‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna
~Part 18~ 

Thranduil and Legolas wished Istidhren a good night after their enjoyable supper, and 
once the Mirkwood advisor had closed the door to his room, father and son made their 
way towards Legolas’ guest suit.

There they began to undress, and as a spur of the moment thought, decided to have a 
quick bath together before retiring for the night. They talked about the day, recalling 
things they had seen or heard, and as they did so they took turns washing each other’s 
backs and hair. Their touches were loving, but never intimate or inappropriate. It was 
just a nice friendly moment where they could enjoy each other’s company.

When finished, they both slipped into the barest of clothing for decency’s sake, then 
snuggled up together under the blankets.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, where Thranduil gently stroked his 
fingers through his son’s hair, the king asked, “Legolas?”

“Mmmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you... Has Elrond spoken to you in private yet?” The king 
already knew the answer to this question, but he figured it was an appropriate way to 
open the discussion.

Legolas moved slightly in his father’s arms. “Aye. And you have spoken to him too, I 
hear.”

“Yes, I have... He guessed, Legolas. Believe me when I say I didn’t want him to know 
at first.”

Legolas was silent for a moment, then sighed. “It is alright, Ada. It was a shock to 
learn that he knew about us, but in the end, I think it best that he does. He was a great 
help in sorting out my feelings and emotions, where we are concerned...” Legolas 
looked into his father’s eyes uncertainly, but saw only love and understanding there.

“Yes, we talked about that too,” Thranduil admitted. “Although, it sounds like he had 
more success with you than with me. I still cannot help feeling guilty for...” the king 
shook his head, letting his sentence die unfinished. 

Legolas read the pain in his father’s eyes, and his own mirrored them. “At least we 
now have someone whom we can both turn to if ever we need a listening ear. And 
who better to help than someone who has loved their own kin, and suffered for it?”

Thranduil looked down at his son and gave a funny smile. “Since when did you 
become so wise?”

Legolas furrowed his brow, as though trying to think hard. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s 
rubbed off from all the time I’ve been spending with Glorfindel.”

Thranduil let out a bark of laughter at that, and Legolas grinned, pleased. 

“I don’t know whether to be horrified, pleased, or jealous with that answer,” 
Thranduil said playfully.

Legolas gave a wicked grin. “I think I like all three, although it will be interesting to 
watch you try and act them all at the same time!” Thranduil chuckled again, and the 
prince added slyly, “But I think I’m most intrigued with the last emotion. What 
exactly do *you* have to be jealous about, Ada?”

Thranduil pursed his lips, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Well, Glorfindel is quite a 
catch, if I do say so myself, and you’re no ugly duckling either. One might wonder 
what interest you two have in each other, to spend so much time together?”

There was a mischievous little twinkle in Legolas’ eyes when he replied. “Yes, I 
suppose you’re right,” he said, and Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise. “Glorfindel 
*is* handsome, isn’t he Ada? He’s tall and strong. He’s a warrior. He’s funny and 
witty, but also smart and cunning. And his hair! Have you ever seen such lovely, long 
golden hair?”

Thranduil growled threateningly in the back of his throat, but Legolas pretended to 
ignore him, and continued to sing the Golden Lord’s praises. “Oh, and let’s not forget 
that he’s famous! I mean, he killed a Balrog, didn’t he? And he’s a Lord in his own 
right. Can you imagine the power and prestige one would have being with him? Of 
course, there *is* the small matter of Erestor, but I’m sure he could easily be rid of. 
Especially in order to get a taste of those lips!”

Thranduil had had enough, and he gave a loud snarl and rolled Legolas onto his back, 
and then straddled him, effectively pinning the boy to the mattress. “You would like 
to kiss Glorfindel, nin-iond?” the king asked in a dangerous tone.

Legolas seemed unflappable. “Of course; wouldn’t you? I bet no one can kiss as well 
as Glorfindel!”

Thranduil lowered himself down to glower into his son’s eyes, their faces bare inches 
apart, and Legolas’ breathing quickened dramatically. “Is that so?” Thranduil purred 
darkly. “It just so happens, that I’ve been told in my own time that I myself am not a 
bad kisser.”

Legolas raised one eyebrow in a remarkable impression of Elrond. “Really? Well, you 
have shown me nothing so far to back up that claim,” the boy remarked casually.

Thranduil gave a fierce scowl, and then said tensely, “Well then. We’ll have to see if I 
can’t change that opinion, won’t we?”

And without further ado, Thranduil lent down that fraction more so that both their lips 
met, and kissed Legolas as though his very life depended on it.

Legolas tried his best to seem none-too-impressed, as he was not yet finished having 
his fun, but it was very hard when his father was kissing him so wonderfully. His 
insides seemed to melt like butter, and his mind spun in dizzying circles.

When Thranduil pulled back, he gave his son an inquiring stare. “Well?”

Breathless, Legolas still had the audacity to shrug his shoulders offhandedly. 
“Hmmm. So-so.”

Thranduil growled again, believing his pride and reputation to be at stake, and lunged 
himself at his son in another passionate lip-lock.

Once more, Legolas tried to fight off the effects his father was having on him, but he 
failed to keep back a moan when Thranduil turned the kiss from something desperate 
and obsessive, into a slow exploration of mouths and slippery tongues; a tender, hot, 
wet, delicious dance, which also involved their bodies as well as their soft lips. It was 
mind-blowing. It was sensational.

Legolas let out a plaintive whimper, and desperately wrapped his arms and legs about 
his father’s body, trying to pull the king down harder against him and deeper into the 
kiss. 

For a few moments, both king and prince were subject to their love and desire, losing 
themselves in the giddy array of sensations that came as their tongues and lips 
clashed, and their near-naked bodies rubbed against each other. Then Thranduil pulled 
back for a quick breath of air, and Legolas, frantic for his father’s lips again, reached 
up blindly and called softly, “No, Ada. More...”

It was then that Thranduil snapped out of the spell, and fully realised what it was they 
were doing. He couldn’t believe he had just kissed his own son like that! As though 
they were about to make love! He was horrified with himself.

“Legolas, stop it. We can’t!” Thranduil choked out, trying to disentangle himself from 
his son’s limbs.

Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at his father, somewhat confused. “Ada? 
Wha...”

Thranduil pulled back, needing to distance himself from his son, afraid that if he did 
not, he might not be able to control himself. “Legolas... I’m sorry. I should never have 
done that...” he hung his head, totally ashamed.

Legolas finally realised what was wrong and sat up, frowning in agitation. “Damn it, 
Ada! Do you think yourself totally to blame? It was *I* who coaxed you into kissing 
me like that in the first place, and it was *intentional*!”

Thranduil shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Legolas slapped his thigh hard, severely ticked off. “Don’t patronise me, Ada! I may 
be underage, but I’m *not* a child! I know what I’m talking about, and Elrond has 
helped me work out what I want. And what I want is *you*.”

“Nin-iond, you’re too young. You –”

“Stop it!” Legolas screamed, not wanting to hear his father’s excuses any more. 
“You’re *killing* me, Ada! I sit here and profess my love for you, and all you can do 
is tell me I’m too young? I thought we had been through more than that for you to 
simply discard me so. I thought you would understand! Please, Ada, please! Tell me 
the words to finish the binding ceremony. You *have* to tell me. I want to be with 
you so much! I will surely die if you do not let me be with you!”

A few tears ran down Legolas’ perfect cheeks, and Thranduil felt similar wet trails on 
his own face. “You will not die, nin-ind. You’re stronger than that.”

Legolas bowed his head, helpless and desolate. “Why wont you let me bind with you, 
Ada? Why?”

Thranduil reached out and pulled his sobbing son into his arms. “I have told you 
before, nin-iond. You are too young. What would happen in 100 years time or so, 
when you see others your own age move on in life, find a wife, and start a family? 
Wont you be jealous, and regret that you had bound to me? Wont you look at me and 
see an old elf, rather than someone vivacious and young?”

“You *are* young, Ada,” Legolas insisted, clinging to his father and trying to control 
his tears. “You never grew up once you passed my age.”

Thranduil actually laughed, although the sound was bitter and full of pain.

Legolas shook his head. “Ada please, why are you doing this? Why wont you accept 
my love?” The tears streamed down from the prince’s eyes.

“Because I don’t want your love to become a weight around your neck that you have 
to bear in many years time,” Thranduil whispered sadly. “I am sorry, nin-ind. Please 
understand.”

“I will fade..."

“No. I wont let you.”

“Ada...” Legolas wailed pitifully, and began sobbing wretchedly against his father’s 
shoulder.

Thranduil held his child, crying softly himself, and for many hours they held each 
other like that, giving into their pain. When exhaustion finally claimed Legolas, the 
king laid them both down on the bed and drew up the sheets. It was a while longer 
before sleep claimed him too, but when it did, he held his son tightly in his arms as he 
drifted into oblivion.

~*~*~*~*~

Just as dawn was breaking, Legolas woke. His eyes were slightly sore from crying, 
but sleep had dulled much of his anguish now. He was facing his father, and could see 
a soft, worried frown marring the king’s face even in his dreams. Legolas smiled 
sadly yet affectionately at his Ada, feeling the older elf’s arms wrapped possessively 
about his body. It was clear his father loved him, so why was the king being so 
stubborn about allowing his son to bind to him?

Legolas decided he needed to talk to someone, and tried to discreetly crawl out of 
bed. But as he began to pull away from his father’s warm embrace, Thranduil stirred 
in his sleep and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “No...stay...” He 
tightened his hold on the prince.

Legolas didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and in the end, he whispered very softly 
so that only his father’s elven senses could hear, “Ada, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Thranduil’s frown deepened, but his hold on the boy relaxed somewhat, and Legolas 
was able to wriggle out of bed without having woken the king.

He quickly dressed, and before he left the bedroom, he leant back over the bed and 
tenderly kissed his father’s lips. As a last thought, he tucked a pillow into the king’s 
arms, which Thranduil immediately clutched closer to him, and then the prince left. 


He hoped Elrond would be in his study at this hour of the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Although the day was still young, it was past the hour the retinue from Mirkwood 
should have left the realm of Imladris. Yet they had been delayed by the conspicuous 
lacking presence of two prominent elves. Elrond and Legolas.

Thranduil sat on his horse, his mood flickering between annoyance and concern as 
each minute passed and his son still didn’t appear. He had woken up earlier to find 
himself curled about a pillow, and had searched the house high and low until a servant 
had come by and informed him that Legolas was currently taking counsel with Lord 
Elrond.

Istidhren and the other Mirkwood soldiers were also mounted, ready to leave as soon 
as the prince and Lord of the House decided to grace them with their presence. 
Glorfindel, Erestor and the twins were lined up in front of the main stairs, – much as 
they had been when the Sindarin elves had first arrived, – waiting to farewell their 
new allies.

As the time wore on, Glorfindel’s attention shifted to focus on his poor, night-black 
haired lover. At first the Golden Lord made a pretence of pushing a stray lock of 
raven hair behind Erestor’s ear, but Thranduil noticed with some amusement that 
Glorfindel’s finger lingered on the tip of the advisor’s ear for much longer than was 
necessary. Erestor started to turn a pleasant shade of pink, and after a few more 
moments, swatted his lover’s roguish hand away, and whispered something harshly.

Glorfindel was only subdued for a few minutes, when he then obviously felt the need 
to put a hand on his lover’s back... drifting lower, and lower, and...

“Glorfindel!” the advisor hissed, and again shoved the irritating hand away from his 
person. Erestor clearly wanted to say a lot more, or even just storm off, but was 
unable to for appearances sake.

The Golden Lord realised this, and so the amusing game went on for several more 
minutes, by which stage Glorfindel pretty much had the entire Mirkwood party as his 
devoted audience. The Balrog Slayer was just about to wipe some dirt, – invisible of 
course to everyone but himself, – off the front of Erestor’s pants, who was protesting 
loudly and trying to move away, when Elrond and Legolas returned.

“Don’t you dare, Glorfindel,” Elrond warned, having taken in the entire scene with 
just one glance.

Glorfindel backed away from his embarrassed lover with a look of pure innocence on 
his face. “Do what, my Lord?”

The twins were trying to hide sniggers behind their hands, and even the soldiers of 
Mirkwood were finding it hard not to laugh. Elrond raised an eyebrow. “If you touch 
him again before the day is out, I’ll ensure that Erestor has to make an urgent trip to 
Lothlorien. For several months. By himself. Do I make myself clear?”

Glorfindel pouted and crossed his arms. “You never let me have any fun, Rondy.”

Elrond rolled his eyes, and then turned his attention towards Thranduil. “Many 
apologies my friend, but your son was eager to seek my counsel. I deemed that his 
was a much more worthy cause than to ensure you left for home on time.”

Thranduil nodded, and his eyes flickered over to his son, who seemed to be wearing a 
look of the utmost smugness. The king wasn’t sure he liked that look. Elrond himself 
seemed pretty self-satisfied as well, and Thranduil hoped that the two hadn’t plotted 
anything nasty. He knew from experience that it was never a good thing to be on the 
wrong end of one of Elrond’s schemes.

Legolas mounted his horse, which was ready and waiting for him, and then nudged it 
up next to his father. “Morning, Ada,” he said cheerfully. The prince didn’t seem to 
bear any hint of bitterness from the previous night. Obviously his talk with Elrond had 
done wonders, and for that at least, Thranduil was grateful.

“You’d best make a start,” Elrond advised, looking at the sun. “And remember what I 
told you, Thranduil, about these paths. They are becoming darker, although I very 
much doubt a band of orcs shall attack such a large party as yours.”

Thranduil nodded. “Thank you for the warning, my Lord. And for everything else, 
too. You shall always be welcome in my realm.”

Glorfindel’s head snapped up at this. “Ah, that reminds me! My Lord Thranduil,” he 
said, giving a frilly little bow. “Your son extended an open invitation to me the other 
day to come visit your homeland. I hope this is acceptable to Your Majesty, as I fully 
intend on taking the boy up on his offer. I hear your realm is filled with many pretty 
blond elves, - Oof!”

Erestor elbowed Glorfindel hard in the ribs. The blond gave the advisor a placatory 
smile. “Just teasing, my love,” he said, but Erestor didn’t look terribly mollified.

Thranduil, however, was dealing with his own mild case of jealousy. He flashed his 
son a suspicious look, and Legolas gave him a doting smile. “Ada. He’s just a 
*friend*,” he said softly, so that only his father could hear.

Thranduil nodded and looked back at Glorfindel. “Of course, nin-meldir. Any friend 
of my son’s is a friend of mine. I will look forward to your presence in my realm. The 
offer, naturally, extends to Erestor as well, and any one of your people.” Thranduil 
then looked at the twins, and gave a slight frown. The brothers had the good grace to 
look embarrassed, clearly knowing that *their* presence in Mirkwood would not be 
looked upon favourably.

“My Lord,” Istidhren said. “We had best leave now if we want to make good time.”

Thranduil nodded. “Goodbye then, Lord Elrond.”

“My Lord,” Elrond said with a soft smile, bowing his head.

Thranduil signalled for a few of his men to ride ahead, before kicking his horse after 
them. Legolas, Istidhren, and the rest of the Sindars quickly followed close behind. 
Legolas looked back once, soaking in the rugged and surreal beauty of Imladris one 
last time, and then he encouraged his horse to pick up the pace a bit.

He had never felt more free in all his life. What a shame that was about to change.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They had been travelling for five days now, and would reach Mirkwood in only a few 
more. Thranduil had not seen the need for them to exhaust their horses and 
themselves in making swift time back home. It had been a quiet journey so far.

“I wonder how Bórsael and Maergorv are,” Legolas said wistfully, late in the 
afternoon.

Thranduil looked to his son who was riding as close as possible next to him, and gave 
the boy an amused smile. “I imagine Bórsael has finished all the paperwork by now, 
and is possibly reprimanding your brother for some stunt or other which he has 
pulled.”

Legolas smiled at the image, and then a wave of melancholy seemed to wash over 
him. Thranduil wondered what was wrong. “Is something troubling you, nin-iond?”

Legolas looked up at his father, emotional pain clearly evident in his eyes, and for a 
moment it seemed the prince would confide in the king. Then Legolas looked about 
him and saw all the other riders, and shook his head, looking away. “It is nothing, 
Ada. I am merely home-sick.”

Thranduil frowned, not liking that Legolas was starting to brood. They continued to 
ride for another hour in silence before the warrior in front called a halt, deciding their 
current location to be the best place to camp for the night.

As the men began to ready their site, Thranduil took Legolas firmly by the arm and 
walked the prince off to give them some privacy in which to talk. Legolas was startled 
by his father’s forcefulness, and was even a little put out. When the king dumped him 
on a dead fallen log to sit, Legolas was glaring furiously.

“What was that about?” he snapped, rubbing his elbow where his father had held onto 
him.

“It is clear we need to talk. So talk.” The king sat himself opposite his child.

Legolas sulked. “I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t ‘it’s nothing’-me, Legolas. In case you don’t remember, I *am* bound to you, 
and I can sense when something’s troubling you.”

“Oh really,” Legolas said sarcastically. “And here I was thinking that it was *you* 
who had forgotten we were bound.”

Thranduil had not expected that answer, and was now a little confused. “I don’t know 
what you’re getting at, nin-iond.”

Legolas glowered at his father for another moment, then his resolve faded, and he 
looked away, upset. “You have not kissed me lately,” Legolas said softly in a very 
tiny voice.

Thranduil’s eyes widened, and then he said very carefully, “Legolas. I am your 
*father* and –”

“No!” Legolas cried softly, looking back at the king with tears in his eyes. “You are 
more than that. Why don’t you see it? Accept it?”

Thranduil didn’t know what to say, and after a moment Legolas continued. “You 
don’t sleep with me anymore either.”

Thranduil had the good grace to look guilty. It was true. Ever since that first night, 
close to a week ago now, that he and Legolas had almost got carried away with each 
other, the king had been trying to distance himself from his son. He had *wanted*, 
many times since, to kiss the boy. Every night, he wanted to pull the child into his 
arms, but he had stopped himself. He realised that his behaviour in the past had not 
been healthy. He had been encouraging a love that should not been encouraged, 
despite all that Elrond said.

It was different for the Peredhel. At least Elrond and his twin had been the same age – 
virtually the same person, or soul at least. But for himself and his son, the situation 
was entirely different, and therefore Elrond had no right giving advice. Thranduil’s 
mind told him not to pursue his love for his son (although his heart spoke differently).

Thranduil had resolved that he needed to push Legolas away, so that the boy would 
stop relying on him, and would live his own life. It hurt the king, it hurt so much. 
Especially on their first night on the road, when Thranduil had lain down to sleep, and 
told Legolas to sleep separately, so they didn’t arouse the suspicion of the soldiers. 
Legolas was no longer sick, and therefore such behaviour as sleeping together would 
no longer be excusable. Legolas’ face, upon hearing this, had been the most painful 
thing Thranduil had ever had to witness. The hurt and betrayal in those young eyes 
had torn his soul in two, and the king had almost given in and pulled the poor, fragile 
creature into his arms. But Legolas had moved away, setting up his own sleeping roll, 
and turning his back to his father.

It was for the best. At least that’s what Thranduil had told himself every day they had 
been riding. But now his son sat before him, asking him why he had been so cold and 
wouldn’t accept their love, and the king did not know what to say.

“Legolas,” Thranduil tried to reason. “I may be bound to you, but it was out of 
necessity. That does not mean we have to act like a married couple.”

“Act?” Legolas cried, disgusted. “ACT! Who was ‘acting’?! For the Valar’s sake, 
Ada, I know you’re just trying to protect me, but this is getting ridiculous! Did Elrond 
not knock any sense into that dense head of yours?! Do you want me to slowly fade 
over the years as I am constantly kept from your side by our mere title of ‘father and 
son’? Our case is unique, Ada! Do we not deserve the chance to –”

Suddenly there came the sound of a strangled, blood-curdling cry far off from the 
campsite. Both king and prince froze, startled, and then their elven hearing picked up 
on the sound of battle.

“We’re under attack!” Legolas exclaimed, and quickly leapt up and started to run 
towards the camp, pulling his bow off his back and trying to loosen an arrow from his 
quiver.

“Legolas, wait!” Thranduil cried and followed after, terrified his youngest son would 
get himself killed. The boy, after all, had not even seen his majority yet, and had 
never before been in a real battle.

Legolas had only taken a few flying steps when something crashed out of the shrub 
nearby and tackled him to the ground. Thranduil watched in horror as an orc straddled 
his son’s defenceless back, and with a hissing cry, raised an ugly looking axe above 
its head.

“LEGOLAS!” Thranduil screamed out, running faster than he had ever done in his 
life, and drew the sword he wore about his hip. The orc’s head was decapitated before 
Thranduil could even process that he had swung. He kicked the filthy body off his 
son, and then helped the young prince to stand.

“Valar, are you alright?” Thranduil asked, clutching his son frantically and scanning 
the boy’s body for any signs of injury.

Legolas looked a bit pale and shaken, but was otherwise unharmed. “I’m fine,” he 
said, and tried to smile for his father’s sake. “You saved me just in time. Now let’s 
hurry; the other’s need our help.”

Legolas took a step to leave, but Thranduil pulled him back. “No. You aren’t going 
anywhere. You’ll stay right here and climb a tree where I’ll know you’ll be out of 
harm’s way.”

Legolas looked appalled. “You can’t be serious? I’m not going to hide like some 
frightened maiden. I *want* to fight. I’ve been *trained* to *fight*!”

“You’ve been trained to shoot a few arrows from a bow.”

“I’m not staying, Ada. I’m going!”

“You’re not going anywhere, pretty bird,” a harsh voice challenged, and Legolas and 
Thranduil turned around to see a large orc standing not too far from them, grinning 
maliciously. A few other orcs also appeared, and started to circle the royal pair.

“If you attack, none of you shall leave this area alive,” Thranduil warned, one arm 
holding out his sword competently, the other placed behind him on his son, making 
sure Legolas was positioned against him, back to back, as they faced the closing ring 
of orcs.

The orc leader laughed harshly. “You are vastly outnumbered, elf.”

“Are you ready, Ada?” Legolas asked softly in elvish.

Thranduil wasn’t sure what his son meant by that, but he whispered back softly, “As 
best as I can be, given the circumstances.”

“Good,” the prince replied, and then with unimaginable speed drew his bow, and shot 
the orc leader straight through the chest.

The orc hesitated for a moment, looking surprised, and then dropped to the ground. 
The other foul creatures – now eight in total – howled their outrage, and charged.

Legolas shot down two more before he had to abandon his bow for a long dagger he 
kept in his boot. He couldn’t help a wave of helplessness wash through him as the 
first orc came almost within arm’s reach. He had worked very little with weaponry 
other than his bow, and he didn’t even have a sword on him. But before despair could 
grip him, he felt his father send a flood of encouragement and strength through their 
bond, and he tried to focus purely on the fight.

Thranduil sent a prayer to the Valar that his son would be able to defend himself well 
enough on his own, and then concentrated on the beasts coming towards him. Two 
orcs came charging at him virtually at the same time, but because of their bulk and 
clumsy coordination, ended up impeding each other’s movement. The king quickly 
dispelled them, and then focused on the rest, who were now more wary.

After exchanging a few blows, and almost losing his right arm, Thranduil managed to 
slay another orc, and suddenly noticed that there were no more of his enemy within 
sight. Quickly turning about, he noticed the last three vile creatures had ganged up on 
his son, realising him to be the weaker opponent – younger, smaller, less skilled, and 
with only one dagger.

Legolas was fiercely defending a fast series of attacks from one orc, and had not 
realised that one of the other’s had snuck up on his side. Thranduil spotted it too late, 
and Legolas was slashed across his lower back and side. He cried out, and fell to the 
ground, narrowly missing being stuck through by the first orc. 

Thranduil snarled and lunged, almost cutting off the entire head of the first orc as it 
overstepped it’s balance, having expected to skewer the prince. The second orc who 
had injured the boy was next, and Thranduil took great delight in sticking his sword 
right through the creature’s stomach. The beast looked up into the battle-crazed eyes 
of the king, feared, and then died. 

Thranduil was just about to pull his sword out from the orc’s body when he felt 
something slice the back of his thigh. He cried out and fell onto his knees in surprise, 
having momentarily forgotten about the third and final orc. The next blow came to his 
head, and the whole world went disturbingly black and red as he fell to the ground. He 
rolled instinctively, knowing the orc was probably going to try and kill him while 
down, and that action barely saved his life, as he felt the twisted weapon of his enemy 
go straight through his right side, just above his waist, pining him to the ground. 
Everything went dark, and he lost consciousness...

Legolas watched in pain-filled horror as his father narrowly missed being cut straight 
through the middle, but the injury he received appeared serious nonetheless. Biting 
back his own pain, Legolas cried out and lunged himself at the orc, rolling the 
creature off his father’s body. He stabbed at it blindly with his dagger, only barely 
aware that it scratched at him with its claws, having lost its weapon in the king’s 
flesh.

Legolas finally managed to sink his blade lethally into the beast, and the orc gave a 
gurgling cry, then fell limp on top of the prince. Legolas whimpered and tried to push 
the great dead thing off him, but it was too heavy.

“Help!” he cried out pitifully, but the only noise that reached his ears was the distant 
sound of battle at the campsite.

Legolas laid back and, gathering his strength, used every last bit he had left to push 
the foul thing off his body. At last he managed to get himself free, and weakly 
crawled over to his father.

“Ada?” he asked, his voice trembling in fear, exhaustion and pain.

Thranduil didn’t move.

“Ada?!” Legolas called more desperately, and shook the king’s shoulder. His father 
looked *very* pale, and the prince noticed he was losing a lot of blood onto the 
ground. There was a nasty cut across the side of the king’s head, and also blood 
pooling about the king’s right leg, not to mention the vile orc weapon sticking up 
from the blond’s abdomen.

Legolas looked about frantically, and managed to sit up on his knees. “Help me!” He 
cried. “Help me please! The king is down! The king is injured!”

He waited but no one responded to his call. Just as he was about to call again, he 
heard the howl of an orc, and heavy tramping of feet. He quickly shut his mouth and 
huddled down, praying that the orcs wouldn’t come this way.

After a few more minutes of silence, Legolas assumed he and his father were safe for 
the time being, but he couldn’t risk calling out again and bringing the enemy upon 
him.

His father was breathing, but only just, and his pulse was erratic and faint. “Ada?” he 
called, softly and pitifully. “Wake up, Ada. Please wake up. I need you to tell me 
what to do. I don’t know what to do!”

Legolas looked around helplessly and then back down at the king’s lifeless form. He 
could feel a cold despair rising up within him. He was alone, and there was no one to 
help, and no way to get help. At best, his father might survive a day of travel, but the 
closest civilisation was his home city, and Mirkwood was still a good few days away 
on horseback. The only thing he could do was to sit back and watch his father slowly 
die. Already he could feel the bond they shared weakening.

“Ada, please,” he begged, sobbing softly and rocking himself. “Please, you have to try 
and fight it. I’ll think of something, just please don’t die yet.”

Legolas tried to be brave, but in truth he was terrified, and in a great amount of pain 
himself. His body was covered in nasty gouges from the orc’s claws, and he was also 
bleeding badly from where he had been cut on the back. But he didn’t care. His Ada 
was dieing, and there was nothing he could do.

The man he loved, the only one who truly loved him and understood him and would 
do anything for him, was dieing. Had risked his life for him. Legolas sobbed 
uncontrollably, pitifully trying to stroke his father’s face to revive the king.

“Wake up, Ada... Please wake up. I love you... I love you... Please, please don’t leave 
me here alone...Ada, please... wake up...”

Thranduil didn’t move, his body growing colder, and Legolas could sense their bond 
grow so faint it almost wasn’t there anymore. “No, please! Ada! Ada!”

Legolas curled up next to his father’s form on the leaf and blood littered ground, and 
sobbed against the king’s shoulder, clinging desperately to the frozen body. “I’m 
sorry, I’m sorry,” Legolas wailed pitifully. “I don’t know what to do... I’m so sorry, 
Ada. I failed you... I failed *us*...” He was so frightened and confused. He felt sick 
and terrified and alone. This wasn’t happening. His father *wasn’t* dieing. It 
*wasn’t* happening. Not him, not his father. Not his true love...

“Oh Valar, Ada! Don’t leave me, DON’T LEAVE ME PLEASE!”

The sky grew darker, but Legolas would not let his father go. He wouldn’t leave his 
love here, lying amongst the foul dead orcs. He would stay until someone came. 
Someone would come and help him. “Ada, I love you, please wake up...” Legolas 
whispered listlessly, pleadingly, his body wracked with grief, his hands pitifully 
stroking the elf’s blood stained hair. “Wake up, Ada... wake up...”

But the king was dead.


t.b.c. 
Ada = Father 
Nin-iond = my son
Nin-ind = my heart
Nin meldir = my friend
Peredhel = half elf
Conceptually 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/
Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au



‘Bared Identities’
~Part 19~ 

The king was dead. Or as good as dead if Legolas didn’t do something drastic. 

Still crying and clutching imploringly to his father’s body, Legolas suddenly realised 
that the small, pitiful bird-like sounds he could hear, were actually coming from his 
own lips. He gasped and sat up, clamping both his hands over his mouth, and looked 
about the tiny clearing in terror, hoping no orcs had heard him. After several moments 
when nothing happened, he trusted himself to take his hands away, and gave a half 
sigh, half sob.

Alone.

Legolas looked down at his father, and noticed in horror that the pool of blood slowly 
seeping into the damp earth had grown dramatically. Legolas mentally cursed and 
beat himself again over and over for being such a stupid, weak, useless, pathetic…. 
He hadn’t even tried to stop his father’s bleeding yet! Hoping it wasn’t too late to at 
least perform that small token of medical care in order for his Ada to survive just a bit 
longer, Legolas ruthlessly pulled himself out of his own self-misery, wiped away his 
tears, and began shredding his shirt into strips. He bandaged his father’s bleeding 
thigh tightly, and wrapped another length of cloth around the king’s head. When the 
prince reached the horrible orc weapon in his father’s side, he hesitated.

What should he do here? Pull it out, or leave it in? The cruel, steel sword would 
eventually have to come out, but at the moment, it could be preventing more blood 
loss than causing any. Legolas bit his bottom lip, sweat running down his forehead in 
fear, anxiety and pain. In the end, he treated his own wound first as best as he was 
able, knowing that he would be no use to his father if he passed out from loss of 
blood.

Eventually, Legolas decided that he just couldn’t stand seeing the horrible weapon 
sticking up out of his father’s body anymore, like some cruel, perverted flag-pole; a 
testament to evil. It had to come out.

The king’s breath was shallow and erratic, and so far he had not made any response to 
his son’s treatment. Legolas carefully straddled his father, and wrapped his hands 
tentatively about the vile weapon. He looked at his father’s pale lifeless face, and sent 
a prayer to the Valar that this would all work out. “Gods forgive me,” Legolas said 
softly, “but I love you, Thranduil.”

With that, he braced himself, and then began pulling the weapon out, firmly yet 
smoothly.

Thranduil moaned softly and whimpered, although he still appeared to be 
unconscious. His body arced upward, but whether from pain, or from the weapon 
being drawn out, Legolas wasn’t sure. Perhaps both.

Luckily, the blade had gone in cleanly, so there wasn’t much excess damage caused 
on the exit. A small surge of blood followed the removal of the weapon, and Legolas 
quickly staunched the wound as best he could, and wrapped it up tightly. When that 
was done, he wiped his bloodied hands on his leggings, and carefully kissed his father 
chastely on the lips.

Legolas knew that he should feel better now, having bandaged his father up, but he 
didn’t. In truth, he was growing more scared than ever. The bond his father shared 
with him was flickering faintly in his mind. Every time it ‘went out’, Legolas would 
stop breathing, tears building in his eyes. Then Thranduil would draw in a ragged 
breath, the bond would flicker weakly back into life, and the prince knew that he had 
his father for a few minutes more.

The sky was almost black now, and Legolas had been reduced to a nervous wreck. 
The woods were dead, silent, and no one – not orc nor elf – had come near this area 
ever since the king’s downfall. The king was dying, and there was little he could do to 
prevent it. Legolas wondered if his father had felt this useless when he had been 
fading, only about a month ago now….

Suddenly Legolas’ head snapped up! Of course! How could he have been so stupid 
not to think of it earlier? His father had bound to him to prevent death, why couldn’t 
he do the same?

/Because I don’t know the binding ritual/ a voice in the back of his head said.

Legolas smiled almost wickedly, and then corrected himself. /No. I didn’t know the 
binding ritual *before*, but I do *now*!/  And he had Lord Elrond to thank for that.

When talking with the Peredhel, Elrond had offered to teach Legolas what was 
involved in a binding ceremony, so that one day he might be able to perform it, as it 
was obvious his stubborn Ada was never going to teach him. Of course, Elrond 
probably had not intended for this secret information to be used so soon, but the 
prince realised that if he didn’t do it now, there would be no other chances.

Legolas could barely breathe, he was so excited and nervous. Oh, how could he have 
almost forgotten about binding?! It was the perfect – and only – way that he was 
going to be able to save his father from certain death. But was it right? His soul would 
eternally be bound to his father’s, and with the king already bound to him, the two 
would have little option but to spend the rest of their lives together. Legolas smiled; 
that thought didn’t daunt him in the least. He had realised for over a week now that 
nothing would make him more happy than to always be by his beloved’s side. He 
blushed slightly, realising he already thought of his father as his ‘beloved’.

Legolas bent down and touched his cheek gently to that of his father’s, barely 
refraining from flinching away at how cold the king’s skin felt against his own. He 
almost broke into more tears again, and choked out, “Oh gods, Ada! I’m so sorry!”  
He sniffed and screwed his eyes shut, gently kissing his father on the cheek. “I 
promise,” he whispered fervently, “that I will make it better now. Everything will be 
fine. Just please, *please* accept what I’m about to do. Don’t be stubborn for once! 
Do it for me, if you really do love me...” 

Legolas’ hands shook as he reached out towards his father, and then paused. He really 
had no idea what he was doing. He’d only had sex twice. The first time he had been 
tied up and scared, while the second he had mostly been unconscious. Well, maybe he 
should begin by cutting their palms. That’s what they were suppose to do first, wasn’t 
it? Yes...

The prince cast a quick glance at the shadowy form of the orc he had killed, and 
decided he didn’t have enough strength or will to crawl back over to it and retrieve his 
dagger. Instead, he pulled out one of the king’s. Legolas looked at his right palm 
where his first scar already was, staring at it as if it whispered secrets to him. Then, 
taking a deep breath, he lifted his father’s right, unscarred hand. He winced as he was 
forced to cut his father, and he whimpered slightly as he cut his own left palm. Then, 
sliding his trembling fingers in between the king’s, he held their wounded hands 
together, palm in palm with his lover, letting their immortal blood mix.

“I, Legolas,” the prince stuttered quietly, trying hard to remember everything 
perfectly and yet not be overheard by possible enemies, “Prince of Mirkwood, and 
son of Thranduil, declare here and now by this blood that I bind myself to ... 
Thranduil, King of Mirkwood and son of Oropher. I call upon the Valar to witness my 
vow, and to aid that my soul be bound to Thranduil, 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 bless this union ... 
and see us happy for all eternity...” Legolas felt strange saying the words, and yet he 
meant every one of them. The feeling of love he felt for his father, - no, this man, this 
elf, - was indescribable. It felt like warm fire building within his chest until it might 
explode and consume him whole. And with it was also the bitter, icy knowledge that 
he might lose it soon if this didn’t work. He felt like he’d eaten poison dipped in 
chocolate. Or was it the other way ’round? 

Legolas squeezed his father’s hand for reassurance, but his father didn’t return the 
grip. Legolas was unable to help the tears swimming in his eyes. He leant down over 
his father, his thighs still straddling the king, and kissed the elder elf’s eyelids 
tenderly. “I love you Ada,” he mumbled, more to himself than to the lifeless form. 
Was it his hopeful imagination, or was the king breathing a little more regularly now? 
“Please wake up. I don’t care if you are angry with me, just don’t die. Don’t leave me 
alone.” He kissed the king again on the forehead, unaware that his father had said 
something similar to him when he had been binding to his son.

Legolas, still scared and uncertain, kept his eyes closed to block out the horrible 
reality of what was happening, and instead tried to pretend that they were back home; 
that his father had accepted his love, and that they were making love willingly for the 
first time. He let his lips trail soft, gentle kisses down his father’s face, until they 
hesitantly pressed themselves against the king’s lips. The prince drew back for a 
moment, not quite sure how to go about kissing his Ada, especially when he was 
unconscious.  /Valar help me! Guide me please! I do not want him to die! Please don’t 
let him die! He is my life! I need him, I need him so *much*!!/

With this prayer circling in his head, the prince let his mouth close over the king’s 
again, and tried to breathe his warmth and soul into his father through their 
connection. Tentatively flicking his tongue out, he tasted the king’s lips, and was 
shocked when the king’s mouth opened up beneath his. He wanted to open his eyes to 
see if his father was looking back it him, but knew in his heart – through the bond – 
that his father was still not awake. He forced his eyes to stay closed, and concentrated 
instead on timidly slipping his tongue into his father’s mouth.

He remembered the times his father had kissed him like this. How the king’s tongue 
had been hot and slippery and had a life of it’s own inside his mouth; teasing his own 
tongue, playing with it, dancing with it, rubbing against it... or licking the palette of 
his mouth, and chewing on his bottom lip, and sometimes sucking the tip of his 
tongue into his mouth and Legolas had moaned and wanted to come so badly just 
from those kisses.....

Legolas moaned now as he felt his leggings start to restrict about him. He tried to 
imitate his father’s kisses as best he could, but it was difficult when his partner wasn’t 
reacting. He clutched the king’s hand desperately like a life-line, and pushed his 
father’s unresponsiveness to the back of his mind like everything else, and instead 
started to kiss his way down the king’s throat.

He tasted every bit of creamy skin he could, revelling in this chance to at last explore 
his father’s body freely. But as he reached the king’s collar, he realised he didn’t have 
as much freedom as he would like. His father was dieing fast. He couldn’t waste too 
much time on foreplay, nor would it be wise to undress his father in his state more 
than necessary.

Realising this, Legolas sighed and moved back a bit, and reluctantly released his hold 
on his father’s hand. A quick glance told him their two wounds had already healed 
and scarred over – at least he didn’t have to worry about that. With trembling fingers, 
he reached for the front of his father’s leggings, and slowly undid the ties there. His 
hands shaking even more, and silently cursing himself for it, he carefully – *very* 
carefully – pulled the king’s pants down. He tried not to stare as he removed his 
father’s boots and leggings, and carefully placed them aside. Then he looked about 
the woods warily, before starting to undo his own ties. 

Both now naked from the waste down, and feeling slightly self-conscious, Legolas at 
last allowed himself to *really* look at his father. Even in these circumstances, 
especially with the knowledge of what he was about to do, he still could feel his 
cheeks blush. His father’s..... (Legolas blushed further)... was long and slender, much 
like the rest of him. Although still solid enough that the prince wondered how it ever 
had managed to... fit in him before. He looked down at his own penis, slightly filled 
from his erotic thoughts of kissing, and realised wryly that he still wasn’t quite as big 
as his father. At least that should be easier on the king.

Thranduil suddenly made a strange choking moan, and Legolas could feel their weak 
bond almost snap. The prince’s heart jumped into his throat as he feared his father 
was about to finally die. But the noises eventually subsided, and the king began 
breathing again more smoothly when Legolas linked their newly scarred palms and 
whispered soothingly into his ear, petting his face with his other hand. 

He continued to lay like that for a moment, noticing how nice it felt to have skin on 
skin – even if it was only their legs and.... other areas – touching. That thought made 
the prince swell a little more, and rub his hips lightly against his father’s thigh.

/That’s it/ a voice inside his head said. /Just keeping doing that. Keep rubbing yourself 
against him until you’re hard, and then hurry up and finish the bond before it’s too 
late!/

Legolas nodded as if it were someone else speaking to him, glad to have simple orders 
to follow and keep him from panicking. He imagined every erotic fantasy, moment, 
and idea that he had ever experienced with his father – feeling his father purr into his 
ear when he thought he was Malthenfin.... Feeling him touch his aching cock.... 
Feeling the king slide into him and pull out, rubbing something deep and wonderful 
inside... Feeling those amazing kisses, and most importantly, the love and passion that 
surrounded him like a warm soft blanket every time they were near. He thrust against 
his father’s leg, somewhat faster and more desperate, his eyes screwed shut in bliss as 
his erection became hard and needy and started throbbing pleasantly. He only half 
comprehended the fact that his father was becoming hard himself, as he panted and 
whimpered against the king’s throat. 

Eventually he pulled back, a little shaky but not from fear, and knew it was almost 
time. He looked at his father’s swelling cock, and the hint of a shy smile touched his 
young lips. With his free hand, he reached out and curiously touched his father’s 
length, more confident now then he would have been had the king been conscious and 
watching. He let his fingers run up and down the silky length slowly, and was amazed 
at how quickly it began to fill and grow hot and hard and dark in his hand. Perhaps the 
binding ritual made such things more sensitised.

“I’m going to do it now, Ada,” he said softly, looking at the king’s face. Thranduil 
didn’t respond, didn’t move. 

He still looked unnervingly pale. 

Legolas panicked briefly when he realised he should probably have some kind of oil 
to help, and – if he remembered correctly – he should also prepare his father. 

His minor dilemma was solved when he reached for his quiver nearby, and pulled out 
a small vial of oil for the bow strings. As he self-consciously began to pour some oil 
onto his fingers, Legolas remembered a dream he had had about his father when 
they’d been sleeping at Imladris.

In the dream, he had been practicing archery with the twins, when suddenly Elladan 
and Elrohir had pressed him up against a target, and were starting to undress him. At 
first Legolas had thought it to be a nightmare, as he struggled against the twins... but 
then Thranduil had come by, and literally wrenched the boys off him. The twins, 
terrified, had run away without so much as a word. Thranduil had clutched him close 
to his body, whispering soothing words, and rubbing the small of his back 
comfortingly... 


-Legolas pressed his oiled fingers to the king’s backside, and began massaging the 
small dark hole there.-

/“I’m fine, Ada,” Legolas had stuttered, snuggling against his father. “They just 
scared me...”

“Did they touch you?” Thranduil demanded in a surprisingly vicious tone. “Let me 
see...” and he had began to finish the twins’ task of ruthlessly striping Legolas of his 
clothes. Legolas just stood there, shocked and numb, until he was completely naked 
before his father. Thranduil stared at him piercingly, and the prince felt a small shiver 
run up his spine. His father reached out and gently touched his cheek.../

-Legolas slipped an oiled finger inside his father’s passage.-

/ “Ada – ”

“Shhh...” the king soothed, pressing a finger over Legolas’ lips, and then he allowed 
his hand to travel down the prince’s throat... over his chest, stomach, thighs.... lightly 
touching Legolas all over, as if searching for the tiniest of bruises with which he could 
skin the twins for. Legolas wanted to tell his father that he was ok, that he had come 
just in time to stop the Peredhel’s, and that the twins hadn’t hurt him. But he was 
stopped by the strange dark intensity his father was looking at him with, and that 
gentle hand that ghosted adoringly over his lithe creamy flesh....

Legolas felt something hot twist and uncurl low in his stomach. “Oh..” he said, as in 
the dream, his father gently wrapped his large hand about his prick./

-Legolas added another digit, distantly aware of how silky and hot and tight his father 
felt about his fingers. When he realised his throbbing shaft would soon be swallowed 
by that slick heat, he groaned and began scissoring his father’s passage a little faster.-

/“Oh!...” he said again, as his father stopped pumping his now nicely erect flesh, and 
instead knelt down before him. Legolas’ hands instantly rested on the king’s golden 
silken head, and he looked down at his father with a myriad of emotions. Thranduil 
returned the gaze and smiled lovingly. He kissed his child where thigh met pelvis, and 
then without further ado, sucked Legolas’ erection deep within his hot, wet throat.

Legolas yelled out and then found he couldn’t stop whimpering and groaning as his 
flesh was masterfully manipulated by lips, mouths and tongue... and powerful muscles 
that seemingly wanted to suck his soul right out of him through his cock. He keened 
as he watched his beautiful father’s mouth bob up and down his length, or sometimes 
just sucking on it and teasing it with his tongue.

So close... he was so damn hard and getting so close to coming... Faster and faster his 
father began moving, one hand gently teasing his balls or sliding over the crease in his 
backside. He was trembling and his hips thrust of their own accord and it felt so damn 
good.. so wonderful, both physically and mentally to be like this with his father, the 
man he loved. And GODS the king was talented and... oh Gods, so close... and then 
the king slipped two slick fingers inside him and he wailed and tried to shove himself 
down the elder elf’s throat and back onto those naughty fingers at the same time, and 
he was going to come any moment......

And he woke up.../

... Legolas smiled wryly at the memory, then pushed it aside to focus on the present. 
As he rubbed a copious amount of oil onto his straining erection, he tried not to think 
that the first time he was going to make love to someone, it would be to his 
unconscious father. His dieing, unconscious father. His father who was also his lover, 
and who had been doing his best recently to push him away. And they were 
surrounded with dead orcs about in the middle of the woods.

No, that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let any of that spoil this, or spoil the chance to 
save his beloved’s life.

Legolas timidly pushed his father’s legs a litter wider apart, and then positioned 
himself as best he could over the unconscious elf. He winced as the wound in his back 
sent a spark of pain through him. He cursed silently, and moved until he found a more 
comfortable position, then tried to detach himself from his pain.

He took hold of his length, and with another prayer to the Valar, started to push inside 
his father’s passage. It was awkward at first, but eventually Legolas could feel his 
father’s puckered hole start to give, and he gave a soft, almost startled sigh as the head 
of his cock was squeezed and sucked into that tight embrace....

Oh VALAR.... this felt better than he thought it would be!

Wait, he was meant to say something now, wasn’t he? Oh, that was it... Legolas 
shakily rejoined their palms again to connect their new mutual scars, and then 
murmured, “By this act, I bind myself to thee…” And then he slowly pushed all the 
way inside.

The low groaning noise wasn’t coming from just him, he realised after a moment. A 
little shocked, Legolas opened his eyes which had flickered shut in bliss, and looked 
at his father. There was a little colour to the king’s cheeks that hadn’t been there 
before, but the king still appeared unconscious. But the fact that he had made a 
*positive* noise, allowed Legolas to feel hopeful. And a little bit proud, and quite a 
bit pleased too. Thranduil was enjoying this on some level, and if Legolas tried not to 
worry about all the ill affects that could come from this, he knew that he was enjoying 
this too.

With a bit more confidence now, and less of a taste of bitterness and helplessness in 
his mouth, he slowly pulled his sensitised flesh out of that warm, tight heat, and then 
tentatively eased his way back in… Like suede rubbing over his silky, sensitive 
flesh… in and out... in and out... Ohhhhh...... felt.... so....... gooooodd..............

Legolas eventually fell into an easy rhythm, and tried to imagine that his father was 
awake with him. It wasn’t so difficult with the small sounds Thranduil was 
increasingly making now. Legolas bent over and kissed his father, then rested cheek 
to cheek with this elf he loved so much. And he said so, whispering his love and 
desires and wishes and affections and everything and anything that came to his mind 
and fell from his lips into his father’s ear as his cock slowly pumped in and out. 
Knowing he’d probably never get a time like this again when his father would listen 
so avidly. He tried not to snort at that thought.

Eventually he couldn’t think at all. Could just feel. So hot, so very very hot. 
Especially *there* where he was *inside* his father. He was INSIDE. His 
*FATHER*. His *lover*. He was making *love* to his *lover*.... In and out... in and 
out... the thick, tight heat milking him... He whimpered and thrust harder, kissing 
those soft lips more fervently, and was too deep to notice that the once unresponsive 
tongue was now weakly trying to kiss him back. 

It all became a whirlwind. A wonderful, beautiful place of colour and mindlessness 
and bliss and – Oh Valar bless, this was so incredible! Legolas gasped, tears of joy 
and pleasure running down his cheeks, and he wiped away similar wet trails that his 
father wore as well. Both mewling and moaning now, thrusting up and burning. 
Becoming more frantic. Legolas pushed himself in as deep as he could go, over and 
over, never wanting this to end. Just he and his lover, bound together in hot, tight, 
sweaty bliss. And they were together and happy and nothing was wrong with the 
world and it would always be like this... In and out... in and out... And nothing could 
ever go wrong, just as long as he could keep thrusting into his father like that, those 
delicious muscles clamping down on him and that wonderful mouth kissing him back, 
weakly but hungrily, and he was so so hard....

Thranduil whimpered and arched up slightly, pushing his quivering cock into the 
warm velvety grip of his son’s palm, and he came desperately. Legolas had never felt 
anything so good; his whole world had narrowed to his father finding pleasure in 
something *he* had done for him, and then his length was squeezed unmercifully and 
he suddenly cried out and filled his father with his seed. Coming hard and utterly, the 
world spinning and burning and pulsing through him for what seemed like hours... He 
almost collapsed on top of the king, only remembering at last that his father was 
injured. His own pain completely forgotten.

Something bright and wonderful burst inside his mind then – reached out and tried to 
grab hold of Thranduil’s soul and bind it to his...

“I love you Legolas,” Thranduil said sadly, his eyes open and looking terribly 
sorrowful up at his son. It didn’t seem right to Legolas. Why was his father sad after 
what had just...?

Legolas didn’t get a chance to think or reply, as he suddenly felt the attempts of his 
bond fail and crash about him, like a sack of rocks falling and crushing his body; as if 
someone had wrenched out his stomach from behind. He was falling, but he wasn’t 
moving, and neither was Thranduil. Not even breathing. Cold, lifeless. And there was 
no link now. Legolas’ mind was halved, empty. Completely alone…

He was screaming. A horrified, pure thing of such loss and terror and denial, but he 
was only distantly aware of it. His ears were filled with a rushing sound, and his 
screams took on a higher, louder pitch. He thought he could hear voices coming 
closer, but didn’t care, didn’t care. Alone, alone, alone. And Thranduil wasn’t 
breathing.

He didn’t stop screaming...


~*~*~*~*~*~


Thranduil floated in a world that didn’t exist. He didn’t know where he was, when he 
was, how he was. He barely could remember who he was. He had the vague notion 
that perhaps he was asleep. Or dead.

There were voices. 

Several of them. They sounded like they *should* be familiar, but Thranduil also had 
the odd notion he’d never personally heard them before. He couldn’t place them. 
Couldn’t place anything. It was nice here, but the voices talked, and their conversation 
confused him.

“It is not right. They are related.”

“Aye, they are kin. But it is the way of the elves to live thus. They breed too few too 
little. They live longer. They are not bound by the same laws as men.”

“Hmmm.... cousins yes. Two generations yes. But direct blood? Direct kin?”

“They would not have children.”

“No. That is something.”

“They love each other. You would not deny that.”

“Of course not. I do not wish them that pain.”

“You can see it about their hearts then?”

“Yes. I can. But can they?”

“The young one can. He is wise for someone so young. And stubborn. But the king, 
he is more stubborn and refuses to see...”

“No, he sees. And he wants too. Can’t you see it about his heart? But he is afraid. 
Afraid exactly of this.”

“Love cannot be ruled.”

“No. But he is a ruler. He has tried. He tries *because* he loves so much. Wants to 
protect...”

“Ahhhh.....”

“Yes.”

“We’ve seen his actions. They have been honourable.”

“Yes... Does he still think of him as just his son?”

“I don’t know. We should ask him.”

“Mmmm... be quick. His hold is slipping. And then we’ll lose them both. The young 
one is already fading too and will surely follow him.”

Thranduil took this in, but couldn’t comprehend it. Then, suddenly, he felt as if his 
body had been wrenched out of the void of darkness, and thrown into another. This 
one was different. It was light and colourless and blinding.

A voice suddenly boomed inside his head. “Thranduil, son of Oropher. Tell me of 
your child, Legolas. How do you love him?”

Legolas.

And suddenly that was all he knew in this place, and he grasped onto it desperately. 
His name – and that beautiful slender, fragile golden being. His son, his lover, his 
most precious one. His heart suddenly felt like it was on fire. It hurt! God it hurt! He 
loved him, and he was scared. Where was Legolas? Where was he? Why wasn’t he 
with him? Why did it feel like half of his soul was missing? Was the boy safe? He 
needed to protect him! No one could look after Legolas like he could. He wasn’t safe 
with anyone but him. And Legolas needed him. His son, who he treasured like a 
young lover, *needed* him, needed his love and affection.... just as much as he 
needed it... Legolas –

The world went black again. Blank.

“Good.... good.”

“Indeed. I’ll speak with Mandos. I don’t think it’s too late.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“Sleep Thranduil. You’ve done well. You have our blessing. Sleep now.”

“Ok,” he said, and the king fell out of death and back into unconsciousness....



t.b.c. 
Ada = Father 
Peredhel = Half elf
Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! 
Nearly done now!  ;)
Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/
Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/
Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au




‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna
~ Part 20-a ~

Thranduil thought he could feel his body moving – being rocked as though on a horse, 
or a stretcher – but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t really feel anything, as if he were 
partly detached from the physical world. He tried opening his eyes, but soon gave up. 
Besides, he wasn’t uncomfortable per se, and wasn’t entirely sure if he was actually 
awake. Perhaps this was all a dream.

He thought he could hear muffled crying somewhere not too far behind.

“Oh Valar!!” A voice cried out in front of him. Thranduil would have sworn it 
sounded just like Bórsael, if it had not held that slightly hysterical note in it. Bórsael 
was never anything but collected. Only the greatest stress would make Bórsael lose 
control, and Thranduil didn’t know anything which could currently be causing his 
eldest to sound hysterical.

“Valar, what happened?! Where are the others? Oh gods, Legolas? *Ada*?!!” The 
voice which sounded like Bórsael’s said, and then cursed colourfully. No, it definitely 
couldn’t be Bórsael. Bórsael would never swear. “What the hell happened?!”

“A group of Orcs attacked us a few days ago, Sire,” a different tired voice said. This 
voice sounded like Naurcamland, the captain of his retinue. “Legolas is hysterical and 
injured, but alive. Your father however... I’m sorry, Sire.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then the Bórsael-like voice choked, “What did you 
call me?”

“‘Sire’,” Naurcamland repeated softly. “Your father is dead. You are now our king.”

Thranduil thought he heard a strangled gasp, and then – as if he were numb – he could 
faintly feel fingers pressed to his neck. There was another long silence, and then the 
hand was snatched away.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” the Bórsael-like voice hissed. “I can still feel a 
pulse!”

“What?!”

More fingers pressed to his throat, which began to shake after a moment. “But... Sire 
– I mean, my Lord.. I.... I swear he was...!”

“Never mind! Just get him and the other wounded to the healers immediately, before I 
really *do* have to bury my Ada.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Naurcamland replied quickly, and Thranduil felt his body 
being shifted and carried off again. He could feel his already dull senses dim further, 
but before he slipped back into oblivion, he thought he could hear the elf who 
sounded like Bórsael calling out for Legolas, and inside his mind, Thranduil could 
feel something warm, familiar and aware sobbing inside his head...

~*~*~*~*~

When next he ‘awoke’, he knew he was lying in a bed. Probably his own, from the 
lack of noise about him which would indicate he was in a healing ward. He could also 
hear a small fire crackling away where he knew the fireplace in his room was.

After a while, he felt a hand reach out and brush his brow. He would have startled at 
being touched having thought he was alone, but he still couldn’t move. He felt like 
some non-entity, drifting about in his body which he was only vaguely connected too. 
Thranduil still couldn’t even command his eyes to open.

A soft tap at the door, and whoever sat by his bed walked over to open it.

“Naurcamland,” the voice said, – Bórsael. Calm, authoritative and reserved. *This* 
was his son. “Please captain, come in.”

Footsteps walking inside, and the two sat down across the room. “How is he?” the 
captain of the guard asked.

“He’s been better,” Bórsael sighed. “The healer’s continue to say he should be dead 
by now. Each time he breathes is a defiance and a wonder in their eyes. I’m beginning 
to think he’s just stubborn enough to pull through.”

A soft laugh. “I wouldn’t doubt that... And the prince?”

“He’ll... live. That’s certain. At least, his physical injuries weren’t so bad. However...” 
Another sigh, and Thranduil wondered if this wasn’t his oldest son after all. He 
sounded burdened. “Legolas... he’s frantic for his father.... Naurcamland, I’ve been 
informed you were one of the elves who found my brother and father. Please, tell me 
what happened?”

Naurcamland sighed this time and took a moment before recounting the tale. “We 
were a few days out from Mirkwood, about to make camp for the night. As we were 
preparing the clearing, a large group of orcs attacked us. Elrond had made some 
mention of them before we embarked for home, but none of us really believed they 
would attack our group.

“Three of our number were dead before we even realised what had happened.” 
Naurcamland paused, and there was a general silence as the dead were remembered. 
For elves, the loss of even one life was worse than what any mortal could imagine. 
The First Children were not meant to die, and if they did, it was thousands of years of 
knowledge and experience that died with them. Not to mention ancient friendships. It 
was a loss almost incomprehensible for mortal man.

The captain eventually composed himself and continued. “I searched for the king and 
prince immediately when I realised we were under attack, but couldn’t find them. I 
had little time to look, and in the end hoped they had fled for safety and had not 
already been struck down.

“After the first moments of shock, our men gathered their wits, and the battle became 
more even. It was a terrible bloodbath. Well after sunset, the woods became silent as 
the battle ended. Most of our group had perished. A few others were still dieing, or 
too injured to move. I commanded two soldiers who were still well to guard the 
wounded, as I and another elf searched for the king and his son. An hour must have 
passed as we searched beneath our fallen companions and dead beasts for your father, 
but we were unsuccessful. Eventually, I knew we had to widen our search.

“My companion and I knew not which direction they had taken. It wasn’t until we 
heard a horrible screaming that we came upon your brother...”

There was a long silence, and eventually Bórsael had to prompt for more. “Go on, 
captain.”

Naurcamland cleared his throat. “We found your brother leaning over your father, 
screaming like he’d seen Sauron himself. They were... they were both naked from the 
waist down. Legolas and your father wore crude bandages that were stained with dirt 
and blood. The boy was also clutching to the king’s hand as if his life depended on it. 
When we arrived, Legolas didn’t even seem to acknowledge us. It took all of our 
combined effort to pull him away, and he seemed to grow even more violent. We 
checked the king, but I *swear* there was no pulse, and he was as cold as stone.

“We did our best to get ready and move forward. I knew we had little time. I was 
afraid your brother was about to lose his mind, and hoped that bringing him home 
might help his mental state. There were wounded too who could survive the journey 
and hopefully be saved if we left immediately. Aside from your father, we were 
forced to leave the dead behind to save the living...”

Bórsael spoke softly. “It’s ok. You did the right thing. And I have already dispatched 
a large party to go and retrieve our dead for a proper burial. Your companions will not 
lie unburied among the orcs.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“There is no need for thanks. Please, go on. Tell me how my brother came to be tied 
up when I arrived.”

Thranduil’s ear’s pricked.

Naurcamland continued his retelling. “We were only able to head off after we had tied 
Legolas up. I’m sorry, my Lord, but the prince seemed possessed. He was screaming 
and thrashing and trying to get to the king, who we thought dead at the time. Who 
*was* dead at the time. I believed the boy had gone mad in grief. I remember that 
early the next morning, Legolas suddenly gasped and fainted. We halted for a moment 
until he came too. When he awoke, he suddenly started calling for his father again, 
but this time he was babbling that the king was alive and needed our help. It... never 
occurred to me that he was telling the truth... Forgive me.”

Bórsael spoke soothingly. “It is understandable, captain. There is nothing to forgive. 
You couldn’t have known. Thank the Valar they are both alive. Legolas hasn’t calmed 
much yet, however. He is silent when I tell him Ada is well, but then my brother starts 
begging me to see him. I dare not grant the request yet, as his mental state is still too 
fragile, and my father has not yet woken. I found him outside this room not an hour 
ago. Somehow Legolas had escaped, and was clawing on the locked door to get 
inside!”

If Thranduil had been capable, he would have smiled.

“He is greatly attached to his father, I have noticed,” Naurcamland said carefully. 
“They seem more like... ‘friends’, than father and son.”

A meaningful silence ensued, then Bórsael asked, “Would you like to join me in a 
drink, captain? My father has good taste in brandy.”

Thranduil heard footsteps move towards his cabinet.

“No thanks, my Lord,” came the reply.

There was the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, and after a moment, Bórsael 
asked very quietly, “Do you know what you saw, captain? Between my father and 
brother after the attack?”

A long pause. “I think I will have that drink, actually.”

Bórsael laughed, and poured another glass. Moved back over to the fireplace. “You 
know about binding then?”

“I do,” Naurcamland said cautiously. “But it was hard to believe that that’s what had 
transpired between the King and prince, although I suspected as much when I saw 
them after the battle.”

“Legolas must have been desperate to save Father,” Bórsael said almost thoughtfully. 
“And perhaps it worked. I can’t think how else the stubborn old fool has lived this 
long. I have no idea how it managed to bring him *back* from death, but somehow it 
worked. If anything proves the Valar have no qualms with Legolas’ method, then I 
think that would be it.”

“No one would hold it against them here,” Naurcamland replied calmly. “It is strange, 
but whether right or wrong, at least they are both now alive. And I think you are right. 
If the Valar thought this forbidden, they would not have allowed the king to live.”

Silence. Then, “Will you help me, captain? Can I trust you?” Bórsael asked softly.

“Of course, my Lord. Anything.”

“I tell you this now in confidence. Do you remember a few months ago of Legolas’ 
illness?”

“I do.”

“He was fading. I shan’t go into details, but the only way to save him was through a 
binding. And the only candidate at the time was our father.” A pause, obviously to let 
this information set in. “Naurcamland, they are bound now. Both to the other, it would 
seem. They will be together for the rest of their lives, and if one dies, the other will 
follow. Our people are sure to notice eventually. I do not know if my father will wish 
to make a formal announcement. I myself think that will not be necessary. The people 
will come to their own conclusions, and rumours unconfirmed cannot be substantiated 
or openly rebelled against.”

“No one would rebel against your father, my Lord. He is a good king. And we all love 
your brother as we once did your mother.”

Bórsael gave a soft laugh. “You are not the only ones’ then, it would seem,” he said 
wryly. (Thranduil could have sworn both elves looked at him then.) “Nevertheless,” 
Bórsael continued, “with this information, I trust that if there *is* any resentment in 
the future, or if rumours become too wild, *you* will see fit to step in and subtly try 
and keep things in order. I do not care how much of the truth you tell. Just do 
whatever you think is necessary. This will be hard enough on my father and brother, 
without the added burden of having to deal with any dissent in the kingdom. Neither 
had much choice in what they did after all. It was bind, or die.”

“I understand my Lord. And I think your people will too.” Thranduil heard the sound 
of a glass being put down on a table. “You are a good man, Bórsael,” the captain said 
genuinely. “Your father, I’m sure, is extremely proud of you. If only he knew half of 
what you did for him, I bet he would be ashamed that it is *him* they call king, and 
you but the heir.”

A chuckle. “I just do my duty for those I love, captain. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I 
best go check on Legolas. I have not talked to him about this yet, as I wanted to see if 
you could first confirm my suspicions that Legolas had bound to our king.” 

Footsteps moved back towards the door, and as the two elves left, Thranduil drifted 
back into blissful darkness.

~*~*~*~*~ 

Thranduil wasn’t sure how many days he slept for. He woke up sporadically, 
sometimes catching snippets of conversation, sometimes knowing Bórsael was by his 
side. He thought he recognized Goldgwen’s voice once too, fussing and mothering 
about him, mumbling to herself. He wondered if she was wearing one of those new 
robes he had commissioned for her.

On another occasion, Thranduil could hear someone pacing about his room as if 
agitated. He spent several minutes wondering who it could be, before the elf 
approached him, hesitated, and then a hoarse voice said, “I love you Ada.” Thranduil 
felt his heart twinge with pride. It was Maergorv. Another moment of hesitation, and 
then he felt his middle son kiss him on the forehead. “Wake up you old bastard. 
You’re scaring the shit out of all of us.” He then heard his son turn sharply around, 
and leave the room. Inwardly, the king laughed.

But mostly when Thranduil woke up, it was to feel a warm lithe body snuggled tight 
to his, and an even more pleasant warmth wrapped within his mind....


~*~*~*~*~

Legolas bit his lip, ear pressed to his bedroom door to make sure no one was outside 
in the corridor. His eldest brother would kill him if he found out he’d stolen away 
again. When the boy heard nothing, he snuck out into the hallway, slunk along the 
short path to his father’s rooms, and quickly slipped inside. He breathed a small sigh 
of relief, and smiled softly at seeing his father alone.

The king looked the same as always. Asleep on his bed, quilt pulled up to his chest, 
arms on top, dead to the world. Only Legolas knew better.

The young prince moved over to the bed and climbed on, snuggling down as close to 
his father as he could. Legolas noticed that his father appeared more fit than last time. 
The king’s cheeks held a definite healthy blush. He was breathing normally, and even 
had regained that faint glow all elves held. He was completely healed, at least in body. 
The elder elf looked well and able enough to take on a balrog, were it not for that fact 
he had yet to show signs of consciousness.

/“You’re looking well,”/ Legolas said in his head, and a different part of his mind – a 
part that wasn’t really his mind at all, but his father’s, stirred.

Thranduil’s mind woke from its sleep, even if his body still didn’t move. /“You’re 
here again,”/ the king said sleepily, warmly.

/“Mmmmm...”/ Legolas hummed, just pleased to be close to his father again. It almost 
*hurt* when he was kept so far from his father – obviously something to do with their 
two-way bond. When Thranduil had come back from death’s door, Legolas had felt it 
in every corner of his being. He had also felt the bond he had tried to create with his 
father in the woods, suddenly click into place. They were completely bound now, one 
to the other, and it had some surprising effects, like... talking to each other without 
opening their mouths.

/“Do you mind me being here? I didn’t wake you, did I Ada?”/

/“Can it really be considered ‘waking’ me, if I still can’t move or open my eyes?”/ 
Thranduil replied wryly.

Legolas chuckled. He loved these mental conversations, and the way he was able to 
sense what his father was feeling as well. If his father was smiling or laughing 
inwardly, Legolas could feel it as some mental warm glow. If the king was rolling his 
eyes at him, or ‘making a face’, the prince also seemed to know – was able to sense it 
on some level. 

The majority of Legolas’ visits had consisted of the prince feeding his father much of 
his own strength, and having one-sided mental conversations. And it had been enough 
for Legolas. The young sindar knew his father was awake – could sense the king’s 
presence in his mind, and could feel his father’s emotions and moods through their 
bond, even from a distance. 

And when the king had been strong enough to start talking back, Legolas was more 
joyous then ever. He knew that soon his father would be well enough to wake up 
completely from his healing sleep, and return his hugs. And *then* they would talk 
seriously about their relationship. About what would happen from now on...

/“Have you tried moving today?”/ Legolas asked, stroking his father’s palm, and 
delighted at finding the king’s fingers twitching in response.

Thranduil gave a mental shrug. /“No, not really. I can feel you better though. Before, 
if you touched me, it just felt like a dream. But I’m so tired of trying to command my 
eyes to open, or my legs to move, and to have them ignore me. My own body doesn’t 
listen to me,”/ he pouted. /“It’s worse than trying to tell my sons to do something!”/

Legolas giggled and snuggled closer to his father. 

/“But in answer to your previous question,”/ Thranduil added, /“No, of course I don’t 
mind you being here. *Awake*, that is. You were asleep last time.”/

Legolas gave a sheepish grin, and knew he transmitted a wave of guilt to his father via 
their link. /“Sorry,”/ he mumbled softly. /“I was tired, and you didn’t ‘wake’ when I 
first came... If it makes you feel any better, Bórsael found me after and scolded me for 
sneaking in here again.”/

Legolas sensed his father laugh. /“I thought you told me you had his permission to 
come visit me, since you told him we were bound?”/ the king asked with amusement 
tinging his thoughts.

Legolas grumbled. /“He only lets me come every now and then, and never for long 
enough.”/ He snuggled closer to his father, running his fingers lightly through the 
king’s soft hair. /“If I could, I would sleep here with you all the time.”/

The prince felt his father mentally smile and sigh happily. Legolas smiled with him, 
both inwardly and out, and felt his heart flutter in joy. 

/“How are *you* feeling?”/ Thranduil asked, letting his mind wrap about his son’s 
like a comforting embrace.

Legolas shrugged. He was tired from worrying over his Ada, and constantly feeding 
his father his strength, but aside from that, three weeks was more than ample time for 
his elven abilities to have healed his injuries from the orc attack. /“Perfect, now I’m 
with you,”/ the boy replied, smiling innocently.

Thranduil chuckled, and after a moment asked, /“How long has it been now?”/

Legolas giggled, having expected this question. /“I was beginning to think you 
wouldn’t ask me that this time. Three weeks now, since you died.”/ Whenever 
Legolas visited, Thranduil had always asked how long he had been ‘unconscious’ for. 
The king had little perception of time.

Legolas kept his father informed of what was going on. Not that he knew much 
himself. Since Legolas insisted that he could ‘talk’ with his father when the king 
otherwise appeared to be in a coma, Bórsael generally kept Legolas locked in his 
room, afraid for his sanity and health. This wasn’t helped by the fact that despite his 
small wounds, the young prince had taken an unusually long while to heal. Legolas 
knew this was because he gave all his strength to his father. But it otherwise meant 
the young prince was kept in the dark about most things. Nevertheless, Legolas told 
Thranduil of what had happened in the forest after the orc attack, and everything that 
had happened since that he knew of.

/“What was death like, Ada?”/ Legolas asked curiously, not for the first time.

/“Legolas...”/ Thranduil warned, tired of the subject. 

Legolas sighed and gave the mental equivalent to rolling his eyes. /“Ok ok.”/ He 
pouted inwardly. /“But I still don’t believe you can’t remember anything. Don’t you 
love me enough to confide in me?”/

/“Of course I do, you stupid imp,”/ Thranduil admonished. Legolas pretended to 
frown at the ‘insult’, and the king chuckled. /“I told you. I had a dream about you – 
that you weren’t with me, and I was worried. But aside from that I don’t really 
remember anything after you were... umm..”/

Legolas grinned devilishly and nuzzled closer against his father. /“You mean, after 
you woke and found me making love to you?/

Thranduil groaned inwardly. /“Yes. That’s what I mean. Not that I’m saying I approve 
of your actions....”/ Legolas suddenly felt his father become more serious, and the boy 
tensed in anxiety as his father continued to speak. /“Do you have *any* idea how –
foolish– that was? If I had died, *you* would have been pulled into death with me!”/ 
Thranduil was becoming severely worked up, and the anger rolled from him. /“That 
was so *stupid*, Legolas! You could have *died*, for no reason. And even if not, we 
are *trapped* together now, –forever–! At least *before* you had a chance to create a 
life for your own. But *now* we’ll be forced to always be together, or else we’ll both 
slowly fade. Do you not *think* before you act?!!”/

Legolas choked back a small outcry of despair, and realised he was trembling. 
Suddenly, the bitter humiliating truth hit him. His father was rejecting him. All this 
time he had allowed himself to believe that Thranduil had loved him in return, but 
was too scared or stubborn to act on it. But now Legolas realised, – Thranduil only 
loved him as a father would a son. The king was not *in* love with him. Not like he 
was in love with his father.

“Oh gods...” Legolas whispered, horrified. Tears were running down his cheeks, and 
he tried to push himself into an upright position.

How could he be so blind? How – like his father said – could he be so *stupid*? All 
this time he had thought they had been the same, thought the same. But he was wrong. 
Only *he* had been the foolish, perverted, unworthy elf to have fallen in-love with an 
immediate family member. It wasn’t even reciprocated. All Thranduil’s actions – they 
had just been a loving father, a close friend, not a lover. And now they were stuck 
together because of the bond, one to the other, because of *him* and his childish, sick 
twisted whims. Spending everyday with the man whom he loved, but who didn’t love 
him. His father would spend every day constantly baby-sitting his unbalanced 
youngest son. 

It would have been better had they both died in the woods with those orcs.

/“Legolas? Legolas... what’s wrong?”/ Thranduil’s panicked-tinged voice came to 
Legolas’ mind. Obviously the king had picked up on his son’s distress and some of 
his thoughts, not to mention the lack of physical contact.

/“Legolas, nin-iond. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I got carried away. It’s just.... you 
shouldn’t have risked your own life to save mine. You’re more important than that. 
And I’m just upset that you are now forced to live with me, and have no other options 
for finding a better mate than myself... and... I’m sorry, Legolas, please. I can hear 
you crying...”/


“You... you’ve never loved me, like *that* before, in *that* way, have you? I always 
thought, but... Oh Valar!”

Legolas suddenly couldn’t bare it. The embarrassment, the horrible truth, the 
crushing, sinking, breaking feeling of his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He 
had to leave, he had to run, to get out of there, to get away. He whimpered and sobbed 
and moved to get off the bed and run run run run run until his legs collapsed and he 
cried himself to death, far away from here and alone.

But he found that he couldn’t move off the bed, - that he was trapped. And had he not 
been so terribly distressed and heartbroken, he would have realised how significant it 
was that his father had managed to *sit up* and wrap his arms about him. 

Thranduil didn’t really know how he had managed to move either. Perhaps he had 
been able to for a while, or perhaps the urgency of keeping his son close gave him the 
final strength to move. Either way, he now held the slender, shaking body of the most 
important person in his life close to him, and without any resignation, bent his head 
down and captured Legolas’ soft lips fiercely with his own.

Legolas’ breath hitched and his body went completely rigid. The warm, full lips of his 
father pressed possessively against his own made his mind spin and his tears stop dry. 
Thranduil sucked his son’s bottom lip into his mouth, and then flicked his tongue out, 
tentatively seeking permission to enter. Legolas thought his blood had turned to fire in 
his veins.

He opened his eyes through the kiss, and saw that his father’s were open as well. 
Piercing green locked with teary, uncertain blue. /“I love you, Legolas,”/ Thranduil 
declared heatedly, his words burning with fire and truth within their minds. /“You’re 
my heart, my soul, remember? How can I live without my soul?”/

With those words, Legolas completely broke down. The prince had tears streaming 
down his face, his body sagged gratefully against his father’s. His eyelashes dropped, 
closed against his cheeks, and he opened his mouth – and his soul – to his lover. His 
father.

The prince whimpered as his father tightened his hold on him, pulling him closer and 
pressing their mouths together feverishly. Legolas’ heart fluttered as he felt the king’s 
hot tongue plunge inside his mouth, needy and possessive. He kissed back as 
passionately as he could, his tongue sliding coyly against his father’s. Legolas was 
being overpowered, drowning in an intoxicated haze. His father loved him, was alive, 
they were bound together! And now they were kissing, really kissing...!! 

Thranduil moaned needily into the kiss, stroking the boy’s palette with hot wet 
muscle, sucking on the tip of the younger elf’s tongue. Legolas whimpered and felt 
his erection grow tight in his leggings, felt it pound and pulse pleadingly, achingly. 
He made soft imploring noises, rubbing his body languidly against his father. 
Thranduil finally broke the kiss, laughing softly at his son’s eagerness.

“You’re so passionate, pen-neth,” Thranduil said aloud, breathlessly, smiling 
adoringly at the beautiful wild creature in his arms. “I don’t know what I did to 
deserve you, but I plan to fully test just how passionate you can be.”

Legolas blushed and licked his lips, tasting his father there. He still could hardly 
comprehend what was happening, and his mind felt like a nice puddle of warm goo. 
He just wanted to snuggle back to his father and continue kissing and being kissed 
like that forever. He was about to say something of the sort when he heard someone 
clear their voice behind him.

“Ahem.” Both king and son looked up and saw Bórsael by the door. The eldest prince 
folded his arms and arched a brow. “I found Legolas’ room empty, and was just about 
to come here to tell him off for disturbing you but...” he grinned at his father and 
added, “it would seem he managed to finally find a way to wake you up, Ada. Maybe 
if I had tried kissing you like that before.... I err... don’t suppose you two want some 
time alone?” The heir smirked.

Legolas went very red, and nervously bit his lip, afraid of what his brother thought of 
him, especially as he could feel his burgeoning erection pressed into his father’s 
abdomen. Thranduil however didn’t seem the least concerned, laughing at Bórsael’s 
comment, and hugging his youngest son even tighter to him. “What a good idea, 
Bórsael,” the king winked, then looked at Legolas, and playfully kissed him on lips – 
RIGHT IN FRONT OF BÓRSAEL! Legolas pulled back, jaw dropped open, his gaze 
darting from the dancing eyes of his father, to the surprised yet amused look of his 
eldest brother. In the end, he groaned and buried his head against his father’s chest.

Thranduil grinned and rested his chin on Legolas’ golden locks. “Do you mind 
locking the door behind you on your way out, please?” he asked Bórsael softly.

Bórsael nodded. “Of course, Ada.” The prince hesitated and took a step forward. “It is 
*so* good to see you well, Ada. You had many of us worried. I’m just glad you’re 
well.... I love you. Don’t you dare scare us like that again, ok?”

Thranduil gave a great goofy grin. “You’re not getting emotional on me, are you 
Bórsael?” he teased softly, although in truth was greatly touched.

Bórsael feigned indignation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just threatening you. If you die 
on me prematurely, I’ll speak to Mandos himself to bring you back, so that I can 
personally kill you myself! Good-day. Don’t tire him out too much ’Las, I don’t want 
to be stuck with this mountain of paper-work for the rest of my life.”

Legolas groaned at the innuendo and buried closer to his father. Bórsael turned with a 
small smile tugging on his lips, and was about to leave when Thranduil stopped him. 
“Thank you,” the king said earnestly, looking directly into his eldest son’s eyes, and 
hoped that Bórsael understood. That he understood just how incredibly grateful he 
was for having such a smart, level-headed son, who looked after things so well in his 
absence, who loved and respected him in turn, and most importantly, who was 
apparently going to accept this father-son love affair without any qualms what-so-
ever. “Thank you for *everything*, nin-iond.”

Bórsael smiled softly, knowingly. He nodded, turned the latch, and closed the locked 
door behind him.


t.b.c in part b. 
~Beta’d by Jilly and Mawgy, and conceptually beta’d by Aliaself. –Ta guys!
Naurcamland = OC, roughly translates to ‘Fire Palm/Hand’
Ada = Father
Pen-neth = young one 
Nin-iond = my son
Nin-ind = my heart 
Mandos = God/Valar of Death




‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna
~Part 20-b ~

Legolas waited until his brother had left the room before looking back up from his 
father’s chest. “Ada?” he asked softly, recapturing the elf’s attention. The king looked 
down and saw that his son’s gaze still swam with uncertainty. It was clear now to 
Legolas that Thranduil loved him, but was that enough if the stubborn old king wasn’t 
going to act on those feelings? And yet just now his father had kissed him with 
Bórsael looking on. Did he dare hope? “I... I didn’t think you would allow this,” 
Legolas said, meaning their relationship.

Thranduil smiled and brushed a hand against his son’s cheek. “I’ve always loved you, 
Legolas,” Thranduil said softly. “And I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I 
just didn’t want to admit it to myself, because I thought it was wrong. But now I 
realise... How can love be wrong if we both want it, need it, feel it? And we are not 
hurting anyone, except ourselves in denying our love. Somehow I know now that the 
Valar would not condemn this; deny us this, our love. The only thing I fear is that I 
might have to spend one day of my life without you by my side.”

Legolas felt new tears well in his eyes, but he did not care. He launched himself 
forward, pushing them both back against the mattress, prince atop king. His lips found 
his father’s, and he kissed his Ada with all the desperation he could muster.

He felt the blood roar in his ears; felt his skin prickle as his father’s arms wrapped 
tightly about him, and started stroking down his back. The heat fled rapidly towards 
his sex, still hard from their kiss before. He felt so overwhelmed with love, and it 
seemed as if a great weight had been lifted; their bond crackled and strengthened, and 
his member began to pulse like a second heart. “I love you too, Thranduil,” Legolas 
breathed huskily against the king’s lips. “More than you could know.”

Thranduil smiled and rubbed his cheek against his son’s. “Oh, I think I know fairly 
well,” he purred, and reached a hand down. Legolas moaned and his hips jerked 
forwards as he felt light fingers caress his backside through skin-tight leggings.

He buried his head against the crook of his father’s shoulder as the older elf continued 
to stroke his lower back and round mounds of flesh. Legolas felt as if every nerve 
ending were on fire, sizzling, crying out to be touched. The light touches on his 
sensitive rear were sending whirls of hot blood to fill his throbbing penis; his sac 
crawled up, tight and heavy beneath. And he was with his father, who loved him and 
wanted to be with him. Everything was so sinfully good and perfect...

“Make love to me, Ada,” Legolas moaned softly against his father’s ear, his hard 
slender cock pressed to his father’s hip. “Please, now. Not because you have to, or 
have mistaken my identity. But because you want to. And because *I* want to... 
Make love to me, please... I want to feel you inside me, I want to feel you love me...”

Thranduil moaned at the words and felt goose-bumps breakout over his skin. How did 
he deserve such a perfect creature as this? The king pulled Legolas’ mouth to his own, 
kissing the boy’s tender lips over and over. “Are you sure, nin-ind?” he asked, 
wanting Legolas to be absolutely certain about this. After all of Legolas’ traumatic 
sexual experiences in the past few months, he wanted this to be perfect.

Legolas moaned, and kissed his father back hard, his patience running low. The last 
few weeks had been fine agony for him. Locked in his room, separated from his 
bonded mate... At night, the prince had lain in bed, reaching out to his father through 
their link, and would wrap a hand around his painfully hard member, stroking himself 
to bitter, blissful release.

Legolas knew that *this* was *exactly* what he wanted. And he’d be damned if he 
was going to wait for another disaster to come along and ruin this opportunity now. 
He needed this, craved this. Now.

Legolas bit his father’s shoulder rather hard. “Stop talking and start doing,” he begged 
with a pitiful moan, already feeling hard enough to burst. He had been starved of his 
father’s touch for so long now, that those few strokes on his firm backside were 
driving him insane. Not to mention the feel of his father beneath him, the smell of 
skin, the silky blond hair against his face, the heat, the kisses, the voice, and the large 
hardness pressing into his own stomach was almost too much to bear.

Thranduil shivered as white teeth bit into him. “I didn’t know you were a biter,” the 
king teased, and slipped both his large hands under the taut fabric of Legolas’ 
leggings, touching soft firm naked flesh with slightly calloused palms.

Legolas yelped and mewled needfully, beginning to rub himself hard against his 
father’s body as his buttocks were lightly squeezed and caressed. “Ada please!” he 
begged, his mouth panting hot, moist air against the bite-mark he’d left. “I... I can’t.... 
if you keep... I wont....”

Legolas couldn’t finish his sentence. He was so amazingly hard, and with the fabric of 
his leggings being stretched and slightly pushed down to accommodate his father’s 
hands, his cock was trapped, maddeningly constricted, throbbing and weeping with 
agonized need...

Thranduil seemed to understand him, however; perhaps read his thoughts through 
their bond. “I know you might not last long if I keep this up. But who said you were 
only going to come once tonight?”

Legolas whimpered, burying his head tighter against his father’s shoulder. He 
couldn’t think, could only feel and sense; his father around him, on him, and inside 
him in his mind.

The king grinned mischievously and started to stroke the soft underside of Legolas’ 
globes with his fingers, ever teasing. “First,” he whispered in dark, honey-dripped 
tones, “I’m going to tease you to the brink. Let you get so wonderfully hard that you 
wont be able to stop yourself when you come....”

Legolas’ hips bucked, and he whispered nonsense, trembling unbearably. 

Thranduil went on. “Then, when you’ve soaked your leggings, I’m going to peel off 
all your clothing, and touch and suck and lick and nibble every bit of your skin, every 
single *inch* of you. You will grow so hard and swollen again, and I’ll suck you into 
my mouth until you want to come again. But I wont let you. I’ll stretch your little 
backside with my fingers until you can’t even think, can’t breath, and your cock is 
leaking, dripping for me. Then I’ll slide inside you, make love to you...”

Legolas gasped and clenched his fists into the sheets. “Ada, please...!” he whined, his 
hips jerking and rubbing fast against the king’s strong thigh. His cock throbbed and 
ached and leaked juices onto his constricting leggings. He was on edge, going to come 
so soon...!

Thranduil ignored his pleas, grinning devilishly. “You’ll come almost as soon as I 
start thrusting inside you,” he purred. “But I will make such sweet, long, torturous 
love to you, that you’ll grow hard and come all over again, and I’ll milk every last 
drop from you that I can...”

“Ada!!” Legolas wailed. “Valar, Valar please!” So close, so agonizingly close. He 
needed to come so badly; felt so good, so torturous!

Thranduil planted soft kisses up the side of Legolas’ throat, and at the same time as he 
sucked in the overly-sensitive tip of his son’s ear, he moved one of his hands down 
and lightly stroked the hard, tight sac beneath Legolas’ cock. Legolas gasped and 
cried out as his balls were fondled, and his ear nub was sucked into tight, wet heat. He 
came inside his leggings; warm white sticky fluid spurting from his length and 
dribbling down, thick and messy. 

The prince collapsed on top of his father, a limp pliable mound of young elf. 
Thranduil moved his hands from out beneath his son’s pants, and moved them under 
the boy’s top to stroke Legolas’ spine soothingly, and to calm himself down in the 
process. The experience of mentally sharing Legolas’ orgasm through their link had 
left Thranduil both oddly sated and yet feverishly aroused. The king continued 
suckling the tip of the prince’s ear for a while as the boy came down from his high, 
his body still faintly shaking.

“You ok?” Thranduil asked after a little while, finally letting the ear go and stopping 
his petting.

Legolas made a strange noise and nuzzled closer. “Don’t stop...” he murmured, as he 
moved one of his hands up and started carding it through the king’s silken locks. 
Thranduil laughed softly. 

“You’re still trembling,” the king said tenderly, and wrapped his arms tight about the 
slender elf.

“Mmmmmmm...” Legolas could only answer.

“And your pants are a mess.”

“Mmmmmmm...”

“We’d better take them off you.”

“........... ok.......”  If anything, Legolas’ trembling intensified. Hew was both excited 
and a bit anxious now.

Thranduil smiled and kissed his son on the top of the head, able to sense most of what 
Legolas felt through their bond. “It’s ok, my love. I would never hurt you.”

Legolas gave a great lazy smile as he looked up at his father, and planted an adoring 
kiss on the king’s lips. “I like that new nickname,” he said coyly. “‘My love’.”

Thranduil grinned and started to roll them over. “I have another one,” he said huskily. 
Legolas quirked an eyebrow as he was manipulated onto his back, and his father 
disentangled himself from the quilt.

“Oh, and what would that be?”

Thranduil gave a predatory grin, slipping a hand underneath Legolas’ tunic. “‘My 
beautiful-soon-to-be-very-sexed-out love’,” Thranduil said, and finished by lightly 
pinching a nipple between two skilful fingers.

Legolas hiccoughed and his eyes fluttered half-shut. He shifted slightly on the 
mattress, feeling new interest grow as a pleasant ache built in his loins. His father’s 
fingers stroked and rubbed and toyed with his hard nipple, sending delicious webs of 
pleasure down to his cock.

“How do you like the sounds of that name?” Thranduil purred.

Legolas’ lips parted, and he licked them as his nipple was played with. “I like the 
sounds of that very much...” he said breathlessly, arching his back slightly from the 
bed.

Thranduil hummed and moved his hand down, and tugged on his son’s top. Legolas 
raised his arms so that his father could slip the tunic over his head. But the king had 
other plans, and stopped halfway through, trapping the boy’s arms and face beneath 
the cloth. The prince tried to wriggle his way out of his imprisonment, but suddenly 
froze when he felt a hot hand press to his groin. 

“We may as well take these leggings off at the same time,” Legolas heard his father 
purr, and suddenly the prince felt like he couldn’t breathe. He knew his father had 
seen him naked so many times now it didn’t matter, but this was different. This was 
their first real time together, and his father was about to undo the laces of his leggings 
and see him completely naked, vulnerable, aroused. And he couldn’t even watch 
because of his shirt over his face. He panted, gasped for air against his top, his fingers 
curling in trepidation and his body shaking once more as he felt the ties of his pants 
being slowly pulled open.

He whimpered when he felt the air kiss his half-hard, still wet shaft, and the anxiety of 
what his father was going to do next was driving the prince into quick insanity. 
“Ada...!” he begged, his voice quavering.

Suddenly the king was next to him, - had rolled the shirt up to reveal his mouth and 
nose, and then Legolas felt hot desperate lips and tongue press to his, and possess his 
own. The prince moaned and pressed up against his lover, wrapping a leg over his 
father’s hip, and began to rub his leaking aching cock against his father’s thigh.

The king pulled back and Legolas mewled in disapproval. He reached up for more 
kisses and body contact, but his father only pushed him back against the bed.

“Tut, tut,” Thranduil admonished playfully, his fingers now circling the previously 
neglected nipple. “You’re making this very difficult for me to carry out my plan...”

Legolas stuck out his tongue, then raised his hips. “Melme, saes....” he implored, his 
length throbbing painfully.

Thranduil hushed his son, making soothing noises as he slipped his fingers beneath 
the band of the leggings, and began to pull them slowly off. Legolas hissed and lifted 
his hips to help the process along. When he felt himself completely revealed, he bit 
his lip in trepidation as he wondered what his father would do next. He lay there, 
waiting, feeling and hearing nothing, becoming nervous.

He nearly yelled in shock when he felt his erect nipple being sucked into his father’s 
hot, wet mouth. Thranduil gave a dark amused laugh, and continued to lave at the nub 
of sensitive flesh. Legolas writhed and bucked and purred in pleasure, his length now 
completely hard and rubbing wet trails against his stomach.

“Mmmmmm.... ah... ai! Ada.... please.....”

Thranduil hummed and flicked the raspberry nipple between his teeth with the tip of 
his tongue. He delighted in the sounds his son made, and felt a powerful pride that he 
was causing them. Legolas was so sensitive and eager and stunning in his passion.

Legolas began to whimper as his nipple was continuously teased, the rest of his body 
drawn tight like a bow and begging for similar attention. He felt dizzy when his 
father’s hot sinful lips moved up and kissed that spot where ear and jaw met.

The king trailed soft, loving kisses all the way down the underside of Legolas’ sharp 
jaw line, nuzzling down his neck, kissing and sucking upon the boy’s collarbone. The 
prince made soft humming noises, sensing the mood of their lovemaking slow down; 
becoming less wild and more intimate. He sighed, feeling hot liquid fire run 
underneath his skin, making him relaxed, warm and clammy like on a summers day.

“Ada...” Legolas breathed out reverentially, as his father’s mouth loved and explored 
his throat, the large soft calloused hands exploring what his lips and tongue could not. 
The younger elf arched up as teasing hands trailed down his sides, rested at his waist 
for a moment, and then moved slowly down, fingers teasing his backside, thumbs 
massaging the line where pelvis met thigh. His father’s mouth started to move down 
too, following a slow path down his chest, briefly kissing each nipple as he came to it, 
licking along the ridges of muscle and ribs. Legolas’ breath came faster as he was 
slowly caressed into madness. He could feel heat rippling from his father’s body. The 
king’s mouth burnt his skin pleasantly, and the hands left tingling blisters of surreal 
pleasure in their wake. 

Legolas’ member ached constantly, a dull yet insistent throb that was becoming 
harder to ignore, especially as he realised his father’s mouth was moving gradually 
down, down down... kissing his torso now.... nibbling a ticklish spot above his waist... 
lightly biting his hip bone... then moving across, back to his bellybutton, circling the 
entrance with the tip of his tongue, and then flicking that hot, wicked muscle inside.

Legolas cried out softly and jerked off the bed. He could feel Thranduil smile against 
his stomach, just before his father plunged his tongue inside his naval once more, 
leaving it in there and teased the sensitive hole. Legolas mewled and threw his head to 
the side, gasping for air. His erection leaked several drops in pleasure that glistened 
on its red, swollen head. Then Legolas felt his father’s mouth move down his 
stomach, his hands gently gripping his hips, and the boy couldn’t deny what was 
about to happen next. An imaginary coiled-spring wound up tight deep in his gut, 
ready to explode; a sickening, giddy fear swept through him. He was going to pass 
out.

“Ada! Please, wait, stop!” Legolas babbled, his body suddenly shaking violently. He 
felt his father stop, and confusion emanate from him via their link. 

“What’s wrong, nin-ind?” The king asked, concern clearly in his voice.

Legolas shifted on the mattress, feeling incredibly self-conscious. “I don’t... I want 
to...” Legolas struggled to find words to adequately describe what he was feeling, but 
it was hard when his pulsating organ was begging to be touched, anyhow, anyway, 
just now, now, for-the-love-of-the-Valar NOW! “Its too much...” he whispered, his 
voice breaking in arousal. It felt too much like their first time – him blindfolded and 
gagged in this very bed, and the excitement of not knowing what to expect next was 
just too much to bear. 

Thranduil understood him. He moved up the bed and stripped off the tunic, revealing 
his son’s flushed face and releasing his arms. With his freedom, Legolas wrapped his 
arms tight around his father’s neck, and pulled the elder elf down to his lips for a 
mind-numbing, tongue-warring, soul-stealing kiss. When they pulled apart, Thranduil 
was also panting heavily.

Legolas smiled. “Thank you,” he said. 

Thranduil smiled back. “Most welcome,” he replied. “Anything else?” 

Legolas grinned. “Actually, since you mention it, you could hurry up and take your 
clothes off and then touch me before I faint.” He looked up at his father under hooded 
lids, rubbing his throbbing length against the king’s hip. “Then you can show me what 
its really like to have sex with one you love. I want to feel you move inside me, 
Ada...”

Thranduil made a small desperate noise, and fiercely kissed his son. When he pulled 
back, Legolas was giving him a smug, cheeky grin. The king growled and pushed the 
boy back against the mattress, then quickly stripped off his nightclothes.

Legolas watched as his father wrenched the gown over his head, and marvelled at the 
movement of powerful muscles under lightly tanned skin (he tried not to think too 
much of the great scar on his father’s side). His eyes then trailed lower, over a well 
built torso, strong sculpted thighs... and a very eager arousal, standing hard and proud. 
The boy swallowed and tried to remind himself that *that* had already successfully 
been inside of him, twice before. 

The king moved gracefully back onto the bed, giving Legolas’ lips a quick 
encouraging kiss. He moved down the smaller elf’s chest, planting brief kisses on his 
way down, until he reached the hard length of flesh nestled restlessly against the 
boy’s body. Thranduil looked up at Legolas.

Legolas looked down at his father, breathing hard and shallowly. Maybe he had been 
wrong to ask to see this. This was much, much worse! Watching his father watching 
him, and looking like a ravenous wolf. Pure, terrifying adrenalin coursed through 
Legolas’ body in strong waves, making his stomach flutter and his member ache. His 
father gave him a predatory look, and bent his head, but just before his lips touched 
burning heat, he moved his head and kissed the base of Legolas red shaft.

The prince moaned in frustration, and his eyes half fluttered closed. The feel of those 
soft lips against the root of his engorged heat sent a small explosion of desire and 
tortured ecstasy running up and down the length of his cock, and right down to his 
testicles. 

The king continued planting soft kisses about the base of his son’s erection, smelling 
the scent of Legolas, like innocence and warm cream. Legolas shuddered and 
threaded his fingers into the silken, golden mane of his father’s hair.

“Ada!.... too much.... ai, Gods, it burns!!” It was a pain that tasted so sweet – he 
needed more, needed it to end, despaired that it wouldn’t last. 

Thranduil waited until his son stopped writhing; waited until he had caught his lover’s 
gaze once more. When Legolas looked down, with trust, love, and glazed agonized 
passion dancing in his eyes, the elder elf reopened their mental communication, and 
as he swallowed the entire shaft down his throat, he said, /“I love you.”/

Legolas did scream then. His hips wanted to thrust a foot up into the air, but his 
father’s strong arms kept him pinned to the bed. He moaned and thrashed about, his 
fingers clenching tight in his father’s locks as that sinful mouth sucked his swollen 
member hard and deep inside.

And just as suddenly it stopped. Legolas whimpered in what felt like pain. He forced 
his eyes to focus and look down his body, to where his swollen, wet member stood 
pleadingly, minus one very nice mouth. Thranduil regarded him, like a giant cat. 
Legolas knew there was more torment to come, and collapsed back onto the mattress, 
helpless to speed along his torture.

Thranduil grinned darkly at seeing his son’s frustrated resignation. His eyes were 
drawn back to the beautiful, slender shaft that pulsed enticingly before him, wet with 
precum and his own saliva. The king reached out one curious finger, touching a pearly 
drop that was pooling at the tip of Legolas’ erection, and smoothed it about the head. 
Legolas gave a shuddering moan at the tiny torturous caress. 

Thranduil let his fingers lightly trail down the length... move down and fondle the 
tightly drawn sac, before running back up... pressing and playing with the loose 
foreskin over the shiny sensitive head. Thranduil then followed a path up the 
underside of Legolas’ arousal, following a throbbing vein with the tip of his tongue, 
until he reached the tiny hole and forced the tip inside. Legolas cried out and bucked. 
The king then wrapped his fingers about the base of the cock, stroking upwards in a 
firm grip, squeezing as he reached the head to watch more liquid spill out. Legolas let 
out a guttural moan.

Thranduil set a pattern. He would draw the boy’s cock into his mouth, sucking upon it 
like hard, raw candy. Then he would let the length slip from his mouth, and blow 
teasing cool air over the head; trail feather touches up the underside, and chase the 
salty fluid which dribbled down the shaft to the testicles with his tongue... Soon the 
king’s sole pleasure was to take the length into his mouth, and suck it slowly or with 
desperate, loving abandon...

Legolas struggled to draw breath. His lungs burnt, his body burnt, and his cock felt 
like it was on fire. His father swallowed it down his throat, slow and deep. It was 
almost too much to watch – too much stimulation to see his wet, pounding length slip 
out from his father’s lips until only the sensitive head was encapsulated in scorching 
heat, and teased by a wicked, clever tongue; sliding and flicking around the smooth 
stretched skin, tormenting that tiny, weeping hole which dripped cream. Then the king 
would slide the length back inside his mouth, sucking hard and determined, laving 
with hot muscle, massaging with bruised lips.

Legolas could feel his second orgasm approaching, intense and unmerciful. He 
whimpered as his mind spun, all the blood it seemed having rushed to his length; his 
sac plump and feeling ready to burst, growing so achingly tight.

He made a soft yelping sound as he felt his cock start to pound violently, and he could 
feel the climax ready to break free as his father sucked and sucked.....

/“I felt you, you know,”/ Thranduil said sinuously through their bond, his tongue 
lapping about the sensitive length. /“At night when you touched yourself and thought 
of me, I knew. You didn’t think I did, but I was there with you, through our link. I felt 
you pumping your cock, coming in your bed, as you fantasised about me taking 
you....”/

The words sent him over the edge. Legolas whimpered as a flush of heat pooled in his 
balls; his father gripped his testicles and gently squeezed, sucking the very soul from 
his son’s member as the prince climaxed.

Legolas came, screaming, his father keeping him pinned as best as possible as the boy 
thrashed, and he drank down his son’s seed, continuing to stroke and lightly pull on 
the prince’s testes. The younger elf felt overwhelming draining pleasure run all up and 
down his spine, and shoot out in impossibly hard waves down through and out his 
cock, over and over and over...

Legolas blanked out after that. He didn’t really feel his father lap up all the creamy 
fluid from his length and then kiss him softly on the mouth. Nor did he register being 
rolled over onto his stomach, or notice his father leave him momentarily to find some 
lubrication.

He did start to come back to his senses when he felt tender, butterfly kisses being 
bestowed on his back and shoulder, and a gentle, slicked finger slide slowly and deep 
inside his passage.

He shifted and made himself more comfortable, spreading his legs a little wider to 
accommodate the preparation. It still felt a little weird to have something moving *in 
there*, but his father was incredibly gentle and had used lots of ointment. Not to 
mention he was utterly and completely relaxed.

“Ada?” Legolas said sleepily, becoming more used to the intruding finger.

“Mmmm?” Thranduil replied, his left side pressed snug against his son as he moved 
his middle finger about in Legolas’ hole. He kissed his son’s cheek adoringly.

“I though’ you weren’ gonna let me come jus’ then,” he mumbled into the pillow, his 
eyes mostly closed. He started trying to push back against the digit inside him.

Thranduil laughed softly. “I thought it would be too cruel if I stopped you. I could try 
again though, if that’s what you really want?”

Legolas screwed up his face. “Nooooooo...!” he protested lazily. He didn’t think he 
could go through that torment again, only to not be able to come at the end. At least, 
not for a few hours.

The king laughed again, and stroked his son’s hair. “Alright then, love. Are you still 
up for this?” he asked, as he carefully, slowly, slipped another finger inside, praying 
for his own rock-solid sake that the answer would be yes.

Legolas tensed briefly, and then allowed himself to relax as he was stroked *from the 
inside*. “Mhmmmm...” he purred, pushing back in a slow rhythm against the 
stretching, searching fingers. But what were they searching f– ?

“Oh!” Legolas jerked, as the bundle of nerves deep inside him were stroked. He’d 
almost forgotten about that.

The king smiled and rubbed the spot again. Legolas gave a long, deep moan to the 
stimulus this time, and started raising his hips and pushing back more insistently. 
“You make the most sexiest sounds, lend-ind,” Thranduil purred, and started trailing 
more kisses down his son’s back.

Neither were in a hurry just now. Thranduil was very hard at this point, but there was 
no way he would rush things just for his own gratification. Not when it came to 
Legolas. After a time, he tenderly pushed a third finger inside the taut ring of muscle. 


Legolas hissed slightly and fisted his hands, before again finally relaxing into the 
intrusion. Eventually he moaning and mumbling incoherent words. 

Thranduil smiled, amused at the way he was slowly undoing his son again. He licked 
up the side of Legolas’ ear. “Maybe one day soon you’ll have to show me what 
exactly you like to do when you touch yourself...” Thranduil purred, referring back to 
those times Legolas had touched himself at night and Thranduil had known.

Legolas groaned at the suggestion, heat going straight to his groin. His father 
chuckled. “Or,” the king added with dark, silky tones. “I could try and guess...” He 
moved into a better position, reaching out under the slender body to wrap his fingers 
tenderly about Legolas’ flax penis, stroking soft flesh and oiled passage in rhythm. 

Legolas sighed and mewled into the twin pleasure points, slowly thrusting into his 
father’s hand, and back onto the three large fingers stretching him wide.

“I love you,” Legolas murmured, still relaxed but feeling a lot more awake, and 
increasingly aroused.

Thranduil made a soft sound. “Are you saying that because you mean it, or because 
you want me to hurry up and have you?”

Legolas giggled, although it hitched halfway through as his prostrate was rubbed 
again. “Both,” he replied, sounding quite breathless now.

Thranduil slipped his fingers from Legolas’ front and back, and started to apply some 
oil onto his length. He stopped when he sensed a slightly mournful air emanate from 
his son via their link. “Legolas?” he asked in concern.

Legolas looked off in the distance. “I was just wondering...” he said quietly. “You’re 
not going to leave me, are you Ada? I don’t think I could take being rejected by you 
again...”

Thranduil felt his heart bleed. He lent over and rolled his son onto his back, so 
Legolas was forced to face him. “Look at me!” the king commanded in an emotional 
tone, when the boy still tried to evade his gaze.

Legolas steeled himself and looked up, hoping he hadn’t made his father angry by his 
questions. But what he saw was devotion and understanding, and not a little self-
loathing too, as Thranduil realised it was his own fault that Legolas had some doubts 
about this relationship. Thranduil smiled as best as he could. “Listen to me, Legolas. I 
have been more than a fool recently, and if I had died it would have only served me 
right. But since the Valar have allowed me to have a second chance at life, I will not 
screw it up. I will not screw *our* relationship up. I love you more than anything and 
anyone, and I know you love me too. So I’m not going to let some stupid prejudices 
or fears get in the way of that. I’ll *never* leave you, understand? I am so happy I 
could be bound to someone like you. The only thing that scares me is the thought I 
might have to spend one day parted from your side,” he smiled and kissed his son 
tenderly on the lips.

Legolas kissed him back ardently, closing his eyes to shut away the tears threatening 
to fall. He wrapped his legs about his father’s hips to bring the elf closer to him, and 
revelled at the feel of the king’s warm body as it pressed down on top of him. “I love 
you too, Ada. I know you think I’m still too young, and that I’d be wasting my life 
with you. But you’re wrong. Any day I am not with you, *that* is a waste. I love 
you....”

Thranduil smiled adoringly down at his son, stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb. 
“It wont always be easy,” he warned.

Legolas shrugged his shoulders. “Who cares, as long as I’m in your arms. You are my 
father and my soul mate.... Please have me, Ada. I need you, I need you so much....”

Thranduil nodded. “I need you too, meleth,’ he said, kissing Legolas passionately on 
the lips, and moving his hands down to the boy’s waist. Lifting his son’s hips, he 
gently began to push his sex inside. The ring of muscle resisted for a moment, before 
finally giving way and allowing the head of Thranduil’s length inside. The king 
buried his face against the crook of his son’s shoulder.

Legolas’ made a small sound as he was penetrated, wrapping his arms about his 
father’s back and neck. He screwed his eyes shut as the elder elf slowly began to push 
inside, and he did his best to fight the marginal pain and move his hips up to help.

When Thranduil was all the way inside, his lifted his head and stared into Legolas’ 
eyes. Legolas looked back, a slow smile forming on his lips. The king grinned back, 
and suddenly everything seemed perfectly, joyously fine.

Thranduil paid careful attention to the feelings he could sense from Legolas through 
their bond; knew when his son felt comfortable enough for him to start moving back 
out until only the large, pounding head of his erection sat nestled inside Legolas, 
before slowly moving back in.

Legolas fought the slight pain by latching onto the sensations his father was feeling – 
the swollen cock being sucked and squeezed tight into his soft stretched passage, 
which quivered and constricted deliciously about him. Legolas’ own erection began to 
pound in pleasure, begging for someone to touch it and ease the burning ache. 

Legolas’ breath shuddered as he felt his father’s fingers lightly stroke his weeping 
cock from root to tip. Rub the head of his erection with the pad of his thumb, swirling 
the drops of pearly fluid there, and then sliding back down the length. Somehow it felt 
ten times as good, when inside he was being greatly stretched and filled by his 
father’s pulsing length, throbbing inside of him, burning him and possessing him.

Thranduil kept the pace slow, sliding in and out to a delicious rhythm, allowing them 
both to feel and experience every tiny sensation.

Legolas gasped loudly as his father’s cock rubbed against that spot of pleasure inside 
him. Thranduil chuckled, deep and sexy, and when he thrust in next, aimed for the 
same spot again. Legolas cried out and arched up. The king rubbed Legolas’ pleasure 
gland several times in a row with his cock until the boy was delirious, panting for air, 
his member weeping hard and swollen in the king’s skilful fingers. But then Thranduil 
deliberately wouldn’t aim for the prostate for several more long thrusts, giving his son 
just long enough to come down and beg for more.

“Ada... Ada please.... again, felt so good... need you, please... faster!”

But Thranduil would just kiss his son, and continue with his agonisingly slow pace. 
Inching in... in... in.... all the way in...... pausing. Pulling out.... out.... almost 
completely out. Stopping. Then sliding in.....

Legolas mewled and tried to thrust up, quicken the pace, but his father had him 
pinned down securely. Legolas whimpered and moaned, threw his head to the side as 
his body trembled for more, more of his father... more of everything.

His cock was constantly stroked with light, teasing fingers, following trails up the 
sensitive underside of his shaft, tickling, teasing the underside of the head of skin, 
massaging the tiny hole, coaxing out more drops of fluid. Legolas gasped for air, but 
was often denied it as his father plunged his tongue inside his mouth. Owned him 
completely, stroking his aching organ, thrusting deep into his passage...

Eventually Legolas exhausted himself with his writhing. Fell limp against the mattress 
and just allowed himself to be teased and fucked into oblivion by the only person who 
really mattered in his life.

At this surrender, Thranduil planted his mouth down onto the boy’s throat, started 
sucking hard as he began to pump his hips inside the boy a little faster, a little deeper. 
Legolas mewled encouragement, one hand clutched to his father’s shoulder, the other 
moving down to grab the king’s backside.

When he could draw breath, Legolas whispered little words of desperation into his 
father’s ear. “Aye.... yes.... please...... so good.... more.... Ada..... love you..... 
harder..... saes....” but soon he couldn’t spare breath even for that, as his father began 
pumping into his tight passage harder and faster, and curled his hand firmer about his 
son’s length.

Legolas arched into the pleasure, bit down onto his father’s shoulder as he was 
overwhelmed by everything. He could feel the end drawing closer, feel tight pressure 
build deep in his sac and start to pound and throb in his cock as it was almost brutally 
pumped by his father’s hand. He could hear his father’s breath growing shorter, more 
ragged. He felt the hard, thick length inside him swell impossibly more so.

They were no longer thinking separately. Their minds had linked together in pleasure, 
passion and sensation, and all they could think of was how good and right it all felt, 
just like that, forever. But it couldn’t last. They were going to come. They were 
building up to something, something sweet and pure and oh-so achingly beautiful. It 
was like they had reached some edge and were teetering, waiting for that final push 
into giddy, topsy-turvy oblivion. The pressure was building, their members were 
being squeezed, pulled, constricted about beyond endurance. Their bodies were on 
fire which rushed about their groins and hearts and mouths which were now locked 
desperately to each other.

Legolas came after a few more thrusts, his body contracted as he fell over the edge 
and came hot and heavy all over his father’s palm, spiralling down down into blissful 
warm non-existence, his father by his side. His passage clamped unbearably about his 
father’s length and virtually sucked the king’s overdue orgasm from him. Thranduil 
cried out as his seed ripped through him and pumped into his son’s body. Legolas 
whimpered as he was filled with searing liquid, the hand about his member milking 
him for ever drop of his own orgasm until he felt so utterly empty and used and so 
wonderfully, exhaustedly sated. 

His father collapsed on top of him, panting against his shoulder. Legolas half-closed 
his eyes in sleep, wrapped his arms about his Ada. He had almost drifted off before 
Thranduil found the strength to push himself up. Legolas felt soft lips kiss his own, 
felt his father disappointingly slide out from him, and then spooned up behind.

“Love you always, nin-iond. I’ll never let you go,” was the last thing the prince heard 
before he succumbed to sleep, finally knowing that everything was going to be ok.



To Be Continued in the Epilogue.
Ada = Father 
Pen-neth = young one 
Nin-iond = my son
Nin-ind = my heart 
Melme = love
Saes = please 
Lend-ind = sweet heart
Meleth = beloved
Conceptually Beta’d by Aliaself – Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!
Grammatically beta’d by Jilly. Thanks hon! *huggles*
Proof read by Mawgy. *squishes*

LJ Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/
Art Page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/
Email: bone_fauna@yahoo.com.au




‘Bared Identities’, by Bone Fauna 
~Part 21. Epilogue.~ 

Legolas slowly came awake to the feel of someone stroking his hair, and down the 
spine of his back. The prince’s eyes gradually came into focus, and he blinked them to 
chase away the last visions of sleep. On the side of the bed sat the culprit who had 
woken him, petting him like some giant cat.

“Am I your pet now, Ada?” Legolas asked, stretching out on the mattress and doing 
little to destroy his feline image.

Thranduil laughed softly. “You have been for some time now, nin-melme,” the king 
said huskily, and Legolas purred in delight, snuggling closer to his father’s form.

“Why did you wake me so early?” the prince pouted, nuzzling his father’s thigh.

Thranduil smiled down affectionately at his lover and son, now stroking the boy’s 
cheek. “Because it is the day of your majority, and I couldn’t wait another moment 
before giving you your present!”

Legolas laughed, and rolled onto his back, head half-hanging over the bed, sprawled 
and naked and utterly beautiful. He had grown taller and developed more muscles 
over the past few years, but still was a rather slender golden creature. “You actually 
remembered?” he teased, watching as his father crossed the room to pull something 
out from a closet.

Thranduil made a rude noise. “Of course I did! Especially since with your fiftieth 
year, I won’t feel so guilty every time I make love to you.”

Legolas grinned predatorily. “Oh, but I love it when you’re the big bad king, fucking 
his helpless, underage son,” he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes as he recounted one of 
their role-playing evenings.

Thranduil had the dignity to blush. “Do you want your present or not?” he asked, 
pretending to get huffy.

Legolas giggled and slid back around until he sat on the edge of mattress. “Ok, ok,” 
he said with a smile, watching as his father – disappointingly clad in leggings – 
present him with a large package. His eyes ran over it with curious excitement, before 
he carefully unwrapped the paper and cloth to reveal...

“Bow and arrows!” Legolas cried out in absolute delight, not only because archery 
was his favourite activity, but because his own bow was severely overused, and this 
one was of the most unbelievable quality. The bow itself was made of the finest, 
darkest wood, polished and shaped beautifully. The arrows were all weighted and 
aligned to the finest degree, and were snugly nestled inside a beautiful woven elven 
quiver. Everything was stunning, down to the smallest engraving and fitting. It must 
have taken ages to make, and an awful amount of gold to commission. 

Legolas looked up at the love of his life, with joy and unending adoration shining in 
his bright blue eyes. “Oh Ada... Thank you! It’s perfect! I have to go out and try them 
now!!”

Thranduil laughed and placed a calming hand on Legolas’ shoulder before he could 
rush off. “Not just yet, nin-ind,” he soothed. “Not only are you not dressed, but there 
is something else, a little special, that I want to give you.”

“Another present?” Legolas squeaked, feeling completely overwhelmed. He sat back 
down on the bed, putting the quiver of arrows aside, but not yet able to make his 
hands part with the beautifully crafted bow.

Thranduil grinned as he pulled out a large velvet box from his bedside table. “Yes, 
another present,” he confirmed, coming and kneeling down in front of Legolas on the 
ground. 

Legolas shook his head. “Ada, you’re spoiling me. I’m no longer a child.”

Thranduil smiled. “Me? Spoiling? Never!! Besides, you’ll always be my child, and I 
love giving gifts to those I love, regardless of their age.” Legolas grinned. “Anyway,” 
Thranduil continued, his fingers caressing the box he still held in his hands. “I debated 
long and hard over what gifts to get you. I would ask myself – ‘what could I give my 
son for his coming of age?’ And thus, I decided upon the perfect bow I know you so 
longed to have. But then I asked myself – ‘what would I give my *lover* on his 
birthday??’ And so...” Thranduil opened the box.

Legolas lent over and looked inside. He caught his breath. Inside sat the most 
stunning piece of jewellery he had ever seen. It was a delicate crown head-piece of 
twisted silver and gold, embedded with small, tasteful emeralds to signify the house 
of Mirkwood, but Legolas recognised it as something more. It was very similar, 
although not quite the same, as the head-piece he had been shown as a child as 
belonging to his mother. It was the crown for Mirkwood’s second ruler.

Legolas gripped his bow with white-knuckled hands, and looked up from the piece 
into his father’s eyes, confused and a little scared.

Thranduil looked back at his son, his gaze never wavering. “You are both my son and 
lover, Legolas. We have been bound now for almost four years, and the people have 
accepted our relationship – once they learnt the truth – fairly well. But I want to make 
things official. I want you to be my husband. I’ve wanted you to be my husband for 
years, but I thought it best to wait until you became an adult, and now that your 
majority is here, I can’t wait another moment. I want you to sit by my side. Please 
marry me, my golden nymph?”

Thranduil took the piece of jewellery, knelt up and tenderly placed it over his son’s 
silken head. He then lowered his gaze from forehead down, to Legolas’ own eyes. 
They were face to face, their noses almost touching. The king wasn’t sure what his 
lover was going to say – the emotions he could feel through their bond were jumbled 
and confused. Legolas looked down at the bow in his hand, and carefully put it aside 
on the bed. Thranduil couldn’t help feeling a sinking, gut-churning fear build deep in 
his stomach.

When Legolas looked back up, he was crying, and Thranduil was about to try and 
take it all back, when he was suddenly flung back against the floor, a hungry 
passionate mouth latched on to his own lips. Thranduil closed his eyes, relief and joy 
expanding inside him like a great balloon that felt ready to burst, and he kissed his son 
back.

Legolas wrapped himself about his father, and felt the elder elf do the same as they 
kissed each other in a desperate, adoring frenzy. He had never felt more happy. Who 
would have thought that one mistake four years ago would have led him to this very 
moment?!

Suddenly there was a cacophony of noise as several persistent and excited fists bashed 
on the door. Legolas and Thranduil looked up at that noise – the prince in surprise, the 
king in dawning amusement.

“Wakey-wakey, sleepy head!”

“Rise and shine, ’Las! Your arse is ours for the day!”

“Come along, little one! We want to congratulate the birthday boy!”

Legolas groaned as he recognised the insistent cheeky voices of his brothers and 
Glorfindel – the golden Lord and his husband having come to visit Mirkwood for the 
prince’s celebrations. Legolas loved it when his ‘Uncle’ Glorfindel and Erestor 
visited, which they did often.

Thranduil laughed, and tried to sit up. “Looks like you’re in for an interesting day,” 
Thranduil teased, looking at the worried expression on his son’s face. “I hope you 
don’t mind public humiliation with your birthday cake.”

“Ha ha,” Legolas said, a little panicked, although he tried to appear unconcerned. 
“Maybe I just won’t answer the door, as I *am* very comfortable right where I am,” 
he wriggled on top of his father, raising a suggestive eyebrow and licking his lips.

Thranduil gave a dramatic sigh. “Alas, I fear the great Balrog Slayer, with the help of 
your brothers, will have that door bashed in before we can finish anything terribly 
exciting. So unless you want the three of them to see you like this – or worse – and 
have extra ammunition with which to taunt you today, I suggest you better find 
wherever you tossed your leggings last night.”

Legolas pouted but stood up, and started searching for his clothes. “Fine. But if they 
don’t force too much ale down my throat, I’m going to come back and tie you to the 
bed tonight, as commemoration for our ‘first’ night together.” The prince winked as 
he tried to hop one legged into his pants. 

Thranduil laughed heartily, standing up to rescue the crown from Legolas’ head. “If 
that’s the case, shouldn’t *you* be the one tied and gagged?” Thranduil asked 
innocently.

Legolas shrugged and gave his father a wicked grin. “I’m the birthday boy. So what 
*I* say, goes!” He poked his tongue out, before pulling a tunic over his head. The 
bashing and yelling on the door became louder.

Thranduil rolled his eyes at his son, and mumbled about why the Valar had cursed 
him with such disobedient children, all of who could out-debate their father.

Legolas laughed, and walked over to his father, tenderly kissing his lips. “I love you, 
Ada,” he said, as he walked to the door.

“I love you too, Legolas. Hopefully I’ll see you in one piece for your feast this 
evening.”

Legolas grinned and opened the door. The prince immediately fell back as he was 
attacked by three eager, mischievous blonds, who grabbed a hold of his clothes, 
yanked him out into the corridor, and crowed in glee at his capture.

Maergorv lingered behind a moment. “You’re not coming, Ada?” he asked.

Thranduil smiled and shook his head. “I might visit you four later, and see that you’re 
not doing any permanent damage to my soon-to-be husband. I do have my own plans 
for him tonight, after all.”

Maergorv gave a great beaming grin, ran up and hugged his father at the news of the 
engagement, and then headed off before Bórsael, Glorfindel and Legolas got too far 
ahead.

As the door slowly closed behind the warrior, Thranduil sighed and gave a small, 
affectionate smile. “The things a father will do for his son,” he murmured to himself.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ T H E   E N D ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ada = Father 
Nin-melme = my love
Nin-ind = my heart

Thanks for all those who gave me feedback before, during and after the making of this 
fic! 
Homepage: www.livejournal.com/users/bone_fauna/
Art page: http://www.livejournal.com/users/bonys_art/
Email: bone _ fauna AT yahoo DOT com DOT au

Grammatically beta’d by Jilly – Thanks so much, hon!

Conceptually beta’d by Aliaself – who, if I had enough money, I would buy the world 
and give it to her, because it has meant the world to me that she has beta’d this 
horrible monster! I’m sure she’s come close to tearing her hair out a few times, and 
even shedding some tears, and I’m grateful for all the work she’s put into this story to 
make it readable and understandable for all of you who have read it! She has fixed 
spelling errors, story line inconsistencies, rambling sentences (no,- *paragraphs*!), 
and tirelessly assured that Thranduil has not undergone any renovations and has kept 
all of his rooms! *g*  She has also put up with my obnoxious cheek, which is a great 
feat by any standard! And has constantly encourage me and looked out for me. Any 
other mistakes and problems left is to be laid at my feet, as I am an annoying writer 
who goes back and changes things every day, and poor Elf is unable to always keep 
up. Once again, Elf, – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,! :D  
Check out her archive at http://arcticfox42.phpwebhosting.com/opm/mainpage.htm , 
or, her LJ at www.livejournal.com/users/aliaself/

Thanks also to Mawgy, who has a great tongue and cute arse, but that’s not why I’m 
thanking her! *g* She is my best friend, and has given me great support, just for 
listening and being wicked funny. 

Thanks also to those whom I consider ‘my fans’ – those on my mailing list, or who 
have sent me any small (or big) words of praise and encouragement, or even sent me 
your most wonderfully beautiful art (esp Maya; www.livejournal.com/users/mathia/)! 
You all of you know who you are, I love and treasure all of you, for every drop helps 
make the ocean. Thanks! ; P

Thanks to Kit for keeping up the whip cracking. I want StS now, damnit!! And we 
two are RP’ing some stuff too, so eyes peeled, people!

And thank you so sooo much, Jilly, for always being there, for making me feel wise 
and wanted, and for listening to me when I needed someone to bawl too. ;D

Also, there are three *very* special people I would like to thank for their humour, 
support, love and artwork – nin meleth muindyr (my beloved brothers), Maya, Rod 
and Paris. You three have been such sweet, loving and compassionate souls, and I 
don’t know how I managed without you! Especially you, my most beloved, precious 
Rod. You are my heart, my star, my angel, my champion. No matter what happens 
later, I won’t forget that for a while, I was happy. Thank you, bros, for all you have 
done for me! *huggles and kisses*

Thanks to those who voted for this as Best Slash Romance for the Flame of Anor 
Awards. It was a surprise and an honour to win ^_^.

And thanks in general to everyone for putting up with my on and off writing sprees, 
especially those who had to undergo pregnancy or other trials in life without much 
‘BI’ to tie them over! ;P  *kisses* <33333  

~*~