,” he said. “The guest rooms have been marked with animal symbols, and they follow the list of the Lore of Living Creatures. Can you remember what animal was on your door?” Legolas thought hard, and then answered tentatively, “A hare, I think. I did not realise there was any significance to the animals…” He felt quite silly now, realising he could have found his own way back had he not allowed himself to get so worked up. Thranduil opened the door and pulled his son inside, seating Legolas down on the edge of the bed, and pulling up a chair to face him. “Is something worrying you, nin-ind?” Thranduil asked, taking the boy’s hands in his. Legolas smiled softly upon hearing his pet name, treasuring his father’s love. *But in what way do you love me*, the echo of his dream came back to him, and for a moment, Legolas became disturbed. “I do not like being on my own here,” Legolas admitted softly, trying to push the nature of his love for his father, and his father’s love for him, to the back of his mind. Thranduil nodded. “You are use to being with me.” “And sleeping with you,” Legolas added softly, unable to meet his father’s gaze. Thranduil rubbed the back of Legolas’ knuckles comfortingly, thinking for a while on this admission. When he spoke, however, he had seemed to change the topic of conversation. “I noticed you appeared uncomfortable around Elrond’s sons today. Were they upsetting you?” Legolas shrugged, slightly confused. “Not really. I think they were just trying to be friendly, but… I didn’t like how close they were to me. I don’t like anyone else…” he trailed off, blushing slightly. Thranduil guessed what he was going to say. “You don’t like anyone else touching you but me?” Legolas nodded, for some reason feeling ashamed. He knew he loved his father, and that that love had deepened somewhat from just being father and son. Yet what he was saying now made it sound like he was *in love* with his father. Was that true? Was it right to feel such things? Thranduil seemed to sense his son’s inner turmoil. “I think your reactions are fairly normal under the given circumstances,” he said gently. “After I… took you that first time, you began to fade in despair, and so I bonded to you in order to save you. That bond has been the main reason you are still alive today. *I* am the main reason you are still alive, and so it is fairly natural that you have become attached to me, more so than usual. When we are close, we both feel a sense of peace and togetherness, and I do not blame you for seeking that out, especially when you are distressed. I will try and spend as much time with you as possible while we are here. However, we wont always be able to be together... The twins seemed amiable enough, perhaps it would now be a good time to make some friends your own age?” Legolas looked up at his father and gave him a lopsided smile. “Ada, they are hardly ‘my own age’. I have not even turned 50 yet, while the Peredhel twins are already centuries old.” Thranduil rolled his eyes, grinning. “When you’re as old as I am, everyone who is a few centuries or younger can all be considered ‘children’, and therefore roughly of the same age.” Legolas gave a funny smile, still clearly not believing his father, but deciding not to argue the point any further. “How long until dinner?” Legolas asked. “Quite some time yet. Would you like to have a rest beforehand? You can sleep here if you like.” Legolas considered for a moment. “You will stay?” he asked, uncertain. Thranduil smiled affectionately. “Of course. I will work on some letters and notes for now, and will make sure I wake you in time to prepare for dinner.” Legolas nodded, and pulled off his boots, belt and cloak. He snuggled into his father’s bed, and soon fell asleep to the sound of Thranduil scratching away at the desk nearby. After an hour or so when the king had finished, Thranduil put his quill down and rolled his neck to be rid of all the cricks and tension. He looked at his son, and smiled sadly. It would seem that Legolas was becoming attached to him. Not that he minded, but he felt that somehow he had stolen the boy’s youth from him. The King of Mirkwood hated to think that he had destroyed all chances for his youngest to live a happy life, and perhaps even get married and have children. He also feared that Legolas might be spending all his time with him just to repay the debt that he had saved his life by bonding with the boy. It was all so confusing. Then there was the matter of his *own* feelings towards his son. The real reason why he did not mind that Legolas had become so attached to him was because, in truth, he had become very attached to Legolas. He was not yet sure if it was *true* love, but it was certainly getting close, and he feared that it might be wrong to love his son in such a way. Sighing, Thranduil pushed these gloomy, jumbled thoughts away, and decided he could use a short rest before dinner as well. Half undressing like his son, he lay down on the bed behind the prince, and pulled Legolas into his arms. The boy stirred somewhat, and then nestled deeper into his father’s embrace, a soft smile of contentment touching his lips. Thranduil kissed the golden tresses, and then allowed sleep to claim him, trusting that Istidhren would wake them if he slept too late. ~*~*~*~*~ Thranduil, Legolas and Istidhren walked along the corridors towards the dining hall, guided by a servant who Elrond had sent to see they didn’t get lost. It had actually been Legolas who had woken first, and, having noticed that it was growing dark outside, woke his father. The king had dressed quickly, and then helped Legolas find his own quarters so that the boy could also change into formal robes. They then went to Istidhren’s room, and the three were about to try and find their way to the dining room, when the servant had arrived offering his assistance. They approached the dining room, and the servant announced their presence to the small, yet grandly decked table which Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel and the twins sat. “Welcome!” Elrond said, standing up to greet his guests. “Please, Thranduil, make yourself comfortable,” and Elrond indicated for the king to sit by his right. Thranduil nodded his thanks, and reached out his left hand to pull back the chair. It was then that Legolas remembered he had forgotten to warn his father about hiding their scars. It seemed to Legolas as if time suddenly moved in slow motion. The boy watched, helpless, as Thranduil’s scarred palm was revealed to anyone who bothered to look. Elrond’s eyes were inevitably drawn towards the hand as it reached out in the casual action of pulling the chair back from under the table. Legolas could see the recognition and surprise flicker in the dark-haired lord’s eyes as he noticed the scarred flesh. Then his eyes flashed up and looked right into Legolas’ terrified gaze. The prince wished the floor would open up and swallow him. t.b.c. Ada = Father Nin iond = my son Nin ind = my heart Peredhel = half-elf Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! //N.B.// For anyone interested, I have written a stand-alone PWP with Maergorv/Bórsael. You can find it here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/6992.html#cutid1 Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au ‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna ~Part 13~ “Legolas? Are you going to sit down?” Thranduil asked, slightly disturbed when he noticed that his son was frozen where he stood, starring at the lord of Imladris as though he had seen a ghost. Legolas’ eyes flickered, and he nodded, realising that he was drawing attention to himself. “Yes, sorry…” he mumbled, unable to think of an excuse to explain his odd behaviour, and in the end decided not to bother thinking one up. Legolas sat down, and hoped that it wasn’t too obvious that he was trembling. Elrond sat down after him, and it seemed that no one else had noticed the exchange between Peredhel and prince. Elrond started talking to Thranduil, inquiring about life in Mirkwood, and conversation sprung up around the table as dinner was served. Legolas began to relax slightly. If Elrond had realised the significance of the scar on the king’s hand, then he wasn’t going to announce it for all to hear at the table just yet. Nevertheless, the first hours of dinner passed in painful anxiety for the young prince, who expected Elrond to make a comment on his and his father’s mutual scars at any moment, but the lord never did. Thranduil and Elrond talked pleasantries together, while Istidhren and Erestor were talking most animatedly with one another, still obviously trying to scour out each other’s strengths and weaknesses when it came to debating. The twins talked quietly to themselves, sometimes listening to either conversation, sometimes asking Legolas polite questions which he would answer just as politely, but it was obvious to everyone that the young blond was somewhat troubled and not in the mood to speak. Glorfindel seemed to survey the whole table as if *he* were the lord, not Elrond, and would enter the various conversations whenever he felt it necessary to add his two cents. As the night wore on, and more wine was consumed, Glorfindel became even more flamboyant, and soon had the entire table’s attention with his stories of old. As the hour grew late, one of the twins (Legolas couldn’t tell which) asked Glorfindel if he might tell them one last, special story before the night was ended. Never one to turn down an opportunity to remain the centre of attention, Glorfindel picked up his goblet of red wine, took a sip, and seemed to think seriously about the request. “Well…” he drawled out, relishing in the fact that he had the attention of every elf at the table. “There is one story I believe I have not told yet,” and he flashed Elrond a feral smile which Legolas assumed could only mean trouble. Elrond seemed to think likewise, and started to tell the Balrog Slayer that it was really too late for any more stories, but the twins protested loudly, and so the raven Lord gave in. Glorfindel gave a small, triumphant smile. “Well, this story takes place in a room not so far from here, in a time not so long ago – in fact, it was only last night!” And then, to Elrond’s sheer mounting horror, Glorfindel began to describe in no uncertain detail the activities of two male elves in a bedroom (of which he diplomatically left unnamed, and only referred to as either ‘the blond handsome one’, or ‘the skinny raven one’). “Of course,” Glorfindel said to his captivated audience, not caring whether the silence emanated from shock, anticipation, or disgust. “The blond handsome elf was quite surprised when the skinny raven one pounced on him. I mean, no one would normally suspect that a mere *advisor* would have such a suppressed wild streak! Anywho, as the skinny raven one started to lick his way up –” “GLORFINDEL!” Elrond exclaimed loudly, cutting the blond off before he could do any more damage. There was a moment of awkward silence where Elrond, the twins and Erestor waited to see what Thranduil’s reaction would be to Glorfindel’s ‘story’. Legolas couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. Thranduil soon joined him, and then the other’s laughed, clearly relieved that the Mirkwood elves hadn’t taken offence at the crude story. Glorfindel grinned and reached for the flagon of wine. “Did you not think my tale appropriate, my lord?” Glorfindel asked innocently. Erestor, sitting next to the blond, was blushing furiously, and looked for all the world as though he wanted to sink into his chair. Elrond, still somewhat embarrassed by the Balrog slayer’s cheek, replied crisply, “No, I most certainly *did not* think your choice of stories to be very appropriate. You may talk about your bedroom activities when the time is more suitable… but here at the dinner table you will try and remain as respectable as that *foul* mind and tongue of yours will allow!” Glorfindel’s grin only widened, not in the least crest-fallen by his lord’s reprimanding. “Well,” he said, giving a dramatic yawn and stretching. “The hour is growing late, and if my talents are not being appreciated here, I may as well go to bed where they will be. Erestor, would you mind escorting me to my rooms?” Elrond scowled and the twins snorted upon hearing this proposal. Not left much of a choice as he had been rendered quite speechless, Erestor’s cheeks redden further as he stood, accepting Glorfindel’s outstretched arm with a certain amount of embarrassment. Legolas grinned, finally realising the nature of the relationship between these two. As warrior and advisor left, the prince decided that he liked the Golden Lord a lot. “Well,” Elrond said, still somewhat vexed by Glorfindel’s bold displays. “The hour *is* late, and I’m sure you are weary from your travels and wish to rest now before the morning.” Thranduil nodded and stood up. “Thank you for a lovely meal. It is nice to see that we can be civil towards one another if necessary.” Elrond grinned and also rose. “We’ll see how long that lasts tomorrow when we begin negotiations! Good night, Lord Thranduil. A servant outside will escort you back to your rooms.” Thranduil, Istidhren and Legolas left and followed a servant back to the guest wing. They milled about Istidhren’s door for a moment, Thranduil and Legolas exchanging an awkward glance as they realised they would have to go to their separate rooms with the advisor and servant still watching. When Legolas entered his quarters, it was with the knowledge that he would not get much sleep tonight without his father close. Although the evening had been pleasant enough with Glorfindel’s antics, the memory of Elrond having seen his father’s binding scar returned to Legolas with full force. Did Elrond now suspect that it had been Thranduil who had bound to the prince? Legolas bit his lip and began pacing his room nervously, working himself up into a state of stress. This couldn’t bode well. Surely Elrond would use this information to his advantage. Legolas had to tell his father to be very careful around the Peredhel from now on. A very soft tapping at the entrance drew Legolas out from his fretting. When he opened the door, he was surprised – and pleased – to see that it was his father. He pulled Thranduil inside, locked the door behind him, and then snuggled into his father’s embrace. “Can you stay?” he asked softly, wrapping his arms gratefully about his father’s neck. Thranduil smiled gently, stroking his son’s hair. “I think we can manage that, as long as we’re careful that no one sees us sneaking into each other’s rooms. We wouldn’t want to cause undue suspicion, now would we?” Legolas tensed, and then to the king’s utter surprise, began to sob. “Legolas? Legolas, what’s wrong?” Thranduil tried to soothe his son. The king eventually carried the distraught boy over to the bed, and held him close until the tears had subsided. “Whatever caused that outburst?” Thranduil asked gently, wiping away the tears from Legolas’ creamy, porcelain cheeks. “There already is suspicion! I think he knows, Ada,” Legolas mumbled, leaning into his father’s soothing touch. Thranduil shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re not making any sense, nin- iond.” Legolas sighed and tried again. “I mean ‘Elrond’. When we first met, he saw the scar on my hand. He didn’t say anything, but I think he suspected it was a scar caused from a bonding ceremony.” Legolas paused, and when his father didn’t say anything, continued. “Then tonight, when you pulled back your chair to sit down, I noticed Elrond’s eyes on your palm. His…he seemed to… look surprised, or…something… I’m not sure, but I’m fairly certain he now has his suspicions. I’m afraid…” “Shhh,” Thranduil soothed, cutting off his son’s fears. “Let Elrond suspect all he likes. All he knows is that we both have scarred palms. If it ever comes up, we can say that yours is merely from a recent hunting accident, and mine is from binding to your mother. I doubt Elrond knows that I never actually did that.” Legolas lay in his father’s arms for a while, thinking. “Why is that, Ada? Why did you never bind to Nanneth?” Thranduil sighed and pulled his son tighter against him. “Your mother and I loved each other very much. I would have died for her if need be, and she would probably have done the same for me. Our love, however, was never…passionate. She was more like my best friend. A sister, perhaps. We discussed binding when our marriage was being planned, but decided not to. We both realised that our love was enough as it was without the need to bind our souls. There was also the possibility that we may have found *true* love, and so we conceded that, if that ever came to pass, we would let the other go to find happiness. In the end, it mattered little I suppose…” “Because Nanneth died.” “…Yes.” “Giving birth to me…” Legolas looked up into his father’s eyes, searching for confirmation. No one had actually ever told him how his mother had died, as they did not want to burden him with the truth. For some time now, however, Legolas suspected this to be the case, as it seemed the only reasonable explanation from the little that he knew. Thranduil looked greatly troubled. “Aye, but please, do not blame yourself. It was not your fault, and no one has ever thought so, especially me, or even her. She put your life before hers when she learnt of complications during the birth, and I consider you a precious gift which she gave me. There have *never* been any regrets about having you.” Legolas smiled softly, a few tears escaping his eyes which he let drip down his cheeks. “I love you, Ada,” he whispered, looking up adoringly at his father. “And I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much pain, especially over the last few weeks.” Thranduil shook his head stubbornly. “Never pain, dilthen-pen. Only love,” and he bent down and gently kissed the boy’s tender lips with his own. Legolas moaned into the soft, heady caress, and after a time, with his father gently stroking his hair and whispering soothing words into his ear, he fell asleep. Thranduil nestled his son more comfortably against him, and then tried to get some rest as well. But in truth, his mind now reeled with anxiety. Though he had tried to appear blasé for the sake of his son, the news that Elrond had seen both their scarred palms had him worried. As the night wore on to morning, Thranduil eventually fell into a restless slumber. ~*~*~*~*~ Legolas *tried* to appear as though he was paying attention, but it was very hard when everything being said was boring him close to tears. It was the following day, and he sat by his father’s side at the negotiations, as Thranduil and Elrond tried to work out some truce between their two realms. It was, however, going very slowly, and both Erestor and Istidhren seemed to be especially fussy over little nuances that Legolas couldn’t have cared less about. Glorfindel also sat in the room aimlessly looking about, seeming to be lost in his carefree thoughts. For a while Legolas just watched the Balrog slayer with mild amusement, believing the blond lord to be as bored and out of place in these debates as himself. That perception soon changed when Glorfindel occasionally made some comment here or there, and Legolas realised that the warrior was actually paying close attention to the discussions, and was even rather skilled in matters of politics and diplomacy. Sighing, Legolas began to wonder why it was he hadn’t listened to his father that morning, and found some other way to amuse his time rather than coming here to the negotiations. Then he remembered that he would feel lost without his father, and so settled down to spend the rest of the day bored out of his mind, but with the consolation that his father sat right beside him. A break seemed to occur in the discussions not long after the prince’s resolution, and Elrond ordered drinks and some food. The lord then looked at the prince. “Far be it from me to overstep my place, young prince,” Elrond said with an amused smile, “but I don’t think it would be wrong if I guessed you were quite miserably bored with these proceedings?” Legolas blushed, not realising he had been that obvious. He would have to ask Bórsael later how his older brother schooled his face into a perfect blank mask, so that no one could read his thoughts or emotions. “My apologies, Lord Elrond,” he stammered. “I must admit that I find myself somewhat out of my depth in these negotiations.” Elrond smiled sympathetically. “There is no need to apologise, young lord. One as young as yourself should be enjoying his youth, not locked up in stuffy rooms with stuffy old elves. Why do you not enjoy the fresh air and sunshine? I am sure you will find the grounds of Rivendell to be a most beautiful place to entertain your time, more so than what staying here and falling asleep would be.” Legolas realised that he would have to accept Elrond’s suggestion to go elsewhere, or else risk offending the lord. It was clear he was of no use here, nor interested in the proceedings, and it would only make Elrond suspicious if he tried to insist on staying, simply to be with his father. “Thank you, my Lord,” Legolas said, standing up to leave. “I am sure your home is indeed most beautiful, especially from what I have seen of it already.” He headed towards the exit, casting a last, fleeting glance at his father as he did so. Thranduil was watching him and gave a helpless shrug, seeming to promise that he would make up their time apart later. Legolas left, not entirely upset that he did so. At least now he might have a chance of enjoying his time away from home. The young prince walked the corridors until he found his way outside. It *was* beautiful here. The weather was perfect, sunny and pleasantly warm with a faint breeze on the air. The birds chirped and sang merrily, and the smell of the mountain forest and soil was rich and intoxicating. Legolas felt his spirits lift instantly, and began to walk aimlessly about the gardens. After a time, Legolas thought he could hear the familiar noise of arrows whistling through the air and hitting targets with a soft ‘thump’, followed by the laughter of elves. Having nothing better to do, the boy followed the noise into the woods, until he came across a small clearing which looked to be a training ground for weapons. He immediately spotted a small congregation of youths currently crowded about the archery fields. “Legolas!” Legolas’ eyes widened at being addressed, and then relaxed, seeing that it was one of the twins who had called to him. The dark-haired elf ran over from the small gathering, a bow in hand and an exuberant smile on his face. “It is good to see you, meldir,” the twin greeted, patting Legolas on the shoulder. “I had heard an awful rumour that you were attending the negotiations! How utterly boring! But I’m glad to see that that wasn’t the case.” Legolas blushed slightly and didn’t reply. His eyes were drawn back to the field where the other twin had stepped forward, raised his bow, and shot. His arrow flew straight and true and landed solidly in the centre of the target. The other elves applauded and congratulated Elrohir on his fine shot. /Ah,/ Legolas thought, /if that is Elrohir shooting, then this must be Elladan with his arm about me./ “Why don’t you join us?” Elladan asked, noticing the way Legolas’ eyes looked longingly at the crowd. For a moment, Legolas considered refusing. The hand on his shoulder was gently moving up and down in a fashion that the prince found rather uncomfortable, and the twin was looking at him with strange fiery eyes. Then the boy remembered how his father had suggested he try and make friends ‘of his own age’, and Legolas conceded. “Alright. I’ve never been able to refuse a game of archery.” Elladan grinned, delighted that his offer had been accepted. He squeezed the prince’s shoulder approvingly, and then dragged Legolas over to the group. “Everyone! I would like you to meet Legolas. He is Thranduil’s youngest son and our guest. Why don’t we give him a bow and see how the elves in Mirkwood fair at shooting?!” The announcement of Legolas’ presence was received with a myriad of different reactions. Some elves laughed, clearly eager to see if Legolas was capable of using a bow. Other elves seemed to begrudge the prince’s presence, while other’s stared at Legolas almost hungrily. The majority, however, stood back with warm smiles, waiting patiently to see the young elf shoot. Legolas thought it was horribly unfair of Elladan to put this burden on him. Was he, a mere elfling, suppose to represent the quality of archers of his homeland? Legolas tried not to get nervous, reminding himself that while he might be younger than all these other elves, he was still a prince, and had loved and trained in archery ever since he was strong enough to draw a bow. Receiving a bow and arrow, Legolas stood at the line in front of the target. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, and knew that not all were friendly. He pushed that aside, and tried to think of something which would calm his nerves. Instantly, an image of himself being held comfortingly in his father’s arms came to him, and he sighed gently, relaxing. He knocked the arrow, raised the bow and pulled back on the string in one fluid action. He paused for the smallest of seconds to aim, and then released. The missile flew through the air with a soft whizzing noise, and thunked into the board at the other end of the field, dead centre. Legolas raised an eyebrow, impressed even by his own skill under such stressful conditions. “Well done!” one of the elves said. “By Elbereth, the prince can shoot well for someone so young!” The elf walked over and shook Legolas’ hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I certainly hope our two realms can work out some truce, ‘cause I’d certainly hate to come face to face with the wrong end of your arrow in some dark part of the woods!” The other elves laughed, and Legolas was thus accepted into the group. Elladan and Elrohir seemed to claim the prince as their own, never letting him far from their side, and often always with a hand on him, showing him off as ‘their’ Mirkwood elf who could shoot. Legolas spent the rest of the day with the twins and their friends, shooting, talking and eating. The boy had a good time, but as the hours wore on, he became melancholy for his father’s soothing and loving presence. “Is something the matter, dilthen-pen?” Elladan asked, putting a hand on the small of Legolas’ back. “You have been quiet now for some time.” The prince tried not to flinch at being touched, and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing to worry about, Elladan,” he said, now able to tell the subtle difference between the twins. “I am tired, is all, and… my father might be worried as to my whereabouts. He does not know where I am.” Elladan nodded, and then poked his brother, who was talking to another elf, in the ribs. Elrohir yelped in protest, and gave his twin a black look. “What was that for?” “Legolas wants to go back,” Elladan explained, and Elrohir’s expression immediately softened. “Oh, of course. We’d best escort him back then.” Elladan nodded and rose, addressing the other elves. “Evening, my good friends. I’m afraid the young prince can stay with us no longer. My brother and I shall take him back to his rooms.” The other elves said their farewells, although Legolas didn’t like the way a few of them were sniggering and eyeing him with barely concealed desire. As the twins walked Legolas back, the young prince couldn’t help but ask, “Are all those elves your friends?” Elrohir shrugged. “We are on good terms with all. There are some whom my brother and I get on with better than others, and there are some we barely trust to turn our backs too, but all in all, they are a companionable group.” Elrohir paused and then gave Legolas a sharp look. “Why? Did anyone upset you?” Legolas shook his head. “No. I was just wondering…” he didn’t want to make a bid deal out of nothing. The twins stopped walking suddenly, and Elladan turned Legolas about, raising his chin to look the blond in the eyes. “Are you sure? Did anyone touch you, or say something which made you feel uncomfortable?” Legolas had to bite his tongue not to bark back that yes, the twins themselves sometimes made him feel uncomfortable, but he remembered his manners at the last moment. The brothers were just trying to be friendly… weren’t they? “Some of them just looked at me oddly,” Legolas admitted, realising he would have to say something to please the brothers. “I do not think they all feel at ease around Sindars.” Elladan let Legolas’ chin go and nodded. “Perhaps you are right. There are some who feel a bit begrudged towards your people, but I doubt any would act upon it. Do not be afraid, however. Elrohir and I shall protect you,” and the twin gave Legolas a cheeky smile and a little, frilly bow. Legolas smiled but couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the twin’s antics. They continued walking, and the prince tensed when Elladan wrapped an arm about his waist, but didn’t say anything again, not wanting to appear rude when Elladan was just trying to comfort him. When they reached his rooms, Elladan let the boy go and wished Legolas a good night, saying he would see him at dinner. Elladan left, and then Elrohir stepped up and offered his hand. Legolas, with little choice, accepted the palm and they shook hands. “It was nice spending the day with you,” Elrohir said, a strange gleam in his eye. Legolas suddenly felt a bit edgy, left alone with this twin who had been fairly silent towards him until now. “I hope to see you tomorrow.” Legolas smiled politely. “Perhaps,” he said. Then Elrohir leant forward, and Legolas froze when he felt a warm mouth kiss him gently on the cheek. Elrohir pulled back and grinned. Without another word, he let the prince’s hand go and left, following after his brother. Legolas was in shock, not knowing what to do or how to react. Why had Elrohir done that? Was it a joke? A gesture of friendship? Or something else…? With his hands shaking, Legolas opened the door into his bedroom, and bumped right into his father who was pacing up and down the room, looking slightly agitated. “There you are!” Thranduil announced, relieved to have found his son. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost again, and… Legolas, are you trembling?” Legolas gulped, trying to get himself back under control. “No… yes, I mean… I’m just cold…” “Legolas, elves don’t get cold.” “Ada! Let it rest, alright? I’m fine. Honestly.” He didn’t want to tell his father about what had just happened. His father would undoubtedly become angry, but Legolas wasn’t sure if Elrohir had been playing with him or not. Maybe it was best to just forget about it. Thranduil looked at his son and could tell that everything wasn’t ‘alright’, but if Legolas was going to be stubborn and not talk, then there was little he could do. “Okay. Did you have a good day?” Legolas shrugged and crossed the small distance between them, putting his head on his father’s chest. Thranduil wrapped his arms about his son, slightly worried. “It was well enough. The twins showed me their archery field. How did the negotiations go?” he asked, not letting his father dwell on the news that he had spent his day with the twins. “All I discovered was that Erestor has a wicked sharp tongue to match Elrond’s and Glorfindel’s. I wasn’t even able to find out Elrond’s motivations for calling for a truce. Then again, first days at talks are always slow. Elrond and I mainly sat back and watched our advisors’ argue themselves hoarse.” Legolas smiled faintly, and after a few minutes asked softly. “Can you stay again, tonight?” “Of course,” Thranduil replied, wondering why his son was feeling so insecure. “Are you *sure* everything is alright?” “Yes, Ada… We’d better get ready for dinner.” Thranduil rubbed his son’s back soothingly. “Alright, I’ll leave you to get dressed and meet you outside in a few minutes?” Legolas nodded and then pulled back, sorting through his bags for an appropriate robe to wear. Thranduil left, unable to shake off the feeling that something was upsetting his son. He hoped Legolas wasn’t about to have another relapse. t.b.c. Ada = Father Peredhel = half elf Nanneth = mother Dilthen pen = little one Meldir = friend Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au come back from Elrond’s home to discover that you’ve faded because you missed me! I am not letting you out of my sight for a very long time.” Legolas looked slightly surprised, but also relieved to hear these words. “Besides,” the king added softly, touching their foreheads together and wrapping his arms about his son’s waist. “I imagine you will heal better if I am close to give you my strength, and we both know how good it feels just to be touching like this. For the next few years – at least until you reach your majority – you are *mine*, dear prince.” Legolas grinned, and eagerly accepted the gentle kiss his father bestowed upon his lips. It lasted for a few, lingering moments, and then Thranduil pulled back before anyone could accidentally walk past and see father and son in such a compromising situation. Thranduil then escorted Legolas back to his rooms where he put the prince to rest in his big bed, the boy needing as much rest as he could get for the time being. Then the king sent a servant to call together his advisers in the throne room for a meeting over the letter from Elrond. His mind, however, was already made up. They were going to Rivendell. t.b.c. Ada = Father Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/ Website: http://bonysfics.topcities.com/ Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/ Email: bone _ fauna AT yahoo DOT com DOT au